130

'Harass her not: thy heat and stir
But greater coyness breed in her;
Yet thou mayst find, ere Age's frost,
Thy long apprenticeship not lost,
Learning at last that Stygian Fate
Unbends to him that knows to wait.
The Muse is womanish, nor deigns
Her love to him that pules and plains;
With proud, averted face she stands
To him that wooes with empty hands.
Make thyself free of Manhood's guild;
Pull down thy barns and greater build;
The wood, the mountain, and the plain
Wave breast-deep with the poet's grain;
Pluck thou the sunset's fruit of gold,
Glean from the heavens and ocean old; 140
From fireside lone and trampling street
Let thy life garner daily wheat;
The epic of a man rehearse,
Be something better than thy verse;
Make thyself rich, and then the Muse
Shall court thy precious interviews,
Shall take thy head upon her knee,
And such enchantment lilt to thee,
That thou shalt hear the life-blood flow
From farthest stars to grass-blades low, 150
And find the Listener's science still
Transcends the Singer's deepest skill!'

WHEN wise Minerva still was young

And just the least romantic,

Soon after from Jove's head she flung That preternatural antic, "T is said, to keep from idleness

Or flirting, those twin curses,

She spent her leisure, more or less,
In writing po, no, verses.

Makes sure of moods and tenses,

10

With her own hand, - for prudence spares

A man-(or woman-)-uensis;
Complete, and tied with ribbons proud,
She hinted soon how cosy a
Treat it would be to read them loud
After next day's Ambrosia.

The Gods thought not it would amuse
So much as Homer's Odyssees,
But could not very well refuse
The properest of Goddesses;
So all sat round in attitudes
Of various dejection,

As with a hem! the queen of prudes
Began her grave prelection.

At the first pause Zeus said, 'Well sung! -
I mean - ask Phoebus, - he knows."
Says Phoebus, 'Zounds! a wolf's among
Admetus's merinos!

Fine! very fine! but I must go;

They stand in need of me there;
Excuse me!' snatched his stick, and so
Plunged down the gladdened ether.

With the next gap, Mars said, 'For me
Don't wait,naught could be finer,
But I'm engaged at half past three,
A fight in Asia Minor!

Then Venus lisped, 'I'm sorely tried,
These duty-calls are vip'rous;
But I must go; I have a bride
To see about in Cyprus.'

20

30

40

50

The many-volumed thunder. Some augurs counted nine, some, ten; Some said 't was war, some, famine, And all, that other-minded men Would get a precious

Proud Pallas sighed, 'It will not do;
Against the Muse I've sinned, oh !'
And her torn rhymes sent flying through
Olympus's back window.

Then, packing up a peplus clean,
She took the shortest path thence,
And opened, with a mind serene,

A Sunday-school in Athens.

The verses? Some in ocean swilled,
Killed every fish that bit to 'em;
Some Galen caught, and, when distilled,
Found morphine the residuum;
But some that rotted on the earth
Sprang up again in copies,

And gave two strong narcotics birth,
Didactic verse and poppies.

Years after, when a poet asked
The Goddess's opinion,

As one whose soul its wings had tasked
In Art's clear-aired dominion,
'Discriminate,' she said, 'betimes;
The Muse is unforgiving;

Put all your beauty in your rhymes,
Your morals in your living.'

THE DEAD HOUSE 2

60

70

80

1857. 1

HERE once my step was quickened,
Here beckoned the opening door,
And welcome thrilled from the threshold
To the foot it had known before.

1 In the first number of the Atlantic Monthly, of which Lowell was editor.

2 I have a notion that the inmates of a house should never be changed. When the first occupants go out it should be burned, and a stone set up with Sacred to the memory of a HOME' on it. Suppose the body were eternal, and that when one spirit went out another took the lease. How frightful the strange expression of the eyes would be! I fancy sometimes that the look in the eyes of a familiar house changes when aliens have come into it. For certainly a dwelling adapts itself to its occupants. The front door of a hospitable man opens easily and looks broad, and you can read Welcome! on every step that leads to it. (Lowell's Letters, vol. i, pp. 283, 284. Quoted by permission of Messrs. Harper and Brothers.)

For the first form of the poem, see Scudder's Life of Lowell, vol. i, pp. 435-437.

ALONG a river-side, I know not where,
I walked one night in mystery of dream;

1 Lowell wrote to Professor Charles Eliot Norton, October 12, 1861: I had just two days allowed me by Fields for the November Atlantic, and I got it done. It had been in my head some time, and when you see it you will remember my having spoken to you about it. Indeed, I owe it to you, for the hint came from one of those books of Souvestre's you lent me - the Breton legends. The writing took hold of me enough to leave