JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.COM

"Where we celebrate the child in us all"

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY: "THE HOOSIER POET" Thomas E.Q. Williams, ©2006, originally published as the 150th birthday biography of James Whitcomb Riley entitled, James Whitcomb Riley: The Poet as Flying Islands of the Night © 1999 Thomas Williams.

 

                       A WAYWARD SONG

 

     The pen of “The Hoosier Poet,” James Whitcomb Riley, produced the most genuine and humble of American poems. Their resonances caused America to consider him the chief poet of his time in the late 19th Century and early 20th Century. During this period all of America knew of the Riley poetry of frontier American farm families, Hoosier cricks and corn shocks...and children. He might have been the last truly popular poet America has had.

     Through James Whitcomb Riley we know of hardy and yet tenderly vulnerable American pioneers of the West huddled together in a richly experiential yet poor earthly life. James Whitcomb Riley wrote songs for them to keep up their courage. With the way the world was aflame with disease hardship and hunger in the West, the early Americans of this place really needed the Riley poetry to lift their spirits. As America matured and entered the Twentieth Century, the influence of Riley grew and James Whitcomb Riley became an icon of a home soil poet.

     Some consider Riley as the voice of a new people. This folk was the confused remnant from the great American Civil War. After this deadly conflict pitting friend against friend, America's spirit needed direction and lifting very badly.

     Others connect James Whitcomb Riley only with the light-hearted and happy poetry of the later years of his life. James Whitcomb Riley really was a much beloved person and his poetry was heartening. He came to be known as the

"Children's Poet." His humanism, caring and depiction of the "heart" in children was captured in such

poems as "Little Orphant Annie."

 

                 LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE (1885)

 

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,

An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,

An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an'

sweep,

An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an-

keep;

An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,

We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun,

A-listenin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,

An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you

             Ef you

                  Don't

                      Watch

                          Out!

...

 

     It does not hurt to think of James Whitcomb Riley this

way. He was America's poet for children of his time as his

friend Rudyard Kipling was the poet for the children of the

British Empire.

     But Riley was so much more complicated than that. He

was an enigmatic creative genius. It is almost impossible to

learn about him or explain his life because he so completely

related to his age that he can hardly be separated from it.

We do know that Riley's life was not all joyous. He also felt

deeply wrenching despair. When James Whitcomb Riley was

suffering his deepest anguish about his life in the

Nineteenth Century, he fell into depression and occasional

alcoholism and knew great dejection for many reasons.  This

was primarily when he was a homeless young man in his

twenties.

     Riley did not arise to his most popular acclaim until

after his depression was brought under control-although never

fully conquered. Around Riley's thirtieth birthday, he

started building on the faith that helped him survive. He

began singing American versions of the "Christ Hymn" in

poetry. These were songs of hope and courage for living

humbly.

     The great poetry of James Whitcomb Riley, and those

poems, particularly his early "Benjamin Johnson of Boone"

poems, which made Riley the most famous poet of his time,

were frontier American "Christ Hymn" masterpieces.

 

          TO MY OLD FRIEND, WILLIAM LEACHMAN (1882)

 

Fer forty year and better you have been a friend to me,

Through days of sore afflictions and dire adversity,

You allus had a kind word of counsul to impart,

Which was like a healin' `intment to the sorrow of my hart.

 

When I buried my first womern, William Leachman, it was you

Had the only consolation that I could listen to -

Fer I knowed you had gone through it and had rallied from the

blow

And when you said I'd do the same, I knowed you'd ort to

know.

 

But that time I'll long remember; how I wundered here and

thare-

Through the settin'-room and kitchen, and out in the open

air-

And the snowflakes whirlin', whirlin', and the fields a

frozen glare,

And the neghbors' sleds and wagons congergatin ev'rywhare.

 

I turned my eyes to'rds heaven, but the sun was hid away;

I turned my eyes to'rds earth again, but all was cold and

gray;

And the clock, like ice a-crackin', clikt the icy hours in

two -

And my eyes'd never thawed out ef it hadn't been fer you!

 

We set thare by the smoke-house - me and you out thare alone-

Me a-thinkin' - you a-talkin' in a soothin' undertone -

You a-talkin' - me a-thinkin' of the summers long ago,

And a-writin' "Marthy - Marthy" with my finger in the snow!

 

William Leachman, I can see you jest as plane as I could

then;

And your hand is on my shoulder, and you rouse me up again;

And I see the tears a-drippin' from your own eyes, as you

say:

"Be rickonciled and bear it - we but linger fer a day!"

 

At the last Old Settlers' Meetin' we went j'intly, you and me

-

Your hosses and my wagon, as you wanted it to be;

And sence I can remember, from the time we've neghbored here,

In all sich friendly actions you have double-done your sheer.

 

It was better than the meetin', too, that nine-mile talk we

had

Of the times when we first settled here and travel was so

bad;

When we had to go on hoss-back, and sometimes on "Shank's

mare,"

And "blaze" a road fer them behind that had to travel thare.

 

And now we was a-trottin' 'long a level gravel pike

In a big two-hoss road-wagon, jest as easy as you like -

Two of us on the front seat, and our wimmern-folks behind,

A-settin' in theyr Winsor-cheers in perfect peace of mind!

 

And we pinted out old landmarks, nearly faded out of sight: -

Thare they ust to rob the stage-coach; thare Gash Morgan had

the fight

With the old stag-deer that pronged him - how he battled fer

his life,

And lived to prove the story by the handle of his knife.

 

Thare the first griss-mill was put up in the Settlement, and

we

Had tuck our grindin' to it in the Fall of Forty-three -

When we tuck our rifles with us, techin' elbows all the way,

And a-stickin' right together ev'ry minute, night and day.

 

Thare ust to stand the tavern that they called the

"Travelers' Rest,"

And thare, beyent the covered bridge, "The Counterfitters'

Nest" -

Whare they claimed the house was ha'nted - that a man was

murdered thare,

And burried underneath the floor, er 'round the place

somewhare.

 

And the old Plank-road they laid along in Fifty-one er two -

You know we talked about the times when the old road was new:

How "Uncle Sam" put down that road and never taxed the State

Was a problem, don't you rickollect, we couldn't dimonstrate?

 

Ways was devius, William Leachman, that me and you has past;

But as I found you true at first, I find you true at last;

And, now the time's a-comin' mighty nigh our jurney's end,

I want to throw wide open all my soul to you, my friend.

 

With the stren'th of all my bein', and the heat of hart and

brane,

And ev'ry livin' drop of blood in artery and vane,

I love you and respect you, and I venerate your name,

Fer the name of William Leachman and True Manhood's jest the

same!

 

     By the time of his death, James Whitcomb Riley's

folklore and poetry had come to personally represent

America's vision of itself in humility and redemption. How

this could happen is not only strange but close to miraculous

considering the temperance forces at work in America at the

same time as Riley's years of great popularity. One would

have thought they would have teamed up against Riley because

of his occasional very public bouts of intoxication. They

never did. Riley's "affliction" (alcoholism) was forgiven

him because the age needed to be reassured by the re-singing

of the humble message of the "Christ Hymn."

     By the time of Riley's death, he was highly revered with

celebrations of his birthday all across America. His poetry

was sung in America's voice. In describing the affect of

Riley's death upon the nation, Meredith Nicholson, author and

Editor of the Indianapolis NEWS from 1885 to 1897, wrote, "On

a day in July, 1916, thirty-five thousand people passed under

the dome of the Indiana capitol to look for the last time

upon the face of James Whitcomb Riley. The best-loved citizen

of the Hoosier commonwealth was dead, and laborers and

mechanics in their working clothes, professional and business

men, women in great numbers, and a host of children paid

their tribute of respect to one whose sold claim upon their

interest lay in his power to voice their feelings of

happiness and grief in terms within the common understanding.

The very general expressions of sorrow and affection evoked

by the announcement of the poet's death encourage the belief

that the lines that formed on the capitol steps might have

been augmented endlessly by additions drawn from every part

of America."

     The incredible path of Riley's life which led to this

outcome is the story that follows.

     How did the public perceive such a poet?

     The answer seems that James Whitcomb Riley was taken

mainly as a humorist and entertainer in his time.

     "Riley" was fun. He dealt in the healing influence of

laughter and humor. He was Riley at play as a mischievous

comic, "dialect singer" and entertainer.  This was the

perception of Riley from his days on the lyceum circuit when

his "lectures" to great public audiences all around the

country were managed by the great James Redpath and his

Boston Redpath Bureau and by the successor "manager" Major

James B. Pond of New York and his agency. Being a popular

lyceum speaker gave Riley huge access to the American public

in the Post-Civil War era.  This was, of course, an age

before electronic media. Folk went out to public lecture

halls for entertainment in those days instead of watching

televisions in their homes.

     A "popular" picture of James Whitcomb Riley comes to us

from the promotional literature about him.  Called "The

Autobiography of James Whitcomb Riley," it was not really

written by Riley at all but rather "in fun" by Edgar Wilson

Nye, Riley's great platform partner during the 1880's.  It is

quoted here clothed in Nye's humor:

            AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

                     Written by Himself

                  Through Edgar Wilson Nye.

     The unhappy subject of this sketch was born so long ago

that he persists in never referring to the date.  Citizens of

his native town of Greenfield, Ind., while warmly welcoming

his advent, were no less anxious some few years ago to "speed

the parting guest." It seems, in fact, that, the better they

came to know him, the more resigned they were to give him up.

He was ill-starred from the very cradle, it appears.  One

day, while but a toddler, he climbed, unseen, to an open

window where some potted flowers were ranged, and while

leaning from his high chair far out, to catch some dainty,

gilded butterfly, perchance, he lost his footing and, with a

piercing shriek, fell headlong to the gravelled walk below;

and when, an instant later, the affrighted parents picked

him up, he was - a poet.

    The father of young Riley was a lawyer of large practice,

who used, in moments of deep thought, to regard this boy as

the worst case he ever had.  This may have been the reason

that, in time, he insisted on his reading law, which the boy

really tried to do; but, finding that political economy and

Blackstone didn't rhyme, he slid out of the office one hot,

sultry afternoon, and ran away with a patent medicine and

concert wagon, from the tail end of which he was discovered

by some relatives in the next town, violently abusing a brass

drum. This was a proud moment for the boy; nor did his

peculiar presence of mind entirely desert him till all the

country fairs were over for the season.  Them afar off, among

strangers in a strange State, he thought it would be fine to

make a flying visit home.  But he couldn't fly. Fortunately,

in former years he had purloined some knowledge of a trade.

He could paint a sign, or a house, or a tin roof - if some

one else would furnish him the paint - and one of Riley's

hand-painted picket fences gave rapture to the most exacting

eye. Yet, through all his stress and trial, he preserved a

simple, joyous nature, together with an ever widening love of

men and things in general.  He made friends, and money, too -

enough, at last, to gratify the highest ambition of his life,

namely, to own an overcoat with fur around the tail of it.

He then groped his way back home, and worked for nothing on a

little country paper that did not long survive the blow.

Again excusing himself, he took his sappy paragraphs and

poetry to another paper and another town, and there did

better till he spoiled it all by devising a Poe poem fraud,

by which he lost his job; and, in disgrace and humiliation

shoe-mouth deep, his feelings gave way beneath his feet, and

his heart broke with a loud report.  So the true poet was

born.

     Of the poet's present personality we need speak but

briefly.  His dress is at once elegant and paid for.  It is

even less picturesque than all-wool.  Not liking hair

particularly, he wears but little, and that of the mildest

shade.  He is a good speaker - when spoken to - but a much

better listener, and often longs to change places with his

audience so that he also may retire.  In his writings he

probably shows at his best.  He always tries to, anyway.

Knowing the manifold faux pas and "breaks" in this life of

ours, his songs are sympathetic and sincere.  Speaking coyly

of himself, one day, he said: "I write from the heart; that's

one thing I like about me. I may not write a good hand, and

my `copy' may occasionally get mixed up with the market

reports, but, all the same, what challenges my admiration is

that humane peculiarity of mine - i.e., writing from the

heart  - and, therefore, to the heart."

     More about this side of Riley "the humorist" and the

public perception of the man will follow, but I take the

biographer's prerogative of focusing on what I find the most

revealing about James Whitcomb Riley first.

 

            A "TWINTORETTE" IN THE MORNING PAPER

 

     To know about this enigmatic figure of the American

frontier, humor and Incarnation Theology ("kenoticism"3), it

would have helped to open up a Hoosier newspaper, The

Indianapolis Saturday HERALD," on August 24, 1878. The

citizens of Indiana found one of the strangest writings in

all of literature on its page 6.

     What was it?

     The piece called itself a "Twintorette." What was that?

     It was embedded in a column calling itself:

"Respectfully Declined" Papers of The Buzz Club, Number IV.

What was the Buzz Club?  Who wrote it?  The piece had a cast

as a play does. Was it a play?

     Time revealed that the author of "The Flying Islands of

the Night" was the young Hoosier poet, James Whitcomb Riley,

very early in his career and long before fame settled upon

him. In this "flight" lies the answer to Riley's poetry of

love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,

gentleness, and self-control, the kenotic categories of

expression of the spirit of the "Christ Hymn."

 

1.  The whole "Christ Hymn" is as follows:

     "Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ

Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery

to be equal with God: But made himself of no reputation, and

took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the

likeness of men: And being found in fashion as a man, he

humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the

death of the cross. Wherefore God also hath highly exalted

him, and give him a name which is above every name: That at

the name of Jesus every knee should bow..."

2. The first Incarnation theologians of the Nineteenth

Century were the Germans: Thomasius, its founder, Neander,

Dorner, Van Oosterzee, Pressense, Schneckenburger, Liddon,

Uhlhorn, Edersheim, soon joined by such as J.P. Lange, and

C.A. Ross. A primary text of the German inception is found in

the Nineteenth Century lectures of Alexander Bruce, D.D,

in THE HUMILIATION OF CHRIST and R.J. Cooke's THE INCARNATION

AND RECENT CRITICISM. A more recent work (1965) is Claude

Welch, GOD AND INCARNATION IN MID-NINETEENTH CENTURY GERMAN

THOUGHT.  An easy-to-read introduction to the subject is

found in the OXFORD DICTIONARY OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH, ed.

by F.L. Cross under "Kenotic theories." Interesting

variations of Incarnation Theology appeared concurrently in

Germany such as Hegel's conception that the Incarnation was

manifest in the human race in general and not in individuals.

Even at the theological level, Incarnation Theology engaged

the age's social Darwinism. SEE: Herbert Spencer's SYNTHETIC

PHILOSOPHY, "First Principles," part 1, in which God is seen

as an unknown and unknowable substratum of all phenomena

rather than one known through human appearance.  These should

get started someone interested in Nineteenth Century theology

such as became expressed popularly by James Whitcomb Riley's

poetry. None of course explains the phenomenon of the

Incarnation because, as theologian Edward Towne says, "What

is a mystery if it can be dissolved away in an explanation?"

3. "Kenoticism" is a more technical name for Incarnation

Theology of the Nineteenth Century. It is an idea of

"emptying out oneself." It derives from the Greek adjective

"kenos" - the adjective used in the Philippian's "Christ

Hymn" to describe Jesus's act of casting off pride, advantage

and power to find satisfaction in a humble life.

 

 

 

               THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT

 

     Marcus Dickey, the secretary of James Whitcomb Riley

once wrote, "It was not the habit of the Hoosier Poet to

explain.  Again and again his friends saw him as through a

glass darkly.  At times he took conspicuous pride in

concealing his thought and his way of doing things.  My

assumptions concerning him remained assumptions.  The more

his friends sought to know his history the more capriciously

he concealed it."

     In the cryptic poem that follows Riley revealed his own

life in the form of an autobiography with himself in his

various "soul-selves" as the cast except for the woman who

was his great encourager and "soul partner."

 

   JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY: THE POET AS FLYING ISLANDS OF THE

NIGHT: A BRIEF INTRODUCTION TO RILEY'S AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL POEM

 

    It is a simple fact that James Whitcomb Riley tended to

write out of his own experiences. There is not a single poem

where Riley's fantasies are not based on some projection out

of his life. Riley's prodigious imagination used himself

always to create his poetry.

    If this is so, where does Riley's "The Flying Islands of

the Night" fit in? It is certainly obscure at places. It

stands out so in the body of his poetry like a sore thumb

because of its length as well as its oddity.

    The only answer appears to be that Riley made it obscure

for a reason. It was the most "personal" poem he ever wrote.

The poem describes the groping of his own soul. It is the

last rush of the madness from his impetuous youth.  Then

Riley sheltered his soul from criticism by obscuring his

poetic expression of it.

    Riley's autobiographical poem (from age 28-but revised

at intervals) originally contained two great themes and a

minor one. The most important was Riley's "dark play" on his

own dire alcoholism. The language is a combination of Middle

English spiced with American folklore, and "intoxicatese"

creating a fantastic and wildly "astronomically" extravagant

imagery. The origins of all of this will be explained later.

     For now we need only remember Riley's fear of his

alcoholism as its most basic theme. Riley portrays himself

"married" to alcoholism personified as the "nasty" Queen

Crestillomeem.  Riley is first introduced as his minstrel

self called Jucklet.  This is Riley's "survival self" at the

soul level.  Jucklet has to live "underground" and he can

only "peep out" when Crestillomeem permits.

     Riley lived by his wits and was often penniless during

the period of his "minstrel wandering" twenties. Now he had

begun consoling himself from tragic events in his life with

overuse of alcohol. This poem tells us of the outcome of all

of this.  You will be very surprised.

     In "The Flying Islands of the Night" Riley must

experience the effects of alcoholism. The "night" in the

title is a reference to alcohol addiction.  Riley's

contempary of the related book FIFTEEN YEARS IN HELL, Luther

Benson, says:"...From time to time until I tried to break the

terrible chain...of intemperance, my life was one long,

hopeless, blank, black night." Riley's alcoholism was his

night too.  He feared himself sinking into a "night" of

depression, delirium and madness.

     The second great theme is Riley's groping for salvation

from his alcoholism. As his mind turns to recollections of

loving encouragement and true friendship he has known, he

remembers Nellie Millikan Cooley, a married friend, who has

just died in Illinois critical days before the poem was

written. Nellie is the only other character in the original

play which is not a Riley "personified personality

breakdown." Nellie is "Dwainie" who tells the fearfully

drunken Riley she will continue to encourage him and love him

even though she is now dead.

     How can this be? Another surprise is in store!

     The version of "The Flying Islands of the Night"

which follows was the original one. In a later expansion of

the original play for a book, Riley adds his mother,

Elizabeth as "AEo" as an encourager along with Nellie.

Dwainie will eventually convince Riley in the poem that she

is still encouraging him in spirit and this gives Riley the

strength to produce the Godly poetry of "Spraivoll," the

"tune fool" of Riley's cast of self-characters.

     A minor comical but tragic theme is the "Murphy"

pledge that temperance ladies were requiring young men to

sign at the time the play was written. This pledge committed

a person not to drink intoxicants. Riley had recently seen

how futile such a pledge was and enjoyed harpooning it.

His brother, Hum (Reuben Alexander Humboldt Riley), took one

as revealed in this letter to brother John Riley, in 1877:

"... within the last few days, on the evening of the 4th of

July, I commenced a work that will in time make me more money

than any other work I could engage in. I think it is the most

honorable work a young man can engage in. I celebrated the

4th in a better way than I ever did before. On that morning I

signed the Murphy Pledge and have been at work ever since in

that great cause and hope before a great while to bring a

great many more into the ranks and try and bring the cause to

a great and glorious end. We have already taken in some of

the boys such as Jim Walsh, John Huley, John Skinner and his

father and many others to (sic) numerous to mention. When I

went up to take the pledge Father Wilson kissed me and told

me to stick to it. I told him I would try..."

     Hum couldn't make it. Disastrous drinking soon followed.

The Murphy pledge was a joke. Signing a pledge proved not a

real commitment to anything. Hum became an alcoholic so

severely that often he would disappear without word requiring

his family to try to locate him wherever they could find him.

In this same year Riley was dealing with his own alcoholism

he saw what alcoholism was doing to his brother Hum. A letter

contemporaneous to Riley's "The Flying Islands of the Night,"

reads:

 

Friend "Meeks" --

     Hum left on noon train to-day and as he was "full", and

none of us knew where he started for, we are all greatly

distressed.  He went east, and it has occurred to me that

possibly he had gone to see you -- thence this letter of

inquiry. And now, dear Jim tell me if he is with you, and if

so I charge you, with all earnestness, do what you can to

keep him from whisky - for he is killing himself and breaking

all our hearts at home.  He is good, and wouldn't act as he

does could he realize what he is doing -- and I trust and

believe that you will do all in your power to turn him from

it.  I tried to see him before he went, and was at the depot,

but he slipped me somehow.  I wanted to tell him that if he

got hard up to write to me for money -- I will raise it if he

needs it, and if you see him you must tell him so for me.  If

he is not with you try to find him along the line by

telegraphing, and I will compensate you for your trouble.  It

may be that he has not gone far, but let me know at once if

you know anything of him.

                        Very truly yours

                                J.W. Riley.

     Hum's fitful life continued. We know he was in

Indianapolis in Feb., 1881, and wrote sister Mary to send him

"his things" by express train in a telegram of Feb. 25th.

Hum died November 24, 1881 at 5 a.m. at age 25 from severe

hemorrhage of the bowels according to the Riley family Bible

at the Riley Birthplace in Greenfield, Indiana.  Someone

noted underneath the entry "typhoid fever," but the suspicion

is a complication of alcoholism. Hum's funeral was apparently

on the Friday following. Hum isn't mentioned thereafter in

family correspondence.

     Crestillomeem got his younger brother and now the

alluring siren was after James Whitcomb Riley!

     The version of "The Flying Islands of the Night" which

follows is the first one published. The poem seems an

excellent point of departure for a biography of the poet's

life. I apologize if "The Flying Islands of the Night" is

sometimes hard to follow.  Riley wrote it that way to cause

it to be mysterious and secretive to protect his very fragile

ego. Just remember that Riley was all the characters in the

cast that follows except "Dwainie."

     Only a creative genius might conceive of himself in such

an odd but imaginative way.  This was James Whitcomb Riley.

     His poem continues into Three Acts which we will examine

in greater detail as an aid in unraveling the knot of his

life - a chapter per character at a time.

     Perhaps we should allow Riley to introduce his own

autobiography as he did at his "Buzz Club" newspaper

article - through Mr.  Clickwad - one of the fictional

members-who says of the piece: "This is an affliction,"

continued Mr. Clickwad, unrolling an enormous manuscript,

"too great for me to bear alone, and I ask your succor and

assistance as humbly and earnestly as ever beggar asked for

alms."

 

              THE FLYING ISLANDS OF THE NIGHT.

                       A Twintorette.

 

Dramatis Personae1

KRUNG.........................King of the Spirks

CRESTILLOMEEM..........................The Queen

SPRAIVOLL..........................The Tune Fool

AMPHINE.............................Son of Krung

DWAINIE.............................Of the Wunks2

JUCKLET....................................Dwarf

CREECH,      )

             )........................Nightmares

GRITCHFANG,  ) Counselors, Courtiers, Etc.

 

1. The names of the characters have loosely evocative

associative qualities. Krung is Riley's triumphant public

reputation- or his hopes about it, a sober and rational

personality in responsibility, success and empowerment. It is

Riley as Cronus (or "Kronus"), the Titan, and "King."

Spraivoll is the poetic "tune-fool" Riley. It is Riley the

"Christ hymn" poet. The aspect of poetry has the feminine

gender, as Calliope, the muse of poetry was feminine. Amphine

evokes Riley as a lover like Amphion, son of Zeus and

Antiope, who, in Greek legend, built Thebes by music of lute

which he played so melodiously that the stones danced into

walls and houses. Riley played the guitar and violin for

romantic purposes. Dwainie is his inspirational friend,

recently deceased at the time of the first writing of "The

Flying Islands," Nellie Millikan Cooley, wife of George B.

Cooley.  "Dwainie" suggests the Old English word "Dwine"

meaning waste away.  Nellie was recently dead when "The

Flying Islands" was first written in August 1878.  Riley

shared the author Thomas Chatterton's fascination with old

English sounding names.  Chatterton's writings were major

inspiration for this poem. "Jucklet" the dwarf is Riley as

self-admitted prankster but also Riley's survival self since

Riley can only survive by his wits. The name evokes juggler

from the Latin joculator, a jester, or joker in the Middle

Ages. Jugglers of those days accompanied minstrels and

troubadours and added entertainments to musical performances,

e.g. sleight of hand, antics, feats of musing prowess and a

staple of tricks.  The form is in the diminutive just as

Riley was small. The nightmares suggest interior aspects of

creed for Creetch and dreads of novel encounters or

depressive events where Riley is "greenhorn" and engaged or

bitten as by fangs as Gritchfang. That the names are not

entirely imaginative, but rather referential and elliptical

is supported by some evidence. The poet in his 1898 edition

of "The Flying Islands" added a footnote to additions to

"Spirk and Wunk Rhymes," saying, "So, too, in numberless

other aspects, must the reader's fancy freely-play- even as

the writer frankly confesses his own has done,- in such

particulars, for instances, as fancying the "ont-l-dawn-bird"

of the Flying Islanders is our nightingale; their "trance-

bird" our humming-bird; their "echo-bird" our mocking-bird,

etc., etc., ad infinitum."

2. A wunk is a Hoosier folklore figure. It is not what it

appears to be. It is like a ghost that can take on outward

appearance at night of anything or anyone it wishes to.

                            ACT I

SCENE - THE FLYING ISLANDS Scene I. - Spirkland at Moondawn -

Interior of the King's Court - A star burns dimly in the dome

above the throne- Enter Crestillomeem.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          The throne is throwing wide its gilded arms

          To welcome me. The throne of Krung! Ha! ha!

          Leap up, ye lazy echoes, and laugh loud!

          For I, Crestillomeem, the queen - ha! ha!

          Do fling my richest mirth into your mouths

          That ye may fatten ripe with mockery!

          I wonder what the kingdom would become

          Were I not here to nurse it like a babe,

          And dandle1 it beyond the silly reach

          Of sycophants and serfs.  Ho! Jucklet, ho!

          `Tis  time my twisted warp of nice anatomy

          Were here to weave away upon our web -

          Of silken villainies.  Ho! Jucklet, ho!

1."Dandle" is something like dangle and handle

mixed up.

(Lifts a secret door to the pave, and drops a star-bud

through the opening.  Enter Jucklet.)

                          JUCKLET.

          Spang sprit1! my gracious queen, but thou hast

               scorched

          My left ear to a cinder, and my head

          Rings like a ding-dong on the coast of death!

          For, patient hate! thy hasty signal burst

          Full in my face as thitherward I came;

          But though my lug2 is fried to a crisp, and my

          Singed wig stinks like a little sun-stewed wunk,

          I stretch my fragrant presence at thy feet,

          And kiss thy sandal with a blistered lip.

1. "Sprit" is Chatterton's representation of the verb for

"gives spirit" at "AElla," 2.1332. Chatterton, living in the

century prior to Riley, wrote poetry which he fraudulently

claimed was written by a monk named Rowley of the 15th

Century. Chatterton sold these forgeries for income.  The

poetry was actually rather good and came to be much admired

by Riley. There was no such monk as Rowley, of course, and

Chatterton killed himself with arsenic at the age of 17 when

his deception was discovered.

2. The external ear in this use.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          Hold! rare-done fool, lest I may call the cook

          And bake thee brown! How fares the king by this?

                          JUCKLET.

          I left him sleeping1, but uncorked his nose,

          And o'er the odorous blossom of his lips2

          I squeezed the tinctured sponge, and felt his pulse

          Come staggering back to regularity.

          And four hours hence his highness will awake

          and Peace will take a nap.

1. The setting is Riley sleeping off intoxication which

becomes subject to delirium in Act II, with recovery in Act

III.

2. "Liquor breath."

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          Ha! what mean you?

                          JUCKLET.

          I mean that he suspects our knaveries.

          Some traitor spy is burrowed in the court

          Whose unseen eye is ever focused fine

          Upon our actions, and whose hungry ear

          Eats every crumb of counsel that  we drop

          In these our secret interviews -for he -

          The king - thro' all his talking-sleep to-day

          Has jabbered of intrigue, conspiracy,

          And treachery and hate in fellowship,

          With dire designs upon his royal self,

          To oust him from the throne.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          He spoke my name?

                          JUCKLET.

          I never hear him speak but that thy name

          Makes melody of every sentence.  Yes, -

          He thinks thou art as true to him as thou

          Art fickle, false and subtle! O how blind,

          and lame and deaf and dumb, and worn and weak,

          And faint and sick, and all-commodious

          His dear love1 is!

1. Riley's love of alcohol.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          Wilt thou wind up thy tongue

          Nor let it tangle in a knot of words!

          What said the king?

                          JUCKLET.

          He said: "Crestillomeem -

          O that she knew this great distress of mine!

          For she would counsel with me, and her voice

          Would flow in limpid wisdom o'er my wounds,

          And, like an ointment, lave my hidden grief,

          And heal my bleeding heart;" and so went on

          Spinning the web of love in which he lies

          Bound hand and foot and buzzing helplessly.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          And did he drop no hint of his distress,

          And how, and when, and whence his trouble came?

                          JUCKLET.

          He spoke as the tho' some woman talked with him -

          Full courteously he said: "In woman's guise

          Thou comest, yet I think thou art indeed

          But woman in thy form; they words are strange,

          And I am mystified! I feel the truth

          Of all thou hast declared, and yet so vague

          And shadow-like thy meaning is to me,

          I know not how to act to ward the blow

          Thou say'st is a hanging o'er me even now."

          And then, with open hands held pleadingly,

          He asked, "Who is my foe?" and o'er his face

          A sudden pallor flashed like death itself,

          As tho' if answer had been given it

          Had fallen like a curse.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          I'll stake my soul

          `Tis Dwainie1, of the Wunks, who peeks and peers

          With those fine eyes of hers in our affairs,

          And carries Krung,  in some disguise, these hints

          Of our intent! See thou that silence falls

          Forever on her lips, and that the sight

          She wastes upon our secret action blurs

          With gray and grisly skum that shall for aye

          Conceal us from her gaze while she writhes blind

          And fangless as the fat worms of the grave.

          Here, take this tuft of downy druze, and when

          Thou comest on her, fronting full and fair,

          Say "Sherzham!" thrice, and fluff it in her face.

1. Nellie Millikan Cooley, Riley's beloved married friend,

who died shortly before the publication of this piece.

 

                          JUCKLET.

          Thou knowest little magic, O, my queen,

          But all thou dost is very excellent.

          And now for Amphine - he, too, doubtless, has

          Been favored with an outline of our scheme.

          And I would kick my soul all over hell

          If I might juggle his fine figure up

          In such a shape as mine.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          Then this: if thou

          Canst ever find him bent above a flower,

          Or any blooming thing, and thou canst slip

          Behind and reach it first and touch it fair,

          And with thy knuckle strike him on the breast,

          Then his fine form will shrink and shrivel up

          As warty as a toad's  - so hideous

          Thine own will seem a marvel of rare grace,

          Tho' idly speakest them of mystic skill

          `Twas that which won the king for me - `twas that

          Bereft him of his daughter1 ere we had

          Been wedded for a month; she strangely went

          Astray one morning from the palace steps;

          And when the dainty vagrant came not back

          And all the spies in Spirkland in her quest

          Came straggling empty-handed home again

          Why, then the wise king wiped his rainy eyes

          And sagely tho't the little toddler strayed

          Out to the island's edge and tumbled off.

          I could have set his mind at ease on that;

          I could have told him when she tumble off.

          I tumbled her, and tumbled her so far

          She tumbled in another land, from which

          But one charm known to art can tumble her

          Back into this.

1. Spraivoll, Riley's poetic self, in this delirium tremens

attack from alcoholic binge.

                          JUCKLET.

          Ay, true enough, perhaps!

          But dost thou know that rumors float about

          Among thy subjects of thy sorceries?

          And if my counsel is worth aught to thee,

          Then have a care thy charms do not revert

          Upon thyself!

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          Ha! ha! no fear of that

          While Krung remains -

(She pauses abruptly, and a voice of exquisite melody is

heard singing.)

                           VOICE.

          When kings are kings, and kings are men -

               And the lonesome rain1 is raining -

          O who shall rule from the red2 throne then,

          And who shall wield the scepter when -

               When the winds3 are all complaining?

 

          When men are men, and men are kings -

               And the lonesome rain is raining -

          O who shall list as the minstrel sings

          Of the ermine robes and the signet rings

               when the winds are all complaining?

 

1. Rain most often refers to God's judgment on sinners in

frontier American poetry. Such imagery often derives from

scripture in this case possibly Ez. 38.22.

2. Red is the color of sin in frontier American Protestant

folklore. This probably derives from Isaiah 1.18.  The sin in

this use would be the overuse of alcohol.

3. The wind is often a depiction of the operation of the Holy

Spirit within the world in the same folklore tradition. John

3.8. In light of the imagery of Spraivoll's initial poem, we

would suspect the answer to the poem's question is no one.

 

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          Whence flows that sweetness, and whose voice is

          that?

                          JUCKLET.

          The voice of Spraivoll if mine ears are tuned.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          And who is Spraivoll, and what song is that she

          sings?

                          JUCKLET.

          Spraivoll, the Tune Fool is she called

          By those who meet her in her nightly rounds.1

          She comes from Wunkland, as she so declares,

          And has been roosting round the palace here

          For half a moon.

1. Riley only wrote poetry at night.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          And pray, where is she perched?

                           JUCKLET

          Under some dingy cornice1, like enough.

          She is no woman, tho' - and yet, indeed

          She is licensed idiot, and drifts

          About as restless, and as useless, too,

          As any lazy breeze in summertime.

          I'll call her forth to greet your majesty -

          Ho! Spraivoll! Ho! my plumeless bird, flit here!

1. Riley was writing most of his poetry at this time in a

place he called the "Morgue," an upstairs space in row office

buildings in downtown Greenfield, Indiana.

(From behind a group of statuary Spraivoll enters.)

                    SPRAIVOLL. (Singing1)

          Ting-along aling-ting!  Tingle-tee!  Ting-aling,

          aling-ting! Tingle-tee!

          The world runs round and round for me;

          Wind it up with a golden key

          Ting-aling, aling-ting! Tingle-tee!

1. Spraivoll's songs contain ellided and unintelligible

words because, we remember, Riley cannot write poetry

while he is intoxicated as he is in Acts I and II.  Spraivoll

does much better in Act III when she is "herself" or rather

Riley "himself."

                          JUCKLET.

          Who art thou, woman, and what singest thou?

                    SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.)

          What sings the breene1 on the wertling-vine2,

               And the tweck3 on the bamner-stem4?

          The song they sing is the same as mine,

               And mine is the same to them.

1. Probably a brown wren. Under Chatterton's "Rowley"

technicalities, any word that can take a terminal "e"

does so.  Riley's poem has elements of Chatterton "takeoff."

2. Wert, wyrt, wairt, wurt, wort (as in liverwort) refers

to a herb in Middle English.  A "wertling-vine" is possibly

a herb-vine.

3. Probably suggestive of a "twaddling" (or silly) "peck" or

"woodpecker" although the "tw" might refer to the Middle

English twecche (twitch).

4. A "bamner-stem" is possibly a "runner bamboo stem" or some

such.

                          JUCKLET.

          Your majesty may be surprised somewhat,

          But Spraivoll cannot talk; her only mode

          Of speech is melody; and thou might'st put

          The gifted fool a-thousand questions, and

          In full return, receive a thousand songs,

          Each set to different tunes - as full of naught

          As space is full of emptiness.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          A fool?

          A fool, and with a voice so strangely sweet?

          A fool?

                          JUCKLET.

          Ay, warranted! Around the world

          She walks unrivalled, and a queen of fools -

          Eh, Spraivoll?

                    SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.)

          O, Aye! Tho' Spirkland has grown great

               In foolish ways, I ween

          Her greatest fool will intimate,

               He bows to me as queen.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          So! my Jucklet finds his peer!

          Come hither woman, and be not afraid,

          For I like fools so well I married one.

          And since thou art a queen of fools, and he

          A king, why I've a mind to bring you two

          Together in some way.  Canst use thy tongue

          in such a wise thy hearer can but list?

                    SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.)

          If one should ask me for a song

               And I should answer, then my tongue

          Would twitter, trill and troll along

               Until the song was done.

 

          Or should one ask me for my tongue,

               And I should answer with a song,

          I'd trill it till the song was sung

               And troll it all along.

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          Thou art indeed a fool, and one I think

          To serve my purpose well.  Give ear to me!

          And Jucklet, thou go to the king and wait

          His waking; then repeat these words: "The queen

          Impatiently awaits his majesty,

          And craves his presence in the Tower of Stars,1

          That she may there express all tenderly

          Her great solicitude and" - there, say this:

          "So much she bade,  and drooped her glowing face

          Deep in the shadows of her unbound hair,

          And with a flashing gesture of her arm

          Turned all the moonlight pallid, saying, "Haste!"

1.  A "tower of stars" is the prison of his hopes for

success. In Riley's personal symbolism, a tower is a place of

bondage where one is made a prisoner. SEE: Contemporaneous

Riley letter to the Cooleys and his beloved married friend,

Nellie Cooley, dated October 28, 1877 "...take me your

prisoner and `fasten me down forever in the round tower of

your heart; and I'll never murmur for release till heaven

dawns thro the gates." In Riley imagery, stars have to do

with success. In a letter to his brother John of Nov. 16,

1874, Riley states, "In those dark hours (of drifting while a

sign painter), I should have been content with the twinkle of

the tiniest star."

                          JUCKLET.

          And would it not be well to hang a pearl

          Or two upon thy silken lashes?

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          Go! (Jucklet disappears.)

          Now fool, I'll furnish thee a topic for

          A song: A woman once, with angel in

          Her face and devil in her heart, had cause

          To breed confusion to her sovereign lord,

          And work the downfall of his haughty son -

          The issue of a former marriage, who

          Inspired her hatred from the very first;

          Thro' her the king is haunted with a dream

          That he is soon to die, and so prepares

          The throne for the ascension of the son.

          The woman now has won the husband's love,

          And by her craft and wanton flatteries

          Sways him to every purpose but the one

          Most coveted. And so, to serve that end

          She would make use of thee, and if thou dost

          Her will as her good pleasure shall direct.

          Why, thou shalt sing at court, and thy sweet voice

          Shall woo the echoes of the listening throne.

          At present does the king lie in a sleep

          Drug-wrought and deep as death - the after-phase

          Of an unconscious state in which each act

          Of his throughout his waking hours is so

          Rehearsed in manner, motion, deed and word

          Her spies may  tell her of his very tho't,

          And should he come upon the throne to-night

          Where his wise counselors sit waiting him,

          Then has she cause to think her purposes

          Will fall in jeopardy; but if he fail,

          Thro' any means, to lend his presence there,

          Then, by a former mandate, is his queen

          Empowered with all sovereignty to reign

          And work the royal purposes instead.

          Therefore the queen has set an interview

          With him that will occur at noon to-night -

          One hour ere the time the throne convenes -

          And with her thou shalt go, and lie in wait

          Until she signal thee to sing, and then

          Shalt thou so work upon his mellow mood With that

          unearthly magic of thy voice -

          So dazzle all his serious tho't with dreams -

          The queen may, all unnoticed, slip away,

          And leave thee singing to a throneless king.

                    SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.)

            And who shall sing for the haughty son

               While the good king droops his head?

            And will he dream when the song is done

               That a princess fair lies dead?1

1. If he is drunk, can he forget about his dead friend,

Dwainie (Nellie) recently deceased?

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          The  haughty son has found his "song" sweet curse

          And may she sing his everlasting dirge!

          She comes from that near-floating land of thine,

          And with her fairer skin and finer ways,

          Has caught the prince between her mellow palms And

          stroked him flutterless. Didst ever hear

          Of Dwainie, of the Wunks?

                   SPRAIVOLL. (Singing.)1

               Ay, "Dwainie! My Dwainie!"

                 The lurloo2 ever sings,

               A tremor in his flossy crest

                 And in his glossy wings,

               And "Dwainie! My Dwainie"

                 The winnow welvers call,

               But Dwainie hides in Spirkland

                 And answers not at all.

 

               The teeper3 twitters "Dwainie!"

                 The tcheucker4 on his spray

               Teeters up and down the wind

                 And will not fly away;

               And "Dwainie! My  Dwainie:"

                  The drowsy oovers5 drawl;

               But Dwainie hides in Spirkland

                  And answers not at all.

 

               O Dwainie! my Dwainie,!

                  The breezes hold their breath;

               The stars are pale as blossoms,

                  And the night as still as death;

               And "Dwainie! My Dwainie!"

                 The fainting echoes fall;

               But Dwainie hides in Spirkland

                  And answers not at all.

 

1. A poem of Riley's anguish over his separation from his

great soul-mate, Nellie Cooley, so recently deceased.

Spraivoll, Riley's poetic self, cannot reach Nellie; only

Amphine, Riley's manifestation of love, can as we will soon

discover.

2. Dwainie (Nellie Cooley) is evoked to Riley by an alluring

but hidden spirit. "Lurloo" is a name in intoxicated

onomatopoeia through formation of allegorical qualities

rather than from animal sounds. The name probably derives

from the archaic form "lure" in the sense of an enticement or

allure and the loo which suggests a masking of an appearance

as in the loo or mask a woman wore to avoid tanning her

complexion. The fantastic bird creatures of "Dwainie" are

spirits, a common Riley catachresis extending the obvious

"bird" word into a proper poetic, as in "Song of the Rain."

3. Something which "tees" draws, tugs, pulls. Such a spirit

twitters about Dwainie.  Possibly a tree-toad which is said

to "twitter" in Riley's poem "A Treat Ode" of roughly

contemporaneous time. ("Scurious-like!" said the tree-toad, -

\"I've twittered for rain all day...")

4. A tcheucker has the intoxicatese onomatopoeic ring of a

squirrel's call.

5. oover suggests a compaction of "owl hooting overhead"

giving its "hooooooooot."

 

                       CRESTILLOMEEM.

          A melody ecstatic, and thy words

          Altho' so meaningless, seem something more -

          A vague and shadowy something, eerie-like,

          That makes me catch my breath all tremulous,

          But save thy music! Come, that I may make

          Thee ready for thy royal auditor. (Exeunt).

 

 

                           ACT II

Scene 2. - A garden of Krung's palace, screened from the moon

and lighted with star flakes.  An arbor, near which is a

table spread with a repast. A fountain, near which Amphine

sits thrumming a trentoraine.1

1. "Thrumming" is like strumming with his thumb. Trentoraine,

is probably something like a "trembling instrument sounding

like rain" or some such, most likely Riley's guitar with

which he entertained Nellie on many evenings in his early

twenties.

                          AMPHINE.

          O warbling strand of silver, where, oh where

          Hast thou unraveled that sweet voice of thine,

          And left its silken murmurs quavering

          In spasms of delight? O golden wire,

          Where hast thou spilled thy precious twinkerings

          What thirsty ear ear has drained thy melody

          And left me but a wild, delirious drop

          To tincture all my soul with vain desire?

          O, Trentoraine, how like an empty vase

          Thou art - whose clustering blooms of song have

          drooped

          And faded, one by one, and fallen away

          And left to me but dry and tuneless stems,

          And crisp and withered tendrils of a voice

          Whose thrilling tone, now like a throttled sound

          Lies stifled, faint, and gasping all in vain

          For utterance. (Enter Dwainie1, unperceived)

          O empty husk of song,

          If deep within my heart the music thou

          Hast stored away might find an opening,

          A fount of limpid laughter would leap up

          And gurgle from my lips, and all the winds

          Would revel round me riotous with joy;

          And Dwainie in her beauty would lean o'er

          The battlements of night, and like the moon,

          The glory of her face would light the world,

          For I would sing of love,

1. Riley's beloved - and dead - Nellie appears in spirit.

Riley elsewhere calls her his "truest friend on earth, or now

in heaven" in a letter to Nellie's daughter, Mrs. Emma Cox,

on April 10, 1885.  He adds, "God bless us always with the

sweetness of her memory!"

          DWAINIE. (Concealed.) And she would hear,

          And reaching overhead among the stars

          Would scatter them like daisies at thy feet.

                          AMPHINE.

          O voice, where art thou floating on the air?

          O angel-soul, where art thou hovering?

                          DWAINIE.

          I hover in the zephyr of thy sighs,

          And tremble lest thy love for me shall fail

          To buoy me thus forever on the breath

          Of such a dream as heaven envies.

                           AMPHINE

          Then

          Thou lovest! O my angel, flutter down

          And nestle to the warm home of my breast

          So empty are my arms, so full my heart

          The one must hold thee or the other burst.

                          DWAINIE.

(Throwing herself in his embrace.)

          I think the hand of God has flung me here;

          O hold me that he may not pluck me back.

                          AMPHINE.

          So closely will I hold thee that not e'en

          The hand of death shall separate us.

                          DWAINIE.

                             So,

          May sweet death find us, then, that, woven thus

          In the corolla of a ripe caress,

          We may drop light, like twin plustre-buds1,

          On Heaven's star-strewn lawn.

1. Buds which are purely lustrous.

                          AMPHINE.

          So do I pray,

          But tell me, tender heart, as thou dost love,

          Where hast thou loitered for so long?

          For I have ordered merl1 and viands to be brought

          For our refreshment here, where all alone

          I might sip with thee words as well as wine.  Why

          hast thou kept me so athirst, for I

          Am jealous of the very solitude

          In which thou walkest. (They sit at table.)

1. Merl is an alcoholic beverage, probably wine, and named

after a fictional character of Riley poetry. SEE: Riley's

poem of 1879, "To the Wine-God Merlus" (the "God" of "drink"

who "blowest all my cares.")

                           DWAINIE

          Nay, I will not tell,

          Since, if I did a thousand questions more

          Would vex our interview with idle tho't

          And speculation vain. Let this suffice -

          I talked with one who knew me long ago

          In dreamy Wunkland,1 talked of mellow nights And

          long, long hours of golden olden times

          When love lay like a baby in my arms.

          And life was like a tinkling toy.  We talked

          Of all the past, ah, me, and all the friends

          That now await my coming and we talked

          Of many, many things, so many things

          That I forget them all in dreams of when,

          With thy warm hand clasped close in this of mine

          We walk the floating bridge that spans the gulf

          Between this isle of strife and gloom, and doubt,

          And my most glorious realm of joy and peace,

          Where summer-night reigns ever, and the moon

          Hangs ever ripe and lush with radiance

          Above a land were roses gloat on wings

          And fan their fragrance out so lavishly

          The winds dive out of heaven to bathe in it.

1. Earthly life.  In Hoosier folklore, Wunkland persons are

those who have been "wunks" on earth, personalities or selves

or souls within shapes and sizes of humanity for homes.

                           AMPHINE

          O empress of my listening soul, talk on,

          And tell me all of that rare land of thine,

          For even tho' I reigned a peerless king

          Within mine own, I think I could fling down

          My scepter, signet, crown and royal robes,

          And so walk naked down the path of life,

          If at the dwindling end my feet might touch

          Upon the shores of such a land as thou

          Dost paint for me.  O tell me more of it,

          And tell me if thy sister-woman there

          Is like to thee - but nay! for it thou didst

          These foolish eyes would not believe - but thou

          Canst tell me of thy brothers.  Are they great,

          And can they grapple with God's arguments,

          And cipher out the problems of the stars?

                          DWAINIE.

          Aye, they have leaped all earthly barriers.

          `Twas Wunkland's son1 that voyaged round the moon,

          And talked with Mars, and buckled Saturn's belt;

          `Twas Wunkland's son that bent the rainbow

          straight.

          And walked it like a street, and so returned

          To tell us it was made of hammered shine,

          Inlaid with strips of selvedge2 from the sun,

          And burnished with the rust of rotten stars.

          `Twas Wunkland's son who comprehended first

          All grosser things, and took the world apart

          And oiled its joints with new philosophies;

          For now our goolores3 say, below these isles

          A million million miles are other worlds -

          Not like to ours, but round, as bubbles are,

          And like them, ever reeling on thro' space,

          And anchorless thro' all eternity;

          Not like to ours, for our isles,4 as they say

          Are living things that fly about at night,

          And soar above, and cling, throughout the day

          Like bats, beneath the rafters of the skies:

          and I myself have heard, at dawn of moon,

          A liquid music filtered thro' my dreams,

          As tho' a thousand trilling voices pent

          In some o'erhanging realm, had spilled themselves

          In streams of melody that trickled thro'

          the chinks and crannies of a crystal pave

          Until the wasted juices of harmony,

          slow-leaking o'er my senses, drowned my soul

          With ecstacy divine.  And afferhaiks5

          Who scour our coasts on missions for the King,

          Declare our island's shape is like the zhibb's6

          When lolling in a trance upon the air,

          With open wings upslant and motionless.

          O such a land it is - so all complete

          In all wise habitants, and knowledge, lore,

          Arts, sciences, perfected government -

          In kingly wisdom, worth and majesty -

          So furnished forth in all things lovable,

          O Amphine, love of mine, it lacks but thy

          Sweet presence to make it a Paradise.

1. Riley seeks the soul within as rendering those in earthly

bodies as "wunks" and the earth as we know it as "wunkland."

Persons in the "beyond" will have activities including

universal explorations, musical enjoyments, ministerial

functions for God, etc.

2. Variant spelling of selvage, an edge of woven material

which prevents ravelling out of the weft.

3. Probably an ellipse of "good lores" or "best books."

4. Riley confirms to us that "The Flying Islands" are lives

that he lives at night.  These are himself in fragmented

souls or selves.

5. A haik is worn by an Arab explorer into the deserts. It is

an outer cloth. "Afferre" is Latin meaning "to conduct

inward." Afferhaiks may refer to functionaries in the

universal sphere.

6. An inventive creature of Riley's vivid imagination

possibly striped as a zebra and thus "ribbed" or some such.

                 (Takes up the Trentoraine.)

          And shall I tell thee of the home1 that waits

          For thy glad coming, Amphine? Listen, then -

1. After describing the people of the "beyond" and their

activities, Dwainie now tells Riley of the land itself in

song in an imaginative fanciful vision in which Riley and

Nellie can live together. Dwainie gives Amphine to know that