The Project Gutenberg eBook of Many Gods, by Cale Young Rice

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at https://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United States, you’ll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Many Gods

Author: Cale Young Rice

Release Date: October 10, 2009 [EBook #30225]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by David Garcia, Josephine Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library.)

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ***

MANY GODS

OTHER BOOKS BY CALE YOUNG RICE

Nirvana Days

Yolanda of Cyprus

Plays and Lyrics

A Night in Avignon

Charles di Tocca

David

MANY GODS

BY

CALE YOUNG RICE

NEW YORK

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

MCMX

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION

INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

PUBLISHED, FEBRUARY, 1910

TO

FINIS KING FARR

AN OLD

AND DEAR COMRADE

CONTENTS

PAGE

"ALL'S WELL" 3

THE PROSELYTE RECANTS 6

LOVE IN JAPAN 10

MAPLE LEAVES ON MIYAJIMA 13

TYPHOON 15

PENANG 17

WHEN THE WIND IS LOW 20

THE PAGODA SLAVE 22

THE SHIPS OF THE SEA 25

KINCHINJUNGA 26

THE BARREN WOMAN 29

BY THE TAJ MAHAL 32

LOVE'S CYNIC 35

IN A TROPICAL GARDEN 42

THE WIND'S WORD 46

THE SHRINE OF SHRINES 47

FROM A FELUCCA 48

THE EGYPTIAN WAKES 49

THE IMAM'S PARABLE 50

SONGS OF A SEA-FARER 52

A SONG OF THE SECTS 54

THE CITY 57

VIA AMOROSA 58

DUSK AT HIROSHIMA 60

THE WANDERER 61

IN A SHINTO TEMPLE GARDEN 64

FAR FUJIYAMA 65

ON MIYAJIMA MOUNTAIN 66

OLD AGE 68

ON THE YANG-TSE-KIANG 69

THE SEA-ARMIES 71

THE CHRISTIAN IN EXILE 73

THE PARSEE WOMAN 75

SHAH JEHAN TO MUMTAZ MAHAL 77

PRINCESS JEHANARA 79

A CINGHALESE LOVE LAMENT 80

ON THE ARABIAN GULF 83

THE RAMESSID 84

IMMORTAL FOES 85

THE CONSCRIPT 87

NAVIS IGNOTA 89

THE CROSS OF THE SEPULCHRE 91

THE NUN 92

ALPINE CHANT 94

THE MAN OF MIGHT 96

IN TIME OF AWE 97

SUNRISE IN UTAH 99

CONSOLATION 100

WAVES 102

VIS ULTIMA 104

MEREDITH 106

MANY GODS

"ALL'S WELL"

I

The illimitable leaping of the sea,

The mouthing of his madness to the moon,

The seething of his endless sorcery,

His prophecy no power can attune,

Swept over me as, on the sounding prow

Of a great ship that steered into the stars,

I stood and felt the awe upon my brow

Of death and destiny and all that mars.

II

The wind that blew from Cassiopeia cast

Wanly upon my ear a rune that rung;

The sailor in his eyrie on the mast

Sang an "All's well," that to the spirit clung

Like a lost voice from some aërial realm

Where ships sail on forever to no shore,

Where Time gives Immortality the helm,

And fades like a far phantom from life's door.

III

"And is all well, O Thou Unweariable

Launcher of worlds upon bewildered space,"

Rose in me, "All? or did thy hand grow dull

Building this world that bears a piteous race?

O was it launched too soon or launched too late?

Or can it be a derelict that drifts

Beyond thy ken toward some reef of Fate

On which Oblivion's sand forever shifts?"

IV

The sea grew softer as I questioned—calm

With mystery that like an answer moved,

And from infinity there fell a balm,

The old peace that God is, tho all unproved.

The old faith that tho gulfs sidereal stun

The soul, and knowledge drown within their deep,

There is no world that wanders, no not one

Of all the millions, that He does not keep.

THE PROSELYTE RECANTS

(In Japan)

Where the fair golden idols

Sit in darkness and in silence

While the temple drum beats solemnly and slow;

Where the tall cryptomerias

Sway in worship round about

And the rain that is falling whispers low;

I can hear strange voices

Of the dead and forgotten,

On the dimly rising incense I can see

The lives I have lived,

And my lives unbegotten,

Namu Amida Butsu pity me!

I was born this karma

Of a mother in Chuzenji,

Where Nantai-zan looks down into the lake;

Where the white-thronged pilgrims

Climb to altars in the clouds

And behold the holy eastern dawn awake.

It was there I wandered

Till a priest of the Christians

With the crucifix he wore compelled my gaze.

In grief I had grown,

So upon its grief I pondered.

Namu Amida Butsu, keep my days!

It was wrong, he told me,

To pray Jiso for my children,

And Binzuru for healing of my ills.

And our gods so many

Were conceived, he said, in sin,

From Lord Shaka to the least upon the hills.

In despair I listened

For my heart beat hopeless,

Not a temple of my land had helped me live.

But alas that day

When I let my soul be christened!

Namu Amida Butsu, O forgive!

For the Christ they gave me

As the only Law and Lotus,

As the only way to Light that will not wane,

May perchance have power

For the people of the West,

But to me he seemed the servitor of pain.

For in pain he perished

As one born to passion:

In some other life no doubt his sin was great,

Tho they told me no,

Those who followed him and cherished.

Namu Amida Butsu, such is fate.

So again to idols

Of the Buddha who is boundless,

While the temple drum is beating thro the rain,

I have turned from treason

Into Meditation's truth,

From the strife the Western god regards as gain.

And if now I'm dying

As the voices tell me,

To the lives that I must live I'll meekly go;

Till my long grief ends

In Nirvana, and my sighing.

Namu Amida Butsu, be it so!

LOVE IN JAPAN

I

Dragon-fly lighting

On the temple-bell,

Whose soul do you hear

On the Day of the Dead?

The soul of my lover?

Ah me, the plighting

Between two hearts

That were never wed!

Dragon-fly, quickly,

The priest is coming!

Oh, the boom

Of the bitter bell!

Now you are gone

And my tears fall thickly.

How of Heaven

Do the gods make Hell!

II

The sêmi is silent

(Autumn rains!)

The wind-bells tinkle

(How chill it is!)

The quick lights come

On the shoji-panes.

Come, O Baku,

Eater of dreams!

The maple darkens

(Pale grow I!)

The near night shivers

(The temple fades.)

Haunting love

Will not cease to cry!

Come, O Baku,

Eater of dreams!

The wild mists gather

(Ah, my tears!)

The pane-lights vanish

(For some there is rest.)

But for me—

The remembered years!

Come, O Baku,

Eater of dreams!

MAPLE LEAVES ON MIYAJIMA

The summer has come,

The summer has gone,

And the maple leaves lift fairy hands

That ripple upon the winds of dawn

Where the dim pagoda stands.

They ripple and beckon yearningly

To their sister fairies over the sea,

But help comes not,

So they fall and flee

From Autumn over the sands.

And down the mountain

And into the tide,

Some are blown where the sampans glide,

And some are strewn by the temple's side,

And some by the torii.

But Autumn ever

Pursues them till,

As ever before,

She has her will,

And leaves them desolate, dead and still,

Ravished afar and wide;

Leaves them desolate; crying shrill,

"No beauty shall abide!"

TYPHOON

(At Hong-kong)

I was weary and slept on the Peak;

The air clung close like a shroud,

And ever the blue-fly's buzz in my ear

Hung haunting and hot and loud;

I awoke and the sky was dun

With awe and a dread that soon

Went shuddering thro my heart, for I knew

That it meant typhoon! typhoon!

In the harbour below, far down,

The junks like fowl in a flock

Were tossing in wingless terror, or fled

Fluttering in from the shock.

The city, a breathless bend

Of roofs, by the water strewn,

Lay silent and waiting, yet there was none

Within it but said typhoon!

Then it came, like a million winds

Gone mad immeasurably,

A torrid and tortuous tempest stung

By rape of the fair South Sea.

And it swept like a scud escaped

From craters of sun or moon,

And struck as no power of Heaven could,

Or of Hell—typhoon! typhoon!

And the junks were smitten and torn,

The drowning struggled and cried,

Or, dashed on the granite walls of the sea,

In succourless hundreds died.

Till I shut the sight from my eyes

And prayed for my soul to swoon:

If ever I see God's face, let it

Be guiltless of that typhoon!

PENANG

I want to go back to Singapore

And ship along the Straits,

To a bungalow I know beside Penang;

Where cocoanut palms along the shore

Are waving, and the gates

Of Peace shut Sorrow out forevermore.

I want to go back and hear the surf

Come beating in at night,

Like the washing of eternity over the dead.

I want to see dawn fare up and day

Go down in golden light;

I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!

I want to go back to Singapore

And up along the Straits

To the bungalow that waits me by the tide.

Where the Tamil and Malay tell their lore

At evening—and the fates

Have set no soothless canker at life's core.

I want to go back and mend my heart

Beneath the tropic moon,

While the tamarind-tree is whispering thoughts of sleep.

I want to believe that Earth again

With Heaven is in tune.

I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!

I want to go back to Singapore

And ship along the Straits

To the bungalow I left upon the strand.

Where the foam of the world grows faint before

It enters, and abates

In meaning as I hear the palm-wind pour.

I want to go back and end my days

Some evening when the Cross

On the southern sky hangs heavily far and sad.

I want to remember when I die

That life elsewhere was loss.

I want to go back to Penang! I want to go back!

WHEN THE WIND IS LOW

(To A. H. R.)

When the wind is low, and the sea is soft,

And the far heat-lightning plays

On the rim of the West where dark clouds nest

On a darker bank of haze;

When I lean o'er the rail with you that I love

And gaze to my heart's content;

I know that the heavens are there above—

But you are my firmament.

When the phosphor-stars are thrown from the bow

And the watch climbs up the shroud;

When the dim mast dips as the vessel slips

Thro the foam that seethes aloud;

I know that the years of our life are few,

And fain as a bird to flee,

That time is as brief as a drop of dew—

But you are Eternity.

THE PAGODA SLAVE

(At Shwe Dagohn, in old Rangoon)

All night long the pagoda slave

Hears the wind-bells high in the air

Tinkle with low sweet tongue and grave

In praise of Lord Gautama.

All night long where the lone spire sends

Its golden height to the starry light

He hears their tune

And watches the moon

And fears he shall never reach Nirvana.

Round and round by a hundred shrines

Glittering at the great Shwe's base

Falls the sound of his feet mid lines

Droned from the sacred Wisdom.

Round and round where the idols gaze

So pitiless on his pained distress

He passes on,

Pale-eyed and wan—

A pariah like the dogs behind him.

Oh, what sin in a life begot

Thousands of lives ago did he sin

That he is now by all forgot,

Even by Lord Gautama?

Oh, what sin, that the lowest shun

His very name as a thing of shame—

A sound to taint

The winds that faint

From the high bells that hear it uttered!

Midnight comes and the hours of morn,

Tapers die and the flowers all

From the most fêted altars: lorn

And desolate is their odour.

Midnight goes, but he watches still

By each cold spire the moon sets fire,

By every palm

Whose silvery calm

Pillar and jewelled porch pray under.

Is it dawn that is breaking?... No,

Only a star that falls in the sea,

Only a wind-bell's louder flow

Of praise to Lord Gautama.

Faithless dawn! with illusive feet

It comes too late to ease his fate.

He sinks asleep

A helpless heap,

Tho for it he may never reach Nirvana.

THE SHIPS OF THE SEA

Into port when the sun was setting

Rode the ship that bore my love,

Over the breakers wildly fretting,

Under the skies that shone above.

Down to the beach I ran to meet him;

He would come as he had said:

And he came—in a sailor's coffin,

Dead!...

O the ships of the sea! the women

They from all hope but Heaven part!

The tide has nothing now to tell me,

The breakers only break my heart!

KINCHINJUNGA

(Which is the next highest of mountains)

I

O white Priest of Eternity, around

Whose lofty summit veiling clouds arise

Of the earth's immemorial sacrifice

To Brahma in whose breath all lives and dies;

O Hierarch enrobed in timeless snows,

First-born of Asia whose maternal throes

Seem changed now to a million human woes,

Holy thou art and still! Be so, nor sound

One sigh of all the mystery in thee found.

II

For in this world too much is overclear,

Immortal Ministrant to many lands,

From whose ice-altars flow to fainting sands

Rivers that each libation poured expands.

Too much is known, O Ganges-giving sire;

Thy people fathom life and find it dire,

Thy people fathom death, and, in it, fire

To live again, tho in Illusion's sphere,

Behold concealed as Grief is in a tear.

III

Wherefore continue, still enshrined, thy rites,

Tho dark Thibet, that dread ascetic, falls

In strange austerity, whose trance appals,

Before thee, and a suppliant on thee calls.

Continue still thy silence high and sure,

That something beyond fleeting may endure—

Something that shall forevermore allure

Imagination on to mystic flights

Wherein alone no wing of Evil lights.

IV

Yea, wrap thy awful gulfs and acolytes

Of lifted granite round with reachless snows.

Stand for Eternity while pilgrim rows

Of all the nations envy thy repose.

Ensheath thy swart sublimities, unscaled.

Be that alone on earth which has not failed.

Be that which never yet has yearned or ailed,

But since primeval Power upreared thy heights

Has stood above all deaths and all delights.

V

And tho thy loftier Brother shall be King,

High-priest be thou to Brahma unrevealed,

While thy white sanctity forever sealed

In icy silence leaves desire congealed.

In ghostly ministrations to the sun,

And to the mendicant stars and the moon-nun,

Be holy still, till East to West has run,

And till no sacrificial suffering

On any shrine is left to tell life's sting.

THE BARREN WOMAN

(Benares)

At the burning-ghat, O Kali,

Mother divine and dread,

See, I am waiting with open lips

Over the newly dead.

I am childless and barren; pity

And let me catch the soul

Of him who here on the kindled bier

Pays to Existence toll.

See, by his guileless body

I cook the bread and eat.

Give me the soul he does not need

Now, for conception sweet.

Hear, or my lord and husband

Shall send me from his door

And take to his side a fairer bride

Whose breast shall be less poor.

Oft I have sought thy temples,

By Ganges now I seek,

Where ashes of all the dead are strewn,

And is my prayer not meek?

The ghats and the shrines and the people

That bathe in the holy Stream

Have heard my cry, O goddess high,

Shall I not have my dream?

The women of Oudh and Jaipur

Look on my face with scorn.

Children about their garments cling,

To me shall none be born?

The death-fires quiver faster,

O hasten, goddess, a sign,

That from this doom into my womb

Thy pledge has passed, divine.

Woe! there is naught but ashes,

Now, and the weepers go.

Lone on the ghat they leave me, lone,

With but the River's flow.

Kali, I ask not jewels

Nor justice, beauty nor shrift,

But for the lowest woman's right,

A child—tho I die of the gift!

BY THE TAJ MAHAL

Under the Indian stars,

Mumtaz Mahal, I am sitting,

Watching them wind their silent way

Over your wistful Tomb;

Watching the crescent prow

Of the moon among them flitting,

Fair as the shallop that bore your soul

To Paradise's Room.

Under the Indian stars,

With palm and peepul about me,

With dome and kiosk and minaret

Mounting against the sky,

I seem to see your face

In all the fairness without me;

In all the sadness that fills my heart

To hear your lover's cry.

Under the Indian stars

I look for your Jasmine Tower,

Along the River whose barren bed

Lies gray beneath the moon.

And thro its magic doors

You seem like a spirit flower,

Wandering back from Allah's bourne

To seek for some lost boon.

Under the Indian stars

I see you softly moving,

Among your jewel-lit maidens there,

A sweet and ghostly queen,

And the scent of attar flung

In your marble font seems proving

That passion never can die from love,

If truly love has been.

Under the Indian stars

He comes, "the Shadow of Allah,"

Jehan, the lord of Magnificence,

The liege who holds your heart.

The silver doors swing back

And alone with him you hallow

The amorous night—whose moon has made

Such visions in me start.

Under the Indian stars—

But the end of all is moaning!

I hear his dying breath that from

Your Tomb shall never die.

For every jasper flower

He set in its dream seems loaning

To Beauty a grief, Mumtaz Mahal,

And unto Fate a sigh.

LOVE'S CYNIC

I

O you poets, ever pretending

Love is immortal, pipe the truth!

Empty your books of lies, the ending

Of no passion can be—Youth.

"Heaven," you breathe, "will join the broken?"

Come, was the Infinite e'er wed,

That He must evermore be thinking

Of your wedding bed?

II

Pipe the truth! tho it clip the glamour

Out of your rhymes and rip your dream.

Do you believe words can enamour

Death and dry up Lethe's stream?

Death? it is but a Sponge that passes,

One the Appeaseless e'er will squeeze

Back into Lethe's flood—whose lasting

Is eternities.

III

"False!" cry you, "and an unbeseeming

Blasphemy!"—Well, look around.

Is it not only in blaspheming

Truth is ever to be found?

Whether it be, one thing I ask you,

Lovers and poets, tell, I pray,

Was there ever a love-oath ended

Ere the Judgment Day?

IV

"O," you answer, "ill is in all things."

But in an ancient lie what's good?

Is it not better just to call things

What they are—not what we would?

When you are clinging to your mistress,

Love has the face of Eternity.

Cling to her then, but know that Wanting

Fools the best that be.

V

"Yet her brows and her eyes that murmur

All the music," you say, "of God!"

Press her lips but a little firmer—

You will feel that they are—sod.

"But there is living soul beyond them,

And it is love's till all things end?"

Children alone build Paradises

With but pence to spend.

VI

"Ai-ho now! that is like the cynic,"

Pitying runs your poet-smile,

"He has sat at the Devil's clinic

With some dead love up the while."

Dead or alive are one with passions,

Under the potent knife of Truth

They will be seen composed of craving—

And a little ruth.

VII

"Then the world on a lie is living?"

Many a lie has filled its maw!

"Better illusion tho than giving

Faith to a fatal loveless Law?"

There is a certain Socratean

Saying that swine of their ditch are sure;

Yet do they prove by their contentment

That it will endure?

VIII

Clasp her close! But the truth is in you,

Tho you have rhymed and rammed it down,

Hid it with honey-words that win you

Wreaths that you know bedeck the clown.

Kings they will call you and uplifters

Of your kind? Lord save the mark,

That we are still for fire dependent

On so false a spark.

IX

And so fond! for you hold immortal

What has been born a day or two!

"But it was destined?" Ay, your portal

Only has God to heed—and you!

He with his thrice three million thirsting

Worlds in the throes of death and life

Surely has time to spare for choosing

Your behooven wife!

X

By my faith, there is not a creature

Mad as a poet, pants the breeze!

Give him a mistress and he'll preach her

As creation's Masterpiece.

Let him but lean for half an hour

Over her lips and he will swear

That he would dive thro death unfathomed

To regain her there.

XI

And believe that his oath is able!

That there is not in all the sea

Water enough to quench the fable

Of his soul's intensity.

Yet there was never a rose that blossomed

And endured beyond its day.

There was never a fire enkindled

But the great Cold had its way.

XII

"Pessimist," is your mortal answer,

"Wait till the love-wind pierces you!"

Wait? I have been the veriest dancer

To it, and, dupe still, would do

Truth to the death—shall I confess it?—

For but a moment on one breast.

Wherefore I add—and Adam bless it!—

Who loves once is like the rest.

IN A TROPICAL GARDEN

(Peradeniya, Ceylon)

I

The sun moves here as a master-mage of nature all day long,

With fingers of heat and light that touch to a mystical growth all things.

The spell of him puts pale Time to sleep, as an opiate strange and strong,

And a waft of his wand, the wind, enchantment brings.

II

The python roots of the rubber-tree where the cobra slips in peace

Are wonders that he has waved from the earth as a presage of his power.

And the giant stems of the bamboo-grass, the pool astounded, sees,

Are a marvel to keep it still hour after hour.

III

The long lianas that reach in dreamy rout from tree to tree

Are dazed with the sense of sap that he calls to the tangle of their sprays.

The scarlet-hearted hibiscus stands entranced and the torrid bee

Is husht upon its rim, as in amaze

IV

And there the palms, the talipot with its lofty blossom-spire,

The cocoanut and the slim areca listening await

What sorceries of his trembling rays of equatorial fire

Will next be laid upon some lesser mate.

V

The river, too, that he winds as a magic circle round the wealth

He has here engendered, has the glide of a serpent lost in trance;

And scents of clove and cinnamon that sip cool from it, in stealth

Pour it upon the air like necromance.

VI

And down where the rain-tree and the rife breadfruit together lean

Over its flow, and the flying-foxes hanging head to earth

Suddenly drop then flap aloft on large bat-wing, is seen

More of his mazing wizardry in birth.

VII

All day long it is so that his hot hypnotic eye commands

With steady ray; and the earth obedient brings enchantment forth.

All night long in the humid dark the high-voiced hyla-bands

Chant of it in chill strain from South to North.

VIII

A wondrous mage, in a land whose dreams are made reality

As swift as clouds are made when the young Monsoon is in the South.

A land that is born of the sea and by it destined e'er to be

Beyond all fear of famishing and drouth.

THE WIND'S WORD

A star that I love,

The sea, and I,

Spake together across the night.

"Have peace," said the star,

"Have power," said the sea,

"Yea!" I answered, "and Fame's delight!"

The wind on his way

To Araby

Paused and listened and sighed and said,

"I passed on the sands

A Pharaoh's tomb:

All these did he have—and he is dead."

THE SHRINE OF SHRINES

There is in Egypt by the ancient Nile

A temple of imperishable stone,

Stupendous, columned, hieroglyphed, and known

To all the world as Faith's supremest shrine.

Half in debris it stands, a granite pile

Gigantic, stayed midway in resurrection,

An awe, an inspiration, a dejection

To all who would the cryptic past divine.

The god of it was Ammon, and a throng

Of worshippers from Thebes the royal-gated

Forever at its fervid pylons waited

While priests poured ever a prophetic song.

And yet this Ammon, who gave Egypt laws,

Is not—and is forgot—and never was!

FROM A FELUCCA

A white tomb in the desert,

An Arab at his prayers

Beside the Nile's dark water,

Where the lone camel fares.

An ibis on the sunset,

A slow shadouf at rest,

And in the caravansary

Low music for the guest.

Above the tawny city

A gleam of minarets,

Resounding the muezzin's

Clear call as the sun sets.

A mystery, a silence,

A breathing of strange balm,

A peace from Allah on the wind

And on the sky his calm.

THE EGYPTIAN WAKES

I woke at night in my eternal tomb

The desert sands had hid a thousand years,

And heard the Nile-crier across the gloom

Calling, "The flood has come! beseech the gods!"

I rose in haste, as one who blindly hears,

And sought the barterers of grain and wine

Culled for the praise and service of divine

Great Isis, by the slave who for her plods.

But as I passed along, woe! what was this,

Strange faces and strange fashions and strange fanes

Standing upon the midnight; Oh, the pains

That swept across my startled thought's abyss!

I moaned. My body crumbled into dust.

And then my soul fled Here—where all souls must.

THE IMAM'S PARABLE

Behold, the wind of the Desert rose,

Khamsin, in a shroud of sand,

And swept the Libyan waste, across

To far Somali-land.

His voice was thick with the drouth of death

And smote the earth as a burning breath,

Or as a curse which Allah saith

Unto a demon-band.

The caravan from the oasis

Of palm-engirt Kûrkûr

Shuddered and couched in shaken heaps,

The horror to endure.

Its mighty Sheik, like a soul in Hell

Who longs for the lute of Israfel,

Longed for the trickle of Keneh's well,

Imperishably pure!

Three days he longed, and the wind three days

About him whirled the shroud.

Then did a shrill dawn bring the sun—

And a gaunt vulture-crowd.

A few bleak bones on the Desert still

Lie for the Judgment Day to thrill

Again into life—if Allah will:

Let not your heart be proud.

SONGS OF A SEA-FARER

I

Many are on the sea to-day

With all sails set.

The tide rolls in a restive gray,

The wind blows wet.

The gull is weary of his wings,

And I am weary of all things.

Heavy upon me longing lies,

My sad eyes gaze

Across the leagues that sink and rise

And sink always.

My life has sunk and risen so,

I'd have it cease awhile to flow.

II

All the winds of the sea weary,

All the waves of the sea rest,

All the wants of my heart settle

Softly now in my breast.

All the stars that in heaven anchor,

Golden buoys of Elysian light,

Send me across the gulf promise

That I am faring right.

So while clouds that are left lonely

At the gates of the far West

Wait, so still, for the moon's stiller

Stealing from her nest,

I am held by a low vesper

Haunting afar the vague twilight,

Then with my soul at peace whisper

Hallowedly good-night.

A SONG OF THE SECTS

(In a Jerusalem tavern)

A Latin and Greek, praise God, are we, Armenian and Copt,

And we're all drunk as drunk can be, for we've together sopped.

Not one of us but spits at the creed the others mouth and purr,

But we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!

The Armenian sings

The Copt comes out of Egypt-land and with a braggart face

He'll tell you that his fathers piled the Pyramids in place.

In his Monophysite Christ we set no faith, the blasphemer!

But we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!

The Latin sings

The Greek will curse you if you call his Ikons images,

And damns your soul to Hell—no purgatory, if you please!

About Procession of the Ghost he's prickly as a burr,

But he believes, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!

The Copt sings

Of heretics God leaves unburnt, Armenians are worst,

They will not celebrate the Day, that was for Christ the first.

No wine with water mixed for them, as well mix heathen myrrh—

Or not believe, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!

The Greek sings

The Latin swears his Roman Pope is judge infallible.

Wherefore you may be very sure the Devil from his skull

Will drink a toast unto all liars, who such a lie aver—

Tho they believe, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!

The Four again

A Latin and Greek, praise God, are we, Armenian and Copt,

And we're all drunk as drunk can be, for we've together sopped.

Not one of us but hankers to hang all Jews on a Juniper,

For we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!

THE CITY

Soft and fair by the Desert's edge,

And on the dim blue edge of the sea,

Where white gulls wing all day and fledge

Their young on the high cliff's sandy ledge,

There is a city I have beheld,

Sometime or where, by day or dream,

I know not which, for it seems enspelled

As I am by its memory.

Pale minarets of the Prophet pierce

Above it into the white of the skies,

And sails enchanted a thousand years

Flit at its feet while fancy steers.

No face of all its faces to me

Is known—no passion of it or pain.

It is but a city by the sea,

Enshrined forever beyond my eyes!

VIA AMOROSA

(To A. H. R.)

When we two walk, my love, on the path

The moon makes over the sea,

To the end of the world where sorrow hath

An end that is ecstasy,

Should we not think of the other road

Of wearying dust and stone

Our feet would fare did each but care

To follow the way alone?

When we two slip at night to the skies

And find one star that we keep

As a trysting-place to which our eyes

May lead our souls ere sleep,

Should we not pause for a little space

And think how many must sigh

Because they gaze over starry ways

With no heart-comrade by?

When we two then lie down to our dreams

That deepen still the delight

Of our wandering where stars and streams

Stray in immortal light,

Should we not grieve with the myriads

From East of earth to West

Who lay them down at night but to drown

The longing for some loved breast?

Ah, yes, for life has a thousand gifts,

But love it is gives life.

Who walks thro his world alone e'er lifts

A soul that is sorrow-rife.

But they to whom it is given to tread

The moon-path and not sink

Can ever say the unhappiest way

Earth has is fair to the brink.

DUSK AT HIROSHIMA

Softly the bamboo bends

As the sun sinks down unglowing,

Softer the willow ends

A sigh to the dusk around.

Quickly the brief bat wends

His flittering way, thro flowing

Fields of the autumn air,

That are husht of the city's sound.

Temple and thatch and stream

Are forgetting the light that lingers,

Mountain and mist in dream

Already are lost, afar.

Faintingly comes the beam

Of the moon—then viewless fingers

Tinkle a samisen,

And astir on the East is a star.

THE WANDERER

When moonlight on the face

Of the great Buddha falls

As he sits in Nirvana

On the shores of Kamakura,

When the pines about him place

Soft shadows at his feet

Like offerings of penitence and tears,

I hear in the grace

Of the wind's low susurra

A voice that calls me still

To my home within the West,

But I've lingered overlong

In the East's strange arcana

And no more is there desire within my breast.

I left it when a boy,

That far home and, alas,

'Twas so fair that my dreaming

Earth had fairer was a madness.

I left it for the joy

Of wandering the world,

And heathen-hearted lands have I beheld!

But when at last cloy

Of delight brought sadness

Like lotus to my veins,

And forgetfulness seemed fate,

I had fared unto this shrine

And the moon as now was beaming,

And here have I awaited—and await.

But not for any gift

Of its god, or any grace

That in living or in dying

Men in text or sutra sigh for.

And not for any shrift

Nirvana has, or skies

Where Paradise imperishably smiles.

But only for the sift

Of the wind, that seems to die for

My soul's enduring peace

In the dwelling of the Tomb.

And only for the drift

Of the moon that comes denying

Eternity to everything but Doom.

IN A SHINTO TEMPLE GARDEN

Under the torii, robed in green,

The old priest creeps to the shrine.

Over the bridge the still stork stands,

The crow caws not in the pine.

Far in the distance bugles blow,

War's bloody memory wakes.

The priest prays on—for his sons that are dead,

And the heart within him breaks.

FAR FUJIYAMA

Against the phantom gold of failing skies

I see the ghost of Fujiyama rise

And think of the innumerable eyes

That have beheld its vision sunset-crowned.

The peasant in his field of rice or tea,

The prince in gardens dreaming by the sea,

The priest to whom the sêmi in the tree

Was but some shrilling soul's incarnate sound.

And as I think upon them, lo, the trance

Of backward time and distant circumstance,

Of Karma's all-remembering necromance,

Lies suddenly before my boundless sight.

It is as if, a moment, Buddhahood

Were given to me; as if understood

At last were vague Nirvana's vaguer good;

As if time were dissolved in living light.

ON MIYAJIMA MOUNTAIN

(To A. H. R.)

Out on the sea the sampans ride

And the mountains brim with mist and sun.

O we are in Japan again

And the spell is about us spun!

The spell of the old enchanting East,

Of Buddha and many a blissful priest,

The spell that has never, never ceased

To haunt us!

Glad we behold the temple-tops

And the lanterns in religious row

Standing, like acolytes of stone,

Where the pine and camphor grow.

And o'er them the old pagoda prays

Blessing upon their dreaming days,

And upon the eightfold sacred ways

From Sorrow!

Ah, and the torii too is there

Where the tranced sea enters to his shrine

Daily, with tidal mystery

And majesty divine.

He enters now, as the nuptial sea

Of love first entered our hearts, to be

Lord of their tides eternally,

And Master!

OLD AGE

I have heard the wild geese,

I have seen the leaves fall,

There was frost last night

On the garden wall.

It is gone to-day

And I hear the wind call.

The wind?... that is all.

If the swallow will light

When evening is near;

If the crane will not scream

Like a soul in fear;

I will think no more

Of the dying year,

And the wind, its seer.

ON THE YANG-TSE-KIANG

Down the Yang-tse bat-wing junk

And tatterdemalion sampan glide,

Sails of brown and black and yellow swinging.

Down the Yang-tse bat-wing junks

Fish-eyed and gaudy take the tide,

Forth to the sea in sloth they ride,

The coolies singing.

Off in the field the peasant toils

And along the canal the low tows slip,

Fruit of the red persimmon piled upon them.

Off in the field the peasant toils—

With lip and brow the dull years strip

Bare of the dreams of life, whose grip

Has grimly drawn them.

High on the hill the yamên rests

And the temple beside it sleeps in sun,

Far in the distance faints the city dreary.

High on the hill the yamên rests,

And dun dead shadows o'er it run:

This is the land where Time begun

And now grows weary.

THE SEA-ARMIES

The wild sea-armies led by the wind

Are following in our wake,

White-crested shouting millions moving on.

They have broken their camp of Calm and o'er

The world rebellion make,

With banner of cloud and mist above them drawn.

They have heard the call of infinite Death,

The ordering of his word,

"Arise, go forth and conquer where ye can;

For that is the only law ye know,

Its mandate men have heard,

Let them beware when they your path would span.

"Let them beware, for I am lord

Of all that on earth has name,

And unto you is given most my might.

Ride on, ye have many a ship to rend,

And many a mast to maim,

And many a land to lash and soul to fright."

So on they ride, a ravaging horde,

From shore to shuddering shore,

Beyond us in the bleak star-buried dawn;

Nor know that when they have camped again

And sleep, Life will restore

Unto her world the hope they have withdrawn.

THE CHRISTIAN IN EXILE

(Mandalay)

The palms along the old fort wall are paling,

The mountains in the evening light are red,

The moon has dropped into the moat from heaven,

A spell barbaric over all is spread.

But what is that to him, a stranger lonely,

In a land strange to all his faith and dim?

He cares not for old splendours, he would only

Hear on the air a simple Sabbath hymn.

The paddy-birds their snowy flight are taking

From the tall tamarind unto their nest,

The bullock-carts along the road are creaking,

The bugles o'er the wall are sounding rest.

On a calm jetty looking off to Mecca

Sons of Mahomet watch the low day's rim.

He too is waiting for it—with an echo

Upon his lips of a believer's hymn.

The red gate-towers rise against the twilight,

The palace of the heathen king is hid,

The white bridge bent across the moat beside it

Seems now of all unholinesses rid.

He wishes it were so with all this city

Whose Buddha-built pagodas skyward swim;

But he can only gaze on them and pity—

And sing within his heart a Christian hymn.

THE PARSEE WOMAN

(At Bombay)

Cast me out from among you,

I will not see my child

Laid aloft where the vultures

May clamour for him, wild!

The earth you say is holy,

Not to be soiled by death,

And a Parsee still should hold divine

What Zoroaster saith.

Ay, and so I will hold it,

But see his pale sweet face,

As pure as the palest flower

Left dead in Spring's embrace.

The sun we worship daily

Shrined it for seven years,

Then shall it go to cruel beaks,

There where the sea-wind veers?

No, no, no! tho you send me

A beggar from your door,

You, my lord, whom I honour,

And you, his sisters four,

To whom there have come no children

To make your bosoms feel

How even a thought so full of throe

Can make my sick brain reel.

Ah, you are deaf? you scorn me

And loathe, as a thing defiled?

My lord, I am but a woman

Who longs to see her child

Laid in a tomb, entreasured

Under the shrouding sod.

O would I had never given birth,

Or that earth had no God!

SHAH JEHAN TO MUMTAZ MAHAL

I see as in a pale mirage

The palm that o'er you sways,

The waters of the Jumna wan are beating.

One pearl-cloud, like a far-off Taj,

A dome of grief betrays—

Its beauty as was yours will be too fleeting!

The world is wider than I knew

Now that your face is gone!

While you were here no destiny seemed boundless.

So I am lost and find no clue

To any dusk or dawn!

Life has become a quest decayed and groundless.

Come back! come back or let me find

The jungle leads at last

Unto your lips and bosom recreated!

O somewhere I again must wind

My arms about you, cast

Into one word my love all unabated!

PRINCESS JEHANARA

Where the road leads from Delhi to the South,

And dingy camel-trains creep in the dust

Past ruin-heaps of old Firozabad

And Indropat unpitied of the drouth;

By a lone tree, above a Pool whose sad

Prayer-water all the turban-people trust,

Is a heat-hidden tomb, and on it just

A few faint blades of bent and grieving grass.

"Jehanara's it is," with ready mouth

A Moslem tells the stranger, "once she said,

'The covering of the poor is only grass,

Let it be mine alone when I am dead.'"

And who has stood there, where about her Rest

Rise high Imperial tombs, knows hers is best.

A SINGHALESE LOVE LAMENT

As the cocoanut-palm

That pines, my love,

Away from the sound

Of the planter's voice,

Am I, for I hear

No more resound

Your song by the pearl-strewn sea!

The sun may come

And the moon wax round,

And in its beam

My mates may rejoice,

But I feast not

And my heart is dumb,

As I long, O long, for thee!

In the jungle-deeps,

Where the cobra creeps,

The leopard lies

In wait for me.

But O, my love,

When the daylight dies

There is more to my dread than he!

Harsh lonely tears

That assail my eyes

Are worse to bear,

For the misery

That makes them well

Is the long, long years

That I moan away from thee!

O again, again,

In my katamaran

A-keel would I push

To your palmy door!

Again would I hear

The heave and hush

Of your song by the plantain-tree.

But far away

Do I toil and crush

The hopes that arise

At my sick heart's core.

For never near

Does it come, the day

That draws me again to thee!

ON THE ARABIAN GULF

From a far minaret of faithful cloud

A wraith-muezzin of the sunset cried

Over the sea that swung with sultan pride,

"Allah is Beauty, there is none beside!

Allah is Beauty, not to be denied

By Death or any Infidel dark-browed!"

And every wave that worshipped, every one

Under the mosque of heaven arching high,

Lifted a white crest with assenting sigh

And answered, "Let all gods but Allah die,

Yea, let all gods! until the world shall cry,

Beauty alone is left under the sun!"

THE RAMESSID

Upon an image of immortal stone,

Seated and vast, the moon of Luxor falls,

Lending to it a stillness that appals,

A mystery Osirian and strange.

The hands outplaced upon the knees in lone

And placid majesty reveal the power

Of Egypt in her most triumphal hour,

The calm of tyranny that cannot change.

It is of that Great king, who heard the cries

Of millions toil to lift him to the skies,

Who saw them perish at their task like flies,

Yet let no eye of pity o'er them range.

What rue, then, if his desecrated face

Rots now at Cairo in a mummy case?

IMMORTAL FOES

At Bedrashein between the pyramids

I saw the wingèd sun fold up his pinions

And sink into the nether world's dominions

Where Set sent ill on the Egyptian dead.

I saw the ancient Desert, that outbids

The Nile for the date-lands between them spread,

Fling over Memphis that is vanishèd,

Another shroud of sand, then bid his minions,

The winds, lie down upon their boundless bed.

I saw where temples vowed to Serapis

And granite splendours men name Pharaonic

Are kept by Time in silence and sardonic

Concealment—mummied in deep mystic tombs.

And when the stars came out in quiet bliss,

I heard Eternity with all its dooms,

Past and to come, sound softly the mnemonic

Of Death who waits all worlds that Life enwombs.

THE CONSCRIPT

The camel at the old sakiyeh

Toils around and round.

Aweary is he of the Nile

And of the wailing sound

Of the slow wheel he turns all day

To lift the water on its way

Over the fields of Ahmed Bey,

That with green grain abound.

Aweary is he, too, of fellàheen

Who compel him on,

With thick-voiced chanting till the day

Over the West has gone.

For the bold Desert was he made,

The Bedouin, his lord, to aid,

Not for this peasant wheel of trade

That ever must be drawn.

But on he toils while dahabiyeh

And dark felucca glide

Below him on the glassy flow

Of the gray river's tide.

Then when the night has come lies down,

In sleep the servile day to drown—

Like all whom Life turns with a frown

From their true fate aside.

NAVIS IGNOTA

Lord, what ship goes forth to-day?

I see her setting West.

Shall she have thy winds aright,

Stars to guide her with their light,

Shall she sweep the seas to sight

Of land and harbour-rest?

Awful is thy ocean-wrath,

And none can chart thy shoals

When storm unassuaging hath

Blotted sun and planet-path.

Shall she, Lord, escape the scath

And live, with all her souls?

For it is a beauteous thing

That ships should sail the sea.

Splendid is their plunge and swing

Into waves that foam and fling

Maelstroms at their bows to bring

Them down to destiny.

And she, too, courageous rides

Away into the gloom.

Now her lights are lost in tides

Of the windy spray that glides

Thro the darkness, Lord, abides

Thy Dove with her—or Doom?

I shall know perhaps some day,

Or, knowing not, recall

How my heart was fain to pray

For a ship that bravely lay

To her task: O Lord, so may

Each vessel of us all!

THE CROSS OF THE SEPULCHRE

Within the Holy Sepulchre, breast-high,

There is a cross uncounted lips have kissed,

Millions the world to dust has long dismissed,

Millions that now hope of it but to die.

Pilgrims, I saw, from out far fervid lands

Of superstition, North and West and South,

Bend to it each a trembling, reverent mouth,

Then kneel where Christ was said to loose Death's bands.

And then I wondered if He who believed

In the One God were wounded sore by this,

Whether He shrinks at each ecstatic kiss,

Or knowing how humanity is grieved,

Knows too that it is better to give Hope

Than Truth, if only one is in man's scope.

THE NUN

A lone palm leans in the moonlight

Over a convent wall.

The sea below is waking and breaking

With quiet heave and fall.

A young nun sits at the window;

For Heaven she is too fair;

Yet even the Dove of God might nest

In her bosom beating there.

A lone ship sails from the harbour:

Whom does it bear away?

Her lover who sin-hearted has parted

And left her but to pray?

She has no lover, nor ever

Has heard afar love's sigh.

Only the convent's vesper vow

Has ever dimmed her eye.

For naught knows she of her beauty,

More than the palm of its peace;

And who beyond Christ's portal to mortal

Desires would bend her knees?

The ways of the World have flowers,

And any who will pluck those;

But let there ever be a place

Where none may pluck God's rose.

ALPINE CHANT

I'm tramping thro the mountains,

They are rising white around me,

Snow peaks like patriarchs

That Winter has enthroned.

I'm tramping up the valleys

Where the cataracts sound me

Thunders they have shrilly

From eternity intoned.

I'm tramping thro the mountains,

With the clouds for my companions,

Soft clouds that float and cling

From crag to cloven crag.

I'm passing by the chalets

That o'erhang the high cañons,

Passing where the shepherds

And the flocks they pipe to lag.

I'm tramping thro the mountains

Where the pines in proud procession

Climb like a hardy host

To halo-heights of sun.

I'm listening for the sallies

Of the avalanche's Hessian

Hurl of ice and granite

Into gulfs Avernian.

I'm tramping thro the mountains

And the wind is yodling to me

Yearnings of the glaciers

To flow to summer lands.

I'm treading up the valleys

With no wanting to undo me—

For to-day I'm goalless

And the great God understands!

THE MAN OF MIGHT

No moment drooped between his thought and action,

No morrow died between his dream and deed.

Within his soul there was no fatal faction

That could betray him in his hour of need.

IN TIME OF AWE

The fierce sea-sunset over the world

Springs like a wounded spirit,

The waves all day have hissed and hurled

Their fangs and the spray has swept and swirled,

And ships in the gray gale's lair have furled

Their sails—well may they fear it!

The night will be but a monstrous seethe

Of terrors elemental.

The clouds will wrap in a ghastly wreath

Of gloom the winds that in them breathe,

And all that lives in the sea beneath

By fear shall be made gentle;

And sink down, down to the nether deeps,

Below the foam and fretting.

Down where the sullen water sleeps

Alway and the slow sand coldly creeps

Over the lone wreck, which Death keeps

To guard him 'gainst forgetting.

And there in the ominous vast calm

They'll harbour, like enchanted

Chill shapes he has strangely conjured from

The silence of his masterdom;

There float till again they feel the qualm

Of hunger thro them panted.

And then once more far up will they spring,

To drift and sport and plunder,

Shark, eel and whale and devil-thing,

With tooth to rend and tail to sting.

To the sea, O God, does horror cling

And haunting past all wonder.

SUNRISE IN UTAH

The dun sand-cliffs that break the desert's sea

Rose suddenly upon my sight at dawn,

And terrible in an eternity

Of death took silently the sunrise on.

Purple funereal from rifted skies

Swept down across their proud sterility,

Only to die as here all glory dies,

On barrenness I did not dream could be.

O God, for a bird-song! or opening lips

Of but one flower upon the fatal air,

For but the voice of water as it drips,

Or stir of leaves the day-wind makes aware!

O God, for these, for life! or from the face

Of the world wipe so irreparable a place!

CONSOLATION

I

Come to me, shadows, down the hill,

Lie softly at my feet.

The sun has worked his will

And the day is done.

Come to me softly and distil

Your dews and dreams, that heat

And hours of heartless glare have overrun.

II

Come to me, shadows, down the hill

And bring with you the night,

Fire-flies and the whippoorwill

And ah, the moon—

Whose soft interpretings can still

The tangled tongues of right

And wrong, and hope and fear, that haunt the noon.

III

Come to me, shadows, down the hill—

And let there follow Sleep,

Which is God's tidal Will

That overflows

The world—obliterating ill,

And in its soothing sweep

Murmuring more of mercy than man knows.

WAVES

The evening sails come home

With twilight in their wings.

The harbour-light across the gloam

Springs;

The wind sings.

The waves begin to tell

The sea's night-sorrow o'er,

Weaving within their ancient spell

More

Than earth's lore.

The rising moon wafts strange

Low lures across the tide,

On which my dim thoughts seem to range,

Stride

Upon stride,

Until, with flooding thrill,

They seem at last to blend

With waves that from the Eternal Will

Wend,

Without end.

VIS ULTIMA

There is no day but leads me to

A peak impossible to scale,

A task at which my hands must fail,

A sea I cannot swim or sail.

There is no night I suffer thro

But Destiny rules stern and pale:

And yet what I am meant to do

I will do, ere Death drop his veil.

And it shall be no little thing,

Tho to oblivion it fall,

For I shall strive to it thro all

That can imperil or appal.

So at each morning's trumpet-ring

I mount again, less slave and thrall,

And at the barriers gladly fling

A fortitude that scorns to crawl.

MEREDITH

What am I reading? He is dead?

He the great interpreter

And seer—England's noblest head?

What am I reading? It is hushed?

The deepest voice that life had found

To read a century profound

With all time's seethe and stir?

Why, it is but a scanty score

Of days, since, at his side,

Clasping his hand with more than pride,

I felt that the immortal tide

Of his great mind would long break o'er

The cold command of Death.

Still in my ear is echoing

The surf of his strong words, and still

Against the wild trees on the Hill

His cottage sheltered under,

I see the toss of his gray locks,

Like Lear's—for he had felt the sting

Of all too greatly giving

The kingdom of his mind to those

Who for it held him mad.

O England, guard thy living

Like him from a like fate!

For not the mighty thunder

Of thy proud name from all the rocks

Of all the world can compensate

A nation whom no Song makes glad,

And whom no Seer makes great.

THE END

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Many Gods, by Cale Young Rice

MANY GODS

OTHER BOOKS BY CALE YOUNG RICE

MANY GODS

CALE YOUNG RICE

CONTENTS

MANY GODS

"ALL'S WELL"

THE PROSELYTE RECANTS

(In Japan)

LOVE IN JAPAN

MAPLE LEAVES ON MIYAJIMA

TYPHOON

(At Hong-kong)

PENANG

WHEN THE WIND IS LOW

(To A. H. R.)

THE PAGODA SLAVE

(At Shwe Dagohn, in old Rangoon)

THE SHIPS OF THE SEA

KINCHINJUNGA

(Which is the next highest of mountains)

THE BARREN WOMAN

(Benares)

LOVE'S CYNIC

IN A TROPICAL GARDEN

(Peradeniya, Ceylon)

THE WIND'S WORD

THE SHRINE OF SHRINES

FROM A FELUCCA

THE EGYPTIAN WAKES

THE IMAM'S PARABLE

SONGS OF A SEA-FARER

A SONG OF THE SECTS

(In a Jerusalem tavern)

THE CITY

VIA AMOROSA

(To A. H. R.)

DUSK AT HIROSHIMA

THE WANDERER

IN A SHINTO TEMPLE GARDEN

FAR FUJIYAMA

ON MIYAJIMA MOUNTAIN

(To A. H. R.)

OLD AGE

ON THE YANG-TSE-KIANG

THE SEA-ARMIES

THE CHRISTIAN IN EXILE

(Mandalay)

THE PARSEE WOMAN

(At Bombay)

SHAH JEHAN TO MUMTAZ MAHAL

PRINCESS JEHANARA

A SINGHALESE LOVE LAMENT

ON THE ARABIAN GULF

THE RAMESSID

IMMORTAL FOES

THE CONSCRIPT

NAVIS IGNOTA

THE CROSS OF THE SEPULCHRE

THE NUN

ALPINE CHANT

THE MAN OF MIGHT

IN TIME OF AWE

SUNRISE IN UTAH

CONSOLATION

WAVES

VIS ULTIMA

MEREDITH

THE END

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE