<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413305" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part IV.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From his far wigwam sprang the strong North Wind<br>And rush'd with war-cry down the steep ravines,<br>And wrestl'd with the giants of the woods;<br>And with his ice-club beat the swelling crests.<br>Of the deep watercourses into death,<br>And with his chill foot froze the whirling leaves<br>Of dun and gold and fire in icy banks;<br>And smote the tall reeds to the harden'd earth;<br>And sent his whistling arrows o'er the plains,<br>Scatt'ring the ling'ring herds--and sudden paus'd<br>When he had frozen all the running streams,<br>And hunted with his war-cry all the things<br>That breath'd about the woods, or roam'd the bleak<br>Bare prairies swelling to the mournful sky.<br>'White squaw,' he shouted, troubl'd in his soul,<br>'I slew the dead, wrestl'd with naked chiefs<br>'Unplum'd before, scalped of their leafy plumes;<br>'I bound sick rivers in cold thongs of death,<br>'And shot my arrows over swooning plains,<br>'Bright with the Paint of death--and lean and bare.<br>'And all the braves of my loud tribe will mock<br>'And point at me--when our great chief, the Sun,<br>'Relights his Council fire in the moon<br>'Of Budding Leaves.' 'Ugh, ugh! he is a brave!<br>'He fights with squaws and takes the scalps of babes!<br>'And the least wind will blow his calumet--<br>'Fill'd with the breath of smallest flow'rs--across<br>'The warpaint on my face, and pointing with<br>'His small, bright pipe, that never moved a spear<br>'Of bearded rice, cry, 'Ugh! he slays the dead!'<br>'O, my white squaw, come from thy wigwam grey,<br>'Spread thy white blanket on the twice-slain dead;<br>'And hide them, ere the waking of the Sun!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">High grew the snow beneath the low-hung sky,<br>And all was silent in the Wilderness;<br>In trance of stillness Nature heard her God<br>Rebuilding her spent fires, and veil'd her face<br>While the Great Worker brooded o'er His work.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,<br>What doth thy bold voice promise me?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I promise thee all joyous things,<br>That furnish forth the lives of kings!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'For ev'ry silver ringing blow,<br>Cities and palaces shall grow!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,<br>Tell wider prophecies to me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'When rust hath gnaw'd me deep and red;<br>A nation strong shall lift his head!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'His crown the very Heav'ns shall smite,<br>Aeons shall build him in his might!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree;<br>Bright Seer, help on thy prophecy!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Max smote the snow-weigh'd tree and lightly laugh'd.<br>'See, friend,' he cried to one that look'd and smil'd,<br>'My axe and I--we do immortal tasks--<br>We build up nations--this my axe and I!'<br>'O,' said the other with a cold, short smile,<br>'Nations are not immortal! is there now<br>'One nation thron'd upon the sphere of earth,<br>'That walk'd with the first Gods, and saw<br>'The budding world unfold its slow-leav'd flow'r?<br>'Nay; it is hardly theirs to leave behind<br>'Ruins so eloquent, that the hoary sage<br>'Can lay his hand upon their stones, and say:<br>''These once were thrones!' The lean, lank lion peals<br>'His midnight thunders over lone, red plains,<br>'Long-ridg'd and crested on their dusty waves,<br>'With fires from moons red-hearted as the sun;<br>'And deep re-thunders all the earth to him.<br>'For, far beneath the flame-fleck'd, shifting sands,<br>'Below the roots of palms, and under stones<br>'Of younger ruins, thrones, tow'rs and cities<br>'Honeycomb the earth. The high, solemn walls<br>'Of hoary ruins--their foundings all unknown<br>'(But to the round-ey'd worlds that walk<br>'In the blank paths of Space and blanker Chance).<br>'At whose stones young mountains wonder, and the seas'<br>'New-silv'ring, deep-set valleys pause and gaze;<br>'Are rear'd upon old shrines, whose very Gods<br>'Were dreams to the shrine-builders, of a time<br>'They caught in far-off flashes--as the child<br>'Half thinks he can remember how one came<br>'And took him in her hand and shew'd him that<br>'He thinks, she call'd the sun. Proud ships rear high<br>'On ancient billows that have torn the roots<br>'Of cliffs, and bitten at the golden lips<br>'Of firm, sleek beaches, till they conquer'd all,<br>'And sow'd the reeling earth with salted waves.<br>'Wrecks plunge, prow foremost, down still, solemn slopes,<br>'And bring their dead crews to as dead a quay;<br>'Some city built before that ocean grew,<br>'By silver drops from many a floating cloud,<br>'By icebergs bellowing in their throes of death,<br>'By lesser seas toss'd from their rocking cups,<br>'And leaping each to each; by dew-drops flung<br>'From painted sprays, whose weird leaves and flow'rs<br>'Are moulded for new dwellers on the earth,<br>'Printed in hearts of mountains and of mines.<br>'Nations immortal? where the well-trimm'd lamps<br>'Of long-past ages, when Time seem'd to pause<br>'On smooth, dust-blotted graves that, like the tombs<br>'Of monarchs, held dead bones and sparkling gems?<br>'She saw no glimmer on the hideous ring<br>'Of the black clouds; no stream of sharp, clear light<br>'From those great torches, pass'd into the black<br>'Of deep oblivion. She seem'd to watch, but she<br>'Forgot her long-dead nations. When she stirr'd<br>'Her vast limbs in the dawn that forc'd its fire<br>'Up the black East, and saw the imperious red<br>'Burst over virgin dews and budding flow'rs,<br>'She still forgot her molder'd thrones and kings,<br>'Her sages and their torches, and their Gods,<br>'And said, 'This is my birth--my primal day!'<br>'She dream'd new Gods, and rear'd them other shrines,<br>'Planted young nations, smote a feeble flame<br>'From sunless flint, re-lit the torch of mind;<br>'Again she hung her cities on the hills,<br>'Built her rich towers, crown'd her kings again,<br>'And with the sunlight on her awful wings<br>'Swept round the flow'ry cestus of the earth,<br>'And said, 'I build for Immortality!'<br>'Her vast hand rear'd her tow'rs, her shrines, her thrones;<br>'The ceaseless sweep of her tremendous wings<br>'Still beat them down and swept their dust abroad;<br>'Her iron finger wrote on mountain sides<br>'Her deeds and prowess--and her own soft plume<br>'Wore down the hills! Again drew darkly on<br>'A night of deep forgetfulness; once more<br>'Time seem'd to pause upon forgotten graves--<br>'Once more a young dawn stole into her eyes--<br>'Again her broad wings stirr'd, and fresh clear airs,<br>'Blew the great clouds apart;--again Time said,<br>''This is my birth--my deeds and handiwork<br>''Shall be immortal.' Thus and so dream on<br>'Fool'd nations, and thus dream their dullard sons.<br>'Naught is immortal save immortal--Death!'<br>Max paus'd and smil'd: 'O, preach such gospel, friend,<br>'To all but lovers who most truly love;<br>'For _them_, their gold-wrought scripture glibly reads<br>'All else is mortal but immortal--Love!'<br>'Fools! fools!' his friend said, 'most immortal fools!--<br>'But pardon, pardon, for, perchance, you love?'<br>'Yes,' said Max, proudly smiling, 'thus do I<br>'Possess the world and feel eternity!'<br>Dark laughter blacken'd in the other's eyes:<br>'Eternity! why, did such Iris arch<br>'Ent'ring our worm-bored planet, never liv'd<br>'One woman true enough such tryst to keep!'<br>'I'd swear by Kate,' said Max; 'and then, I had<br>'A mother, and my father swore by her.'<br>'By Kate? Ah, that were lusty oath, indeed!<br>'Some other man will look into her eyes,<br>'And swear me roundly, 'By true Catherine!'<br>'And Troilus swore by Cressed--so they say.'<br>'You never knew my Kate,' said Max, and pois'd<br>His axe again on high, 'But let it pass--<br>'You are too subtle for me; argument<br>'Have I none to oppose yours with--but this,<br>'Get you a Kate, and let her sunny eyes<br>'Dispel the doubting darkness in your soul.'<br>'And have not I a Kate? pause, friend, and see.<br>'She gave me this faint shadow of herself<br>'The day I slipp'd the watch-star of our loves--<br>'A ring--upon her hand--she loves me, too;<br>'Yet tho' her eyes be suns, no Gods are they<br>'To give me worlds, or make me feel a tide<br>'Of strong Eternity set towards my soul;<br>'And tho' she loves me, yet am I content<br>'To know she loves me by the hour--the year--<br>'Perchance the second--as all women love.'<br>The bright axe falter'd in the air, and ripp'd<br>Down the rough bark, and bit the drifted snow,<br>For Max's arm fell, wither'd in its strength,<br>'Long by his side. 'Your Kate,' he said; 'your Kate!'<br>'Yes, mine, while holds her mind that way, my Kate;<br>'I sav'd her life, and had her love for thanks;<br>'Her father is Malcolm Graem--Max, my friend,<br>'You pale! what sickness seizes on your soul?'<br>Max laugh'd, and swung his bright axe high again:<br>'Stand back a pace--a too far reaching blow<br>'Might level your false head with yon prone trunk--<br>'Stand back and listen while I say, 'You lie!<br>'That is my Katie's face upon your breast,<br>'But 'tis my Katie's love lives in my breast--<br>'Stand back, I say! my axe is heavy, and<br>'Might chance to cleave a liar's brittle skull.<br>'Your Kate! your Kate! your Kate!--hark, how the woods<br>'Mock at your lie with all their woody tongues,<br>'O, silence, ye false echoes! not his Kate<br>'But mine--I'm certain I will have your life!'<br>All the blue heav'n was dead in Max's eyes;<br>Doubt-wounded lay Kate's image in his heart,<br>And could not rise to pluck the sharp spear out.<br>'Well, strike, mad fool,' said Alfred, somewhat pale;<br>'I have no weapon but these naked hands.'<br>'Aye, but,' said Max, 'you smote my naked heart!<br>'O shall I slay him?--Satan, answer me--<br>'I cannot call on God for answer here.<br>'O Kate--!'<br>A voice from God came thro' the silent woods<br>And answer'd him--for suddenly a wind<br>Caught the great tree-tops, coned with high-pil'd snow,<br>And smote them to and fro, while all the air<br>Was sudden fill'd with busy drifts, and high<br>White pillars whirl'd amid the naked trunks,<br>And harsh, loud groans, and smiting, sapless boughs<br>Made hellish clamour in the quiet place.<br>With a shrill shriek of tearing fibres, rock'd<br>The half-hewn tree above his fated head;<br>And, tott'ring, asked the sudden blast, 'Which way?'<br>And, answ'ring its windy arms, crash'd and broke<br>Thro' other lacing boughs, with one loud roar<br>Of woody thunder; all its pointed boughs<br>Pierc'd the deep snow--its round and mighty corpse,<br>Bark-flay'd and shudd'ring, quiver'd into death.<br>And Max--as some frail, wither'd reed, the sharp<br>And piercing branches caught at him,<br>As hands in a death-throe, and beat him to the earth--<br>And the dead tree upon its slayer lay.<br>'Yet hear we much of Gods;--if such there be,<br>'They play at games of chance with thunderbolts,'<br>Said Alfred, 'else on me this doom had come.<br>'This seals my faith in deep and dark unfaith!<br>'Now Katie, are you mine, for Max is dead--<br>'Or will be soon, imprison'd by those boughs,<br>'Wounded and torn, sooth'd by the deadly palms<br>'Of the white, trait'rous frost; and buried then<br>'Under the snows that fill those vast, grey clouds,<br>'Low-sweeping on the fretted forest roof.<br>'And Katie shall believe you false--not dead;<br>'False, false!--And I? O, she shall find me true--<br>'True as a fabl'd devil to the soul<br>'He longs for with the heat of all hell's fires.<br>'These myths serve well for simile, I see.<br>'And yet--Down, Pity! knock not at my breast,<br>'Nor grope about for that dull stone my heart;<br>'I'll stone thee with it, Pity! Get thee hence,<br>'Pity, I'll strangle thee with naked hands;<br>'For thou dost bear upon thy downy breast<br>'Remorse, shap'd like a serpent, and her fangs<br>'Might dart at me and pierce my marrow thro'.<br>'Hence, beggar, hence--and keep with fools, I say!<br>'He bleeds and groans! Well, Max, thy God or mine<br>'Blind Chance, here play'd the butcher--'twas not I.<br>'Down, hands! ye shall not lift his fall'n head;<br>'What cords tug at ye? What? Ye'd pluck him up<br>'And staunch his wounds? There rises in my breast<br>'A strange, strong giant, throwing wide his arms<br>'And bursting all the granite of my heart!<br>'How like to quiv'ring flesh a stone may feel!<br>'Why, it has pangs! I'll none of them. I know<br>'Life is too short for anguish and for hearts--<br>'So I wrestle with thee, giant! and my will<br>'Turns the thumb, and thou shalt take the knife.<br>'Well done! I'll turn thee on the arena dust,<br>'And look on thee--What? thou wert Pity's self,<br>'Stol'n in my breast; and I have slaughter'd thee--<br>'But hist--where hast thou hidden thy fell snake,<br>'Fire-fang'd Remorse? Not in my breast, I know,<br>'For all again is chill and empty there,<br>'And hard and cold--the granite knitted up.<br>'So lie there, Max--poor fond and simple Max,<br>''Tis well thou diest: earth's children should not call<br>'Such as thee father--let them ever be<br>'Father'd by rogues and villains, fit to cope<br>'With the foul dragon Chance, and the black knaves<br>'Who swarm'd in loathsome masses in the dust.<br>'True Max, lie there, and slumber into death.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">* * * * *</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isabella+Valancy+Crawford">Isabella Valancy Crawford</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413305" data-title="Malcolm's Katie: A Love Story - Part IV. de Isabella Valancy Crawford" data-description="From his far wigwam sprang the strong North Wind And rush'd with war-cry down the steep ravines, And wrestl'd with the giants of the woods; And with his ice-club beat the swelling crests. Of the deep watercourses into death, And with his chill foo..."></div> </div> </div>

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