"And I beheld high scaffoldings of creeds Crumbling from round Religion's perfect Fane: And a vast noise of rights, wrongs, powers, needs, -- Cries of new Faiths that called `This Way is plain,' -- Grindings of upper against lower greeds -- -- Fond sighs for old things, shouts for new, -- did reign Below that stream of golden fire that broke, Mottled with red, above the seas of smoke. "Hark! Gay fanfares from halls of old Romance Strike through the clouds of clamor: who be these That, paired in rich processional, advance From darkness o'er the murk mad factories Into yon flaming road, and sink, strange Ministrants! Sheer down to earth, with many minstrelsies And motions fine, and mix about the scene And fill the Time with forms of ancient mien? "Bright ladies and brave knights of Fatherland; Sad mariners, no harbor e'er may hold, A swan soft floating tow'rds a magic strand; Dim ghosts, of earth, air, water, fire, steel, gold, Wind, grief, and love; a lewd and lurking band Of Powers -- dark Conspiracy, Cunning cold, Gray Sorcery; magic cloaks and rings and rods; Valkyries, heroes, Rhinemaids, giants, gods! * * * * * "O Wagner, westward bring thy heavenly art, No trifler thou: Siegfried and Wotan be Names for big ballads of the modern heart. Thine ears hear deeper than thine eyes can see. Voice of the monstrous mill, the shouting mart, Not less of airy cloud and wave and tree, Thou, thou, if even to thyself unknown, Hast power to say the Time in terms of tone." ____ 1877. VII. A Song of Love. "Hey, rose, just born Twin to a thorn; Was't so with you, O Love and Scorn? "Sweet eyes that smiled, Now wet and wild; O Eye and Tear -- mother and child. "Well: Love and Pain Be kinsfolk twain: Yet would, Oh would I could love again." To Beethoven. In o'er-strict calyx lingering, Lay music's bud too long unblown, Till thou, Beethoven, breathed the spring: Then bloomed the perfect rose of tone. O Psalmist of the weak, the strong, O Troubadour of love and strife, Co-Litanist of right and wrong, Sole Hymner of the whole of life, I know not how, I care not why, -- Thy music sets my world at ease, And melts my passion's mortal cry In satisfying symphonies. It soothes my accusations sour 'Gainst thoughts that fray the restless soul: The stain of death; the pain of power; The lack of love 'twixt part and whole; The yea-nay of Freewill and Fate, Whereof both cannot be, yet are; The praise a poet wins too late Who starves from earth into a star; The lies that serve great parties well, While truths but give their Christ a cross; The loves that send warm souls to hell, While cold-blood neuters take no loss; Th' indifferent smile that nature's grace On Jesus, Judas, pours alike; Th' indifferent frown on nature's face When luminous lightnings strangely strike