The San Francisco call., 1897-07-18

truth. = y A good poet need not be bad
man. He m ay not be a better man tnan your
self, but he is not necessarily worse 1or oelhg
poet. l repeat, he is merely plain, sincere
human being in love with the beautiful world
land all that is his"
Speaking to the younger poets VINO shaii
follow, Mr.. Miller says:
And now let me note an error. poetshould
not write prose. Only Scott can do that
Better be day laborer, anything In reason,
than write pot-boiling prose. Only OF late,
since leaned on my hoe and plow for bread
rather than on prose, that l have felt my full
strength in verse Why have we SO
few true poets and fearless papers TO lead the
people upward to-day? Because we gather
money, and gather money, and gather money
with the right hand and at the same ii me try
to write poetry with the left hand.
Referring to his health, that had been
shattered by the malaria of other climes
before he returned to California and 1.-THE
Heights for the last time, he joins sug-
gestion with admonition:
But at last I dug health and strength and
new life 10 complete and make my old work
new right out of the earth here on my noun
tainSide in the hot sun-ten years in doing it,
and now am stronger and really younger
than since l can remember. Let this lesson
OF hard contact with our common mother not
be thrown away. In the sweat of Thy face
not in the sweat OF another's face-shalt thou
eat bread. II was Gods first command at the
expulsion, and really includes all others.
Plain, simple, apart, alone, God
only at your side, you must toll by day and
mediate by night, remem bering always that
the only true humility is true dignity. Pow
erty, pain, persecution, ingratitude death,
and m aybe Oblivion at the end; but always
and through all. and over and above all,
faith and hope and charity: the greatest and
the hGmblest that has been, your one ex-
emplar. And SO, following him, shall you
never answer back except and only by some
white banner, set on your own splendid and
inaccessible summits-the flag of forgiveness
and good will
He insists, however, that if the party
dwell apart it shall not be for his own
ease and glory, but only that he may
labor all the harder in his chosen voca-
tior, and with greater strength may be
prepared to fight the battles of the weak,
ana to be a buIwark Of hope and protec-
ton for those who otherwise would be
defen seless. In paying homage to the
dead, unknown deep of all adeeps,"
the poet does not forget the inviting
scenes of the wide Franciscan Bay" that
may be viewed in all its glories from the
hillside home. Reversing the oiden say
ing, See Paris and die" he sings:
Zee once this boundless bay end live,
See once this beauteous bay and love,
See once this warm, bright bay and give
GOD thanks for olive branch and dove.
Then plunge head.ong yon sapphire sea
And sail and il the world with me.
Some isles, drowned in the drowning sun,
Ten thousand sea-doves voiced as one;
Lo loves wings furied and wings unfurled;
Who sees not this warm, half world sea.
Sees not, knows not the world.
Then comes his invocation to the roomy,
surging world of waters:
such room of sea! Such room OF sky!
Such room to draw SOULFUL breathl
such room TO Iivel such to del
Such room TO roam in after DEATH
White room, with sapphire set round,
And SUI beyond his room proiound
Such room bound boundlessness o'erhead
AS never has been writ sail
Or seen, saved by the favored few,
Where kings OF thought play chess with stars
Across their board Of blue.
Whoever reads will recognize the stroke
of master hand in drawing this picture,
with sharp strong lines:
A porpoise, wheeling restessly,
Quick draws bright, black, dripping blade
Then sheathes it IN the
From the days of the blind bard Of
Chios poets have been describing the
ocean. 1t would be difficult to find among
them ali anything more spirited than the
following lines, from the first part of
"Sappho and Phaon":
The black sea horses rode in row;
Their white MANS tossing to the night
RUt made hi ack h
From flashing, phosphorescent light.
And how like hurdle steeds they leapt!
The low moon burst; the black troop swept
Right through her hollow, on and on.
wave-wel sCimitar was drawn,
Flashed twice, flashed thrice triumphantly
But still the steeds dashed on, dashed on,
And drowned her in the sea
So many felicitous passages present
themselves that there is a temptation to
extend quotations beyond the limits of an
ordinary newspaper article. What is here
given may be accepted as sample of the
flavor OF the sea hymns.
Mr.. Miller insists that he has not de-
sired to be more eccentric than other men. |
and in proof of that he will print in his
new book a series of Photographic repre-
sentations of himself at different periods
of his life.