Harps Hung up in Babylon

In Short

This volume is a collection of lyrical poetry that spans diverse themes, from ancient, mythic parables to the intimate, pastoral observations of a wanderer. Through rhythmic, often melancholy verse, it explores the tension between the "Roman Way" of duty and the quiet, "leafy hours" of personal contentment. It has remained a singular, gentle companion for readers because of its graceful command of classical allusion and its persistent, poignant curiosity about the "frustrate and unfit"—those who seek meaning in a world that often seems to build and forget.

The Story

The collection moves through a vast, shifting landscape, beginning with the stark, parable-like tale of a king and a beggar. This opening narrative establishes a central conflict: the king, representing the heavy, gilded burden of power, and the beggar, representing the stinging, often cynical clarity of the dispossessed. They trade a gold dinar—a coin of "merchandise"—as they debate whether God’s justice is a comfort or a burden. Through this, the reader learns that neither the high-born nor the low-born can escape the "ghost of yesterday."

As the book progresses, the narrative lens pulls back from these royal courts to the wider, wilder world. We encounter a pilgrim praying at a gate, grappling with the weight of his own sins against the indifference of fate. This leads the reader toward more naturalistic, yet no less spiritual, territory: the "Cheneaux Islands," where the memory of the Jesuit explorer Père Marquette serves as a bridge between the "ashen skies" of the past and the restless ambition of the present. The poetry asks whether we are simply "stuff that fills a dream," wandering through life until we are eventually "tread down forgetfully" by time.

The middle section shifts tone, focusing on the "herb of grace"—a metaphor for the quiet pleasures of life, like tobacco, old books, and the company of friends. Here, the voice becomes more personal and reflective. The poet discusses the "Canticle of the Road," celebrating the simple joy of a draught of water or the song of a thrush. We are introduced to figures like Faustine, whose quiet strength stands in contrast to the noisy, trampling world outside. Throughout these verses, the poet acknowledges that while we may seek a "secret from the brown earth," we are ultimately fellow travelers, meeting briefly on the road before we pass and forget.

The arc concludes with a series of elegiac reflections on aging and the "silent years." These final pieces—"When All the Brooks Have Run Away," "As We Grow Old," and "The House"—examine the inevitable drift toward the end of the journey. The poet envisions a home built not of grand ambition, but of "old contentment," where the soul can finally rest. The final poems offer a quiet resignation, suggesting that even if we are only "frustrate and unfit" in the eyes of history, there is a grace in having lived, loved, and stood witness to the "shimmer and shadow" of a world that is, above all, beautiful.

How It Unfolds

The king and the beggar The book opens with a grim, rhythmic tale of a monarch and a beggar who trade blows and coins in a cycle of cruelty and insight. Through their exchange, the poet establishes that both the powerful and the poor are equally shackled by the past.

The pilgrim’s burden The perspective shifts to a solitary pilgrim at a temple gate, pleading with a silent God to forget his sins. This sequence introduces the reader to the larger, existential questions of fate and the weight of human memory.

The call of the wilderness A meditative look at the northern lakes, where the spirit of Père Marquette haunts the silence, prompts the poet to question the purpose of human effort. The text begins to weigh the "strenuous course" of men against the eternal, dreaming nature of the earth.

The herb of grace The poet retreats to the comfort of his hearth, finding solace in "old books and quiet ways" as the world rushes by. This section serves as a pause, celebrating the "civil" virtues of friendship, tobacco, and the simple appreciation of a pipe.

The road to Arcadie The final movement follows the speaker on a long, winding journey toward a dream-like destination that may not truly exist. The poems become increasingly concerned with the passage of time, aging, and the final, graceful acceptance of mortality.

The People

• Cassim Ben Ali is a courtier who learns that his favor with the king is as fragile as a "barbed jest." He begins as a man of status and ends as a wanderer who recognizes that he and the beggar are merely two sides of the same coin of human suffering.
• The Beggar serves as a grim, unchanging foil to the courtier. He possesses a hard-won, cynical wisdom, refusing to offer false comfort about divine justice, yet he remains a fixed presence in the marketplace, reminding the world of its inherent cruelty.
• Père Marquette is the spectral figure of the Jesuit missionary, representing the "eager priest" who brought a "subtle fire" to the wilderness. He acts as a symbol of the duty to bear the banner of one's faith until the very end, even when the work seems forgotten.
• Faustine is a quiet, contemplative figure who possesses more wisdom in her "stillness" than the learned men of history. She represents a serene acceptance of the future, watching the passage of years with eyes that are consistently tranquil.
• The Poet is the primary consciousness of the book, a wanderer who balances his love for "primrose ways" with the somber realization that all things are "sacrificed incessantly." He moves from the cynical observer of royal courts to the gentle, aging man who builds his own house of contentment.

In Its Own Voice

Pleasure and pride are the tall flowers that spring Within the fertile shadow of the king.

In this opening observation, the poet describes the deceptive beauty of power in the life of his courtier, Cassim Ben Ali.

Who knows without these guarded doors What wind across the desert roars?

These lines reflect on the peace of a small, intimate space compared to the chaos of the outside world.

The law is written on the evening skies, The wood thrush sings its beauty and despair;

This passage captures the poet's sense that nature holds a secret, holy language that retreats the moment a human tries to claim it.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an inquiry into the "wisdom of the poor and weak"—the idea that true value is found not in the pursuit of power or the heavy "Roman Way" of duty, but in the small, fleeting moments of connection that make up a human life. It argues that we are all, in essence, mendicants waiting outside a palace gate, hoping for a brief glimpse of grace. The book grapples with the tension between our "unknown ambition" and the reality of our eventual decay. It asks if there is any meaning in building something that time will inevitably tread down, and it ultimately suggests that beauty is its own justification, even when it is destined to be forgotten.

Why Read It Today

Readers who find solace in the works of Izaak Walton or the quiet melancholy of 19th-century nature poetry will find a kindred spirit here. The writing is deeply intellectual yet accessible, marked by a warm, autumnal tone that invites the reader to pull up a chair and listen. It is a book of "unimportant verses" that feel surprisingly vital, particularly for those currently feeling the pressure of a world that demands constant, "confluent energy."

The book does not shy away from the darker aspects of the human condition; its period attitudes—such as the romanticization of the "strenuous" colonial past or the occasionally archaic, gendered view of "maids" and "knights"—are present, reflecting the era in which it was written. Yet, these elements are often framed within a self-aware, almost weary irony. The poems about "old books" and the "herb of grace" feel remarkably modern in their defense of slowing down and finding contentment in the "bypaths of tranquillity." It is a gentle, steadying read that stays with you, like the memory of a conversation held by a fireplace, reminding you that even if the "grass is wet" and the night is coming, there is still enough light to see by.