A flash of purple within the brake The red-bud burns, where the spice-wood blows, And the brook laughs low where the white dews shake, Drinking the wild-haw's fragrant snows, And flows, and goes Under the feet of the wet, wood-rose.
Odors of may-apples blossoming, And violets stirring and blue-bells shaken-- Shadows that start from the thrush's wing And float on the pools, and swim and waken-- Unslaken, untaken-- Bronze wood-Naiads that wait forsaken.
All day the lireodendron droops Over the thickets her moons of gold; All day the cumulous dogwood groups Flake the mosses with star-snows cold, While gold untold The oriole pours from his song-thatched hold!
Carol of love, all day in the thickets, Redbird; warble, O thrush, of pain!
Pipe me of pity, O raincrow, hidden Deep in the wood! and, lo! the refrain Of pain, again Shall out of the bosom of heaven bring rain!
FOOTNOTE:
[19] Copyright, 1894, by the Advocate Publishing Company.
LANGDON SMITH
Langdon ("Denver") Smith, maker of a very clever and learned poem, was born in Kentucky, January 4, 1858. From 1864 to 1872 he attended the public schools of Louisville. As a boy Smith served in the Comanche and Apache Wars, and he was later a correspondent in the Sioux War. In 1894 Smith was married to Marie Antoinette Wright, whom he afterwards memorialized in his famous poem, and who survived him but five weeks.
In the year following his marriage, he went to Cuba for _The New York Herald_ to "cover" the conflict between Spain and Cuba; and three years later he represented the New York _Journal_ during the Spanish-American War. Smith was at the bombardment of Santiago and at the battles of El Caney and San Juan. After the war he returned to New York, in which city he died, April 8, 1908. He was the author of a novel, called _On the Pan Handle_, and of many short stories, but his poem, _Evolution_, made him famous. The first stanzas of this poem were written in 1895; and four years later he wrote several more stanzas. Then from time to time he added a line or more, until it was completed. _Evolution_ first appeared in its entirety in the middle of a page of want advertisements in the New York _Journal_. It attracted immediate and wide notice, but copies of it were rather difficult to obtain until it was reprinted in _The Scrap-Book_ for April, 1906, and in _The Speaker_ for September, 1908.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Evolution, a Fantasy_ (Boston, 1909), is a beautiful and fitting setting for this famous poem. In the introduction to this edition Mr. Lewis Allen Browne brings together the facts of Langdon Smith's life and work with many fine words of criticism for the poem. In 1911 W. A. Wilde and Company, the Boston publishers, issued an exquisite edition of _Evolution_.
Thus it will be seen that Smith and his masterpiece have received proper recognition from the publishers and the public; the judgment of posterity cannot be hurried; but that judgment can be anticipated, at least in part. That it will be favorable, characterizing _Evolution_ as one of the cleverest, smartest things done by a nineteenth century American poet, the present writer does not for a moment doubt.
EVOLUTION[20]
[From _Evolution, a Fantasy_ (Boston, 1909)]
I
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish, In the Paleozoic time.
And side by side on the ebbing tide We sprawled through the ooze and slime, Or skittered with many a caudal flip Through the depths of the Cambrian fen, My heart was rife with the joy of life, For I loved you even then.
II
Mindless we lived and mindless we loved, And mindless at last we died; And deep in a rift of the Caradoc drift We slumbered side by side.
The world turned on in the lathe of time, The hot lands heaved amain, Till we caught our breath from the womb of death, And crept into light again.
III
We were Amphibians, scaled and tailed, And drab as a dead man's hand; We coiled at ease 'neath the dripping trees, Or trailed through the mud and sand, Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet Writing a language dumb, With never a spark in the empty dark To hint at a life to come.
IV
Yet happy we lived, and happy we loved, And happy we died once more; Our forms were rolled in the clinging mold Of a Neocomian shore.
The eons came, and the eons fled, And the sleep that wrapped us fast Was riven away in a newer day, And the night of death was past.
V
Then light and swift through the jungle trees We swung in our airy flights, Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms, In the hush of the moonless nights.
And oh! what beautiful years were these, When our hearts clung each to each; When life was filled, and our senses thrilled In the first faint dawn of speech.
VI
Thus life by life, and love by love, We passed through the cycles strange, And breath by breath, and death by death, We followed the chain of change.
Till there came a time in the law of life When over the nursing sod The shadows broke, and the soul awoke In a strange, dim dream of God.
VII
I was thewed like an Auroch bull, And tusked like the great Cave Bear; And you, my sweet, from head to feet, Were gowned in your glorious hair.
Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave, When the night fell o'er the plain, And the moon hung red o'er the river bed.
We mumbled the bones of the slain.
VIII
I flaked a flint to a cutting edge, And shaped it with brutish craft; I broke a shank from the woodland dank, And fitted it, head and haft.
Then I hid me close to the reedy tarn, Where the Mammoth came to drink;-- Through brawn and bone I drave the stone, And slew him upon the brink.
IX
Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes, Loud answered our kith and kin; From west and east to the crimson feast The clan came trooping in.
O'er joint and gristle and padded hoof, We fought, and clawed and tore, And cheek by jowl, with many a growl, We talked the marvel o'er.
X
I carved that fight on a reindeer bone, With rude and hairy hand, I pictured his fall on the cavern wall That men might understand.
For we lived by blood, and the right of might, Ere human laws were drawn.
And the Age of Sin did not begin Till our brutal tusks were gone.
XI
And that was a million years ago, In a time that no man knows; Yet here to-night in the mellow light, We sit at Delmonico's; Your eyes are as deep as the Devon springs, Your hair is as dark as jet, Your years are few, your life is new, Your soul untried, and yet--
XII
Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay, And the scarp of the Purbeck flags, We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones, And deep in the Coraline crags; Our love is old, our lives are old, And death shall come amain; Should it come to-day, what man may say We shall not live again?
XIII
God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds And furnished them wings to fly; He sowed our spawn in the world's dim dawn, And I know that it shall not die; Though cities have sprung above the graves Where the crook-boned men made war, And the ox-wain creaks o'er the buried caves, Where the mummied mammoths are.
XIV
Then as we linger at luncheon here, O'er many a dainty dish, Let us drink anew to the time when you Were a Tadpole and I was a Fish.
FOOTNOTE: