^ ('Iass_l: ('OIp.^lilX^^ I ^05 THE THREE BRIDES AND OTHER POEMS ^ The Three Brides AND OTHER POEMS BY RENA CARTWRIGHT HOWARD Los Angeles, Cal. BAUMGARDT PUBLISHING CO. 1905 LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Copies Received NOV 17 1905 _, Copyriirht Entry CLASS ex. XXc. No. / 3 t 311 COPY B. -fs s^ Co a^p 55elotjeti As IN a garden, all untended, wild. Some flower smiles on you, loved when a child,— A blue forget-me-not or primrose gay Abloom beside the vine encumbered way; So, in this wild of verses, may you find Some thought or pleasing fancy to remind You of glad days, ere Time, with onward flow. Had made of them the days of long ago. CONTENTS Page. The Three Brides 3 It Is Not Always June 9 The Eain 14 The Violet • 17 Words of Welcome to the Women of the World 18 Changes 22 Heed That Cry 24 Voices of the Night 25 Let the Blessed Sunshine In 28 To Be Content 29 The Debtor 's Prison 30 Buried Alive 32 Waiting 34 Old Letters 35 The Working Man 38 Western Wonders 39 The Two Burials 40 Tired 43 The Child and the Eose 45 Lines In An Album 46 Lines to M— 46 Coming Home 47 The Miller 's Daughter 48 The Old House by the Sea 53 The Tiber 55 The Great South West 57 Los Angeles 60 The Builders 61 The Unattainable 65 ' ' Nulla Dies Sine Linea " 67 Columbus 69 The Bell of Liberty 72 Memorial Day 73 Our Boys Arc Coming Home Today 78 The Hero of Manila Bay 79 CONTENTS Page. The Philippine Question 81 A Plea for Peace 83 The Nurse of the Red Cross 84 The Difference 86 Life Wanderings 88 ' ' Go, Ye, Work Today in My Vineyard " 90 The First Christmas 93 Christmas Rhymes 95 The New Year 95 Coming Home for Holidays 98 N. E. A. Greeting 99 A Lullaby 101 To E. R. H. on His 21st Birthday 102 Afternoon 106 The Dying Chief 107 If We Had Known 109 A Cheerful Giver 110 A Medley of Memories 112 THE THREE BRIDES. lEACE smiles on fair Germania's vales and hills, The sound of cheerful toil the soft air fills ; The fragrant, upturned sod proclaims the hand That holds the plow rules o'er the happy land; The keen edged sword now rusts upon the wall— The bird, perched o'er her nestlings, whose sweet call. Of ''all's well," in bird language, to her mate Is not in leaf screened safety, more elate Than she, who, bending o'er her cradled boy, Dreams of a future full of peace and joy— Marred by no war's alarms in years to come— The call of bugle and the roll of drum. * * * iff * The battle fields are green with springing corn. And waving gold, where, soon at early morn. Will speed the reaper for the precious sheaves— The throstle sings above the cottage eaves. Beneath that lowly roof are voices heard More sweet than note of any forest bird ; Groups of fair maidens flit from room to room ; The walls are hid with wreaths of fragrant bloom- But fairer, sweeter one than all the rest Is she, who, meekly now at love's behest Goes o'er the threshold, down the village street To ancient church the young bridegroom to meet. Hark to the wedding bells ! How sweet the notes That flow from out the church bells' brazen throats, And pour a flood of gladsome music down, O'er mossy roofs, o'er graves and quaint old town; And forth, now, from the portal, comes the bride With strong and gallant husband at her side, 4 THE THREE BRIDES And many a garland decks the way between The altar and their home, whose walls are seen Half hid among a wealth of blossoming bowers, In which they hope to spend life's varied hours. The bells are hushed but on the startled ear Fall other sounds that thrill with nameless fear Each citizen for in the near by glen Is heard the rapid march of armed men, And ever and anon a trumpet's blare Awakes the slumbering echoes of the air; Too soon their arms shine on the great highway— Too soon is heard what they have come to say — "Ye men of Hesse, it is the duke's decree Your young and strong shall go beyond the sea To lands that George of England calls his own, Whose subjects there rebel against his throne. For many a heap of shining English gold We go to crush those freemen, brave and bold." Then, in each home were wailing and distress; Sad was each parting and each last caress; The mother lived to see her hope and pride Torn from his home and from his weeping bride, Pressed into service for a distant shore — From which shall he return? Ah, nevermore. The light from a hundred windows Shone on the stream below, That flowed by the walls of a castle In that time long ago When George the Third of England Ruled with a mighty hand. That reached out o'er the ocean To smite in a distant land. On the castle's splendid stairway Fell the tread of dainty feet. In the hall was merry dancing To the time of music sweet— AND OTHEE POEMS. That rose in strains triumphant Then sank to a mournful cry, As if a voice prophetic On the breath of night swept by. The noblest and the bravest, The loveliest were there To honor by their presence A newly wedded pair- She in her peerless beauty— The last of a noble line — He who by dauntless valor Had entered Glory's shrine. His good ship lay at anchor — Tomorrow, o'er the sea, He sails by royal mandate To uphold tyranny Among a kindred people — That nation in the West Whose sons though true and loyal Will never be oppressed. Still rises high the music, Still sinks it low and clear — Awaked are birds in hedgerows, From wildwood starts the deer. Wit, song and silvery laughter From many a lip doth fall. But the sorrow of the parting Casts a shadow over all And many are the glances Cast on the trembling bride. Whose cheeks are growing paler With the ebbing of the tide, And in that mystic moment When night clasps hands with day He clasps her to his bosom And from her goes his way. The stream, today, glides sparkling The castle walls beside— THE THEEE BRIDES So old and gray and stately Now in their ancient pride; And strangers now inhabit The bride's ancestral halls— Her's is the fairest portrait Upon those pictured walls, Where she, among her kindred, Within that faded room, Looks down in pride and beauty, Still in her girlish bloom. And if were asked the question— What joy had lady fair? Then would they point in sadness Unto a winding stair That led to loftiest tower Whose window could command A view of noble distance Both on the sea and land— And tell when time allotted For her dear lord's return Had come and gone, the reason She never seemed to learn — She, to that lofty window. Each morning would begin Her watch out o'er the ocean, To see his ship come in. And when the night was stormy And the waters dark and wild. When on the beach dashed breakers Whose crests with foam were piled, She placed within the window A light that seemed a star For miles around the country And on the sea afar; And many a lonely sailor Would bless the lady when That light gleamed on his pathway And lit him home again. AND OTHEE POEMS. And days merged into seasons And seasons into years— Her form grew worn and wasted— Her cheeks were seamed with tears; When Death, with sweet compassion, Then claimed her for his own- She sleeps among her people, Beneath the chancel stone. And yet is told the legend Around the cheerful fire, When the storm-king rides the billows- How some belated squire Or boatman on the water Has seen from the old tower A light gleam through the darkness At the weird midnight hour. ***** Where vast forests uplift their tops skyward. Where broad rivers wind down to the sea, Where the peaks of the mountains pierce cloudland- Dwell a people whose names shall yet be Enrolled highest among Earth's great nations— Oh, Columbia, land heaven blest ! Not the breezes that blow, Not the waters that flow Are more free than thy sons of the West. What to them that now over the billows Speed the foemen, relentless and stern— They may grasp their good weapons more firmly, But of fear, they have it yet to learn ; Comes the Englishman great in his power- All must yield and submit to the crown — Comes the Hessian who's sold By his master for gold Which to earn, he must strike freedom down. But the axe rings no longer in woodland, In the field stands forsaken the plow. Past are peaceful communings with Nature, No true patriot hesitates now. 8 THE THEEE BRIDES With stout heart and firm hand he goes forward From the tyrant his land to redeem, With his face to the foe His base plans to o'erthrow, Though his life blood should ebb in a stream. He would pause only once, in that clearing Where his home stands, his bride at the door; A farewell, then no bride but his country Shall be his till the struggle is o'er; Not a sigh, not a tear, her devotion To the cause makes her hopeful and strong— "To your duty away, I will work, I will pray. While you go to help right the great wrong." Fair and peaceful the scene he is leaving, His rude cabin festooned with woodbine. The air filled with the scent of things blossoming- The rich pink and the sweet eglantine. In the dim, mossy aisles of the forest Is heard music of bird chirp and trill- Will he ever again, In that flowery glen Walk with her by the murmuring rill? But, away, the wild bugles are blowing, For the foe treads American soil— With his sword and his flintlock he hastens To confront him in battle's turmoil- He for home and for liberty striving ; They a King's unjust cause to maintain— Will he conquer or yield On the grim battlefield- Will his standard be cherished in vain? A reply from the Delaware's ripples, From the low grassy mounds at White Plains ; From the breezes that whisper o'er Monmouth, Valley Forge speaks through the blood stains Of her footprints and Lexington answers AND OTHEE POEMS. By the dust of all heroes who fell From the palm to the pine, From the creek Brandywine To the Hudson— all bear witness well. How the banner was borne through the conflict With a heroism earnest and true — It had caught from the skies of the morning Its fair tints of cerulean hue, And upon its bright folds dyed in crimson, Its defenders their best blood had shed- Seeking freedom through wild fields of carnage And the victory came In fair Liberty's name, Indepdendence the spirit that led. And, today, the old flag just as proudly Flings its clustering stars to the breeze— A great nation secure 'neath its shadow. Its bright colors illuming the seas; And the bride who had hoped and had waited, The descent of the Angel of Peace, Saw her children of worth In the land of their birth. Where a love for the flag shall ne'er cease. IT IS NOT ALWAYS JUNE. Weave garlands, bright garlands to twine 'round the brow Of Summer, who comes in her loveliness now ; Ye gaily plumed songsters, ring out your wild glees, And join in the chorus ye tall, waving trees; While rill in the valley and stream on the plain Come, mingle together your sweetest refrain— For Heaven has granted to us this great boon The return of the glorious season of June— The first born of Summer, the beautiful June. The fingers of angels have labored unseen To deck the glad earth for the beauteous queen, 10 THE THREE BEIDES Who comes in the grace of a sweet regal pride, And strews choicest blessings o'er earth far and wide — An arch they've thrown o'er her of Heaven's own blue ; They've scattered beneath her the emblems so true, Of all that is good in these natures of ours— The lowly, the gentle, the beautiful flowers— These thoughts of our Maker, the wonderful flowers. The prince, at her coming, descends from his throne And goes forth to greet her with welcoming tone; The children at play, 'round the door of their home Forget their gay sports and their playmates to roam With her o'er the meadows and through the wild dell, Where trailing arbutus and meek daisies dwell. The bird song grows sweeter, the clouds cease to weep, The stars in the heavens ne'er slumber nor sleep— Those ** angels' forget-me-nots" never then sleep. Now, the year has attained its full measure of bliss— For what other season so lovely as this? Day lingers as loth to depart from the place, Where dwells such perfection of beauty and grace. The soft air is freighted with sweetest perfume, That's wafted from bowers where roses red bloom; In forest is heard the melodious voice Of wild birds that there with all nature rejoice— We, too, with the birds and all nature rejoice. But, whisperings come and remind us too soon It cannot be always the season of June ; For, soon, she will flee, a sweet vision from sight, And pass through the gates of eternal delight ; The pattering raindrops will sound her sad knell, And zephyrs will whisper a mournful farewell, While Ceres will come in her poppy hued crown, And pour from her chariot rich peace offerings down — Eich fruitage and grain, then, will Ceres pour down. Now, sunbeams descend, like arrows so keen, On city, on hamlet and valley between. Bright mantles for berries they skillfully weave. And on the round apple warm kisses they leave ; AND OTHER POEMS. 11 On green, sloping hillside reposes the flock, The traveler seeks the cool shade of the rock. The song of the reaper is heard in the land, While Peace and rich Plenty pass by hand in hand; Youths, ever so happy, are dancing in tune Beneath the bright rays of the full harvest moon— Are joyfully dancing beneath the bright moon. Now, Sirius hovers o'er hill and o'er plain And eagerly drinks of the dew and the rain. Until the whole Earth cries out in her grief. That freshness and beauty should be all so brief. The fields, in the sunlight, lie naked and bare, All shorn of the strength of their bright golden hair; The bee hums in vain, for the clover's red bloom, The whistle of blackbird alone breaks the gloom- Thus, Sirius shrouds the whole Earth with his gloom. The voice, now, of Autumn is borne on the gale. The tread of his feet is now heard in the vale. He Cometh arrayed in most beautiful guise. With tintings and colors he caught from the skies. Where rainbow hued clouds smile down on the earth, Rejoicing again in its gladness and mirth; For Autumn, like Bacchus, comes wreathed with the vine. And drenches the earth with fresh, sparkling wine— The tears of the grape, the purple hued wine. But, that which is brightest is soonest to fade, Nor e'en can the beauties of Autumn be stayed. The nuts rattle down on the dead, rustling leaves. While Nature all blighted so mournfully grieves, For storm clouds arise and shadows grow long. And there's not e'en heard the faint note of a song. For the birds have all gone where the warm breezes sigh, Where Apollo hastes not in his car through the sky — Where the Day King holds longer his reign in the sky. Another brief season— a smile from the past— A prelude too sweet for the cold, wintry blast — 12 THE THEEE BRIDES 'Tis Indian Summer, the pearl of the year, Who decks with new beauty the earth brown and sere; Her beautiful banner she waves in the air- But, ah, she's as fleeting as wondrously fair, For the scepter of Winter breaks the magical spell, And winds from the Northland her mournful fate tell— ''She's dead at his feet" the wild winds do tell. King Winter holds court where the flowers lie low, All hidden beneath the white pinioned snow, That seemeth a messenger toward the earth driven, To tell of the pureness and peace of high Heaven. The ice, 'mid the pine trees, like rich jewels gleams, While fettered and still are the once laughing streams. The Earth once made glad by the Summer's warm breath Lies shrouded and cold in the arms of stern death— The earth and the year sleep together in death. 'Tis not only in Nature that Time worketh change, But in our own lives, in our hearts far more strange; For, again, in the year's circling round will appear The merry, young springtime and blossoms of cheer; But humanity robbed of its beauty and bloom Will never regain them this side of the tomb. Then brightest of roses and myrtle entwine, Oh, youth, 'round that radiant forehead of thine; Thy steps, with thy quick beating heart throbs keep tune, For life is not ever one bright day of June— Thou 'It find other days than the glad days of June. Oh, Earth is most fair in the morning of life, Before comes the noontide of sorrow and strife; We walk in the valley where soft shadows play, Where flowers of love and of joy deck the way, Where the bright birds of hope fill the air with tb.eir song And echoes from fancy the sweet strains prolong; Where the sky seems a mirror of beauty and truth, AND OTHEE POEMS. 13 Reflecting the visions and hopes of gay youth— The dreams and the wishes and fancies of youth. The path grows more rugged, the shadows more deep, New aims and new purposes in our lives creep As the years come and go, fraught with pleasure and pain, With happy endeavor and labor in vain; The day dreams of youth we have left them behind, Realities now, are more clearly defined; The harvest of honor and fame gleameth white — Up, reaper, bring sheaves before conleth the night— Up, gleaner, seek grains ere the dark shades of night. It mattereth not though the thorns pierce our feet, That, weary and faint, we toil on in the heat; We heed not the burdens that come with the years, The gloomy forebodings, the sighs and the tears— From sheaves of fair Honor we'll fashion a crown, We'll garner the golden hued grains of renown— We'll gather, 'mid leaves, where sweet blossoms were rife Rich fruitage to gladden the Autumn of life— Sheaves, grain and rich fruit for the Autumn of life. But why does the path, now, grow dim to our sight? Why is it that pleasures no longer delight? Whence cometh the frost that now gleams in our hair? These wrinkles that furrow our brows once so fair? The Angel of Time hath the victory won And the winter of life hath sadly begun. But white winged Peace broodeth over the gloom And Hope sings of blessings beyond the cold tomb— Of a fair land of promise beyond the dark tomb. That land must be fair where cometh no night. Where sickness and sorrow ne'er enter to blight, Where all is illumined by light from the throne. Where reigneth our Father, in glory alone; Where the streets are of gold, where each pearly gate Shall never be opened to Death nor to Hate ; 14 THE THEEE BEIDES For the rivers of Life, bearing blossoms of love Wind through the fair valleys of Heaven above— Wind o'er the bright plains of sweet Heaven above. There, never again will our eyes become dim, For tears cannot fall in the presence of Him Who left the bright shores of His heavenly home, To take up our burdens, o'er life paths to roam, There, never again will snows whiten our hair For storm clouds ne'er darken those skies ever fair; Time, there, writes no wrinkles on brow or on heart, For time of Eternity formeth no part; But, 'mong the glad angels, our harps we'll attune To breezes that whisper forever of June— For in Heaven, 'tis always the season of June. THE RAIN. The mist of the Kuro Siwo Had waited many a day. In a palace, high in cloudland. For envoys to come that way. From Phoebus and Eolus To plan the next campaign For the benefit of mortals Petitioning for rain. But the hosts of the sun were toiling Like a multitude of slaves, And the winds were soundly sleeping. Deep down in ocean's eaves; Unheard was the mist's upbraiding. Unheeded was mortal's prayer— They obey but the voice of nature — These powers of the air. In vain was the horizon Scanned by many an anxious eye. For the sight of some tardy rain cloud, Appearing in the sky; AND OTHER POEMS. 15 Still the hot air drank the freshness Of forest, field and glen— The dust lay thick on the highways- Hope died in the hearts of men. The grasses were dead on the hillside, The seed lay unchanged in the earth, The 'streams were dry in the valleys. Naught of melody or of mirth Remained with child or with bird— E'en the cattle had the fear That dwelt in the breasts of their masters— That famine was drawing near. At last in convention assembled, Were the envoys of wind and sun, With the mist in the snow white palace Who greeted them every one. They knew that the need was urgent. And soon was heard the command To march with the crystal fountains, To the parched and thirsty land. First came an army of sunbeams— A gloriously beautiful throng— With lances and golden banners- Ten hundred thousand strong— Then came the wind's outriders, Whose bugle and trumpet's blare— With the chariot wheels advancing— Woke the echoes of the air. Drawn by the swiftest coursers Of the vast, aerial plain- On the jeweled seat of honor- Rode the mist, and not in. vain— For the treasures of rain were scattered. In warm and copious showers. On city, on farm and woodland. On the dying grass and flowers. 16 THE THREE BRIDES With a pour, a plash and a patter, With a drip, a skip and a bound, With a rush, a roar and a rattle. It fell on the feverish ground. That drank of each shining globule, With a joy but half expressed. For the seeds and tiny rootlets. Within its ample breast. Then the sunbeams stacked their weapons, Their golden banners furled. Fell back all in good order, On the rim of the outer world ; While the winds attuned their voices To that of the playful breeze. That tossed the liquid diamonds From the over freighted trees. And to the brook's low murmur, As it bounded on with glee. Rejoicing in its freedom. To the calm and smiling sea. But the mist rode on triumphant. Still scattering the raindrops down On upland, lane and valley, On the slopes of the busy town— With a dash, a song and a gurgle— Now rapid and now slow, Until the western heavens Grew bright with a ruddy glow. A signal for sunbeams returning. With their lances bright and keen, To trace on the clouds a rainbow, The heavens and earth between ; For all mankind a token To behold through happy tears, And know that the Lord of the Seasons Is the same through the passing years. To know that He sendeth the treasures Of rain, of snow and of hail ; AND OTHEE POEMS. 17 That His promise of the seedtime, And of harvest shall not fail ; That the choicest of all His blessings He sendeth from above, In the sunlight of His mercy. And the rainbow of His love. THE VIOLET. Half hidden in a wealth of leaves, The modest violets lie, Perfuming every passing breeze- Blue as the bending sky, Protected from the day's hot glare, Content to dwell unseen In some secluded, shaded nook, Unknown to flower queen. The fair, white lilies nod and smile On stems erect and tall. And fragrant roses, red and white, Bloom on the garden wall; Carnations stand in lovely guise Of colors rich and rare. And scatter spicy scents in clouds Of incense on the air. Carnation, rose or lily fair, Possesses not the power To please with all its varied charms, As the sweet violet flower. When some wild storm casts them to earth. Or falls the dashing rain, More sweet the odors they exhale— A recompense for pain. Oft viewing them the years unroll, And a vision will arise Of a half shy and graceful girl, With tender violet eyes. 18 THE THEEE BEIDES Within a farmshouse, white and high, Among the orchard trees, Where, through the golden summer days, Are heard the birds and bees; Where meadows stretch their verdant lengths. E'en to the forest wild; Where th' dogwood blooms by rugged paths, Oft trodden when a child. And yet she dwells amid these scenes. Unmindful of the show And glitter of a noisy world— The surging to and fro Of restless crowds ; her heart attuned To Nature's moods; her ear Hears music in its varied themes, Not all the world can hear. When storms of grief swept o'er her path. With harsh and sullen roar. More fragrant seemed her gentle life. Than it had been before ; And so it seemeth not unmeet When violets I see. To think of that far distant friend, So near in memory. WORDS OF WELCOME TO THE WOMEN OP THE WORLD. Thrice welcome to these shores, ye of the big round earth. Bound to us by the ties of sisterhood. We deem it a high honor thus to greet The representatives of every land, The Old World culture, in its fairest forms, Come to adorn and learn the customs of the New. But task more pleasing still is it to note The touch of sympathy, that, like a thread of gold, Runs through the nature of all womankind — Soft as a rose leaf, strong as band of steel. Possessing power that can sway a world. AND OTHEE POEMS. 19 Ye, from that Northland where the icy seas Reflect the splendor of the Northern Lights, And Summer chants her tuneful threnodies Beneath a midnight sun, will marvel at the scenes Ye here behold— not least among them all— The fruits and flowers of a genial clime. Scenes, that, in years to come, surrounded by loved ones. Will form the theme of many a fireside tale. When the white winter sleeps outside your doors. Ye, who, in childhood, searched for eidelweiss By Alpine glacier, and have watched the sunlight glow And fade upon the Matterhorn, will find Here scenes, sublime and beautiful, as in Your native land— of lofty mountain and Of crystal lake, set deep amid the hills. Of rocky gorge and swiftly flowing stream ; And who can tell? If from those hymns of freedom that Your fathers sang, that echoed 'mid the crags— E'en to the stars, the spirit did not find Its way across the sea to be enshrined Within the heart of this young nation that Desired so to be free — whose symbol is The statue standing at our outer gates Of Liberty Enlightening the World. A gift from your brave people, daughters of France, Who, from your sunny vales, now tread the soil Your fathers trod, when, in that anxious time, They shoulder stood to shoulder with our own On many a battlefield, to gain, for aye, The independence that we now enjoy; And thus it is that France is held so dear. Across the centuries, are seen three small. Frail ships, the guiding star of Destiny Their goal, that stood above the shores of wild America. A gentle woman sent them on Their way ; and, in her name, we greet you from That Spain, whose ships were first to turn their prows 20 THE THREE BRIDES Toward the New World, whose soldiers, with Their swords, carved out new empires, and whose priests Were first to tell the story of the Cross From Mississippi's flood e'en to the Western Sea. Ye from those lands where once a Plato taught And Virgil sang will here behold works wrought With chisel, brush and pen, that well compare With the old masters; and, perchance, the source Of inspiration was the same. Where Mount Olympus frowns, by Arno's laughing wave, In old cathedrals, where soft music floats Through dim recesses and the pictured saints Look down as if to bless ; in palaces That gleam, in pristine beauty, 'neath the moon's Soft rays, though carved by hands that have been dust For ages; in whose gardens roses hold High carnival throughout the year; and where The nightingale trills forth its song through all The lonely hours— all set in sapphire frame Of sky above and of the sea around. We hear the music of the English tongue And know that, o'er the sea, has England sent Some worthy guests. 'Tis said of some of those Who tarry long in foreign lands that when they see Their country's banner floating in the breeze, or hear The accents of their native land, they weep for joy— 'Tis thus the heart is loyal to its own. You will observe, the babe, reared on th' Atlantic shore. Whose lullaby was sound of breakers wild, Whose playground was the wood where Indians roamed, Has outgrown his environments and has Become the Giant of the West, but, yet. With reverence for the stock from which he sprang. Ye sisters of the Southland, whose republics lie By mighty streams, shadowed by mountains grand, AND OTHEE POEMS. 21 Within whose breasts lie treasures inexhaustible, You, yet, are unaware of your great strength. You will be great in that good time when church And sehoolhouse dot more thickly all your vales. Take back this lesson learned 'neath bleaker skies That knowledge is a power and that toil Brings its reward to those who bravely strive. Ye, from those isles, that are as emeralds Upon a shining sea, let not the visions of Palm shaded homes and tropic afternoons Mar your enjoyment of these surging crowds, The stir and bustle in the marts of trade. The active movement, born of Northern blood. Though ruder sounds you hear than lap of waves Or music floating o'er a moonlit sea, Yet you catch glimpses of progressive life And ne'er again will the world seem so small. In this great city, the fair Mecca now. Toward which all eyes are turned, all footsteps tend, Are seen the products of all lands beneath the sun — Something delightful to each taste and mind — For princess, who has left her pomp behind, Well knowing, that, in this land, all are queens; For peasant, leading by the hand, perchance. Some young Columbus in the realms of thought. You view with pride the works of women shown On every hand, the product of skilled fingers and Of subtle brain. But these are silent witnesses- Seek out the homes of this great people if You would but learn the secret of their strength ; There, whether 'neath some vaulted city roof Or, in some humble cabin on the plain. You see the women wield an influence More potent than the ballot and more pure. They are the household angels, at whose knees. Their children learn to tread in Honor's way. Full many a precept falls on stony ground; But, oft, in after years, some half forgotten word 22 THE THEEE BRIDES Will touch the erring one and bring him back; And, thus, the seed will bear fruit after all. With love and tenderness, like to Cornelia's, they, Too, can exclaim, with equal pride, "These are My jewels." Thinking not of self, each wish Subservient to the welfare of loved ones, Until, with Spartan firmness, they are sent To battle with the world— this work performed, They can lie down in peace to their last sleep. Not here alone, but other lands, as well, Attest the power of woman's guiding hand. In the gay circle, you have seen her wit And grace shine like a star, her beauty pave The way to proudest courts and homage win. Queen of a realm, or, peasant of the field. Home is her refuge and her loving pride. Her ministrations and her words of cheer Illumine life's dark places— though each deed be small— But is not life made up of little things? Ye, who have homes, so distant and so dear, How oft do visions of them rise amid These brilliant scenes — perchance, some castle gray, Some sunny garden where the children play. Or cheery room, where, when the shadows fall The loved ones gather and who sigh as they Glance toward a vacant chair. When weary of This ebb and flow of human tides, of foreign speech And faces, may the winds and waves be kind And waft you safely to your shores again. CHANGES. Happy, laughing Mabel Lee, Busy in the meadow Weaving daisy garlands rare 'Neath the elm tree's shadow; Bathing, now, her dimpled feet AND OTHEE POEMS. 23 Down among the rushes, Crimsoning lips and finger tips With the berries' blushes, Mocking a blue bird's roundelay— Sleeping, at last, on the fragrant hay. Lovely, graceful Mabel Lee Singing in the gloaming; Heart with lover far away O'er the blue sea roaming: "White winged ship, bear o'er the sea Him of noble daring — Bring him safely back to me Whose ring, as pledge, am wearing." Sang she, weaving a garland rare- Hope and love were the flowers there. Fair and stately Mabel Lee At the altar kneeling. Bridal veil and orange flowers Not wholly concealing Marks of care on cheek and brow ; Why this old man at her side? Where her youthful lover? Over loveless marriage vows Angry skies will hover; Ah, the story sad and old- Love exchanged for shining gold. Broken hearted Mabel Lee In her grave lies sleeping, Where the elm tree's aged boughs. O'er her, watch is keeping. Weary was she of the world. Of its pride and splendor ; Longed she for her childhood's heart - Innocent and tender ; Glad when Death's call came at last And life's troubled scenes were past. 24 THE THKEE BRIDES HEED THAT CRY. Heed that cry The wind is bearing by Of that mother kneeling there, In the anguish of despair, By the bedside of her boy— Once her comfort, pride and joy; Sleeping now, the drunkard's sleep- Is it strange that she should weep? Brush the curls back from his brow, Truth and thought once reigned there ; Drunkenness hath marred each grace Graven on that boyish face. Heed that cry, Mingled moan and sigh. Pitiful to look upon Is that woman— hope all gone- Stricken down by Sorrow's hand; Once the happiest in the land. Then, for her, life's blossoms sweet Bloomed in beauty at her feet; Then, for her, no day too long, Bright with sunshine and with song. Now, furrowed cheek and silvered hair Are her's as by the hearthstone there, She sits alone— a drunkard's wife— And mourneth o'er a ruined life. Heed that cry, Where the shadows lie Darkly on a ruined home— Saddest sight, 'neath heaven's dome. Oh, the dreadful curse of drink ! See the little children shrink. Hearken to their tones of fear. As their father draweth near. Oh, how can he thus bestow Such a heritage of woe— Every dire calamity AND OTHEE POEMS. 25 Following in rum's dread wake- Can he not for them forsake The artful and enticing snare Set within that barroom there. Heed that cry Filling earth and sky. Where arise dark prison walls, Where the gloom of almshouse falls, Where want, sorrow and vice meet In alley and in squalid street— A cry goes forth for purer laws— For helpers in the temperance cause To turn aside the deadly cup And lift frail human nature up, Up to a higher, nobler plane. Then will the dark and grievous stain Of drunkenness be soon effaced And the abodes of crime laid waste. VOICES OF THE NIGHT. The sun sinks in the West And shadows deeper grow; Upon the lake's calm breast There lies a crimson glow From sunset clouds that gleam, Dissolve and fade away; As fades the last faint beam Of the departing day. The plain lies dark and still, Hushed is its busy life; On mountain side and hill Are light and shade in strife; But where the heights appear To touch the bending skies The sunlight shineth clear; Then, it, too, fades and dies. THE THREE BRIDES And Night, with ebon wings, Descends upon the earth; No more the woodland rings With music, or, with mirth The fields, where children played. The whippoorwill's wild plaint Ceased with the twilight shade. The owl, without restraint. Hoots through the forest aisle, Disturbing, in their nest, The prey it would beguile. That chirp a faint protest. The night birds, as they pass, Where Katydid denies, With insects in the grass. Make shrill and vague replies ; The watchdog, at the farm, Sends out upon the air His bay, as if from harm To keep the sleepers there. The tireless, iron steed Of single, fiery eye, With swift, impetuous speed. Goes, with his burden, by, Of precious, human souls Beneath the night's dark frown - A wave of light, it rolls On to the sleeping town. A sob comes from the sea, The wind sighs in the pine ; A wondrous minstrelsy. From where wild roses twine Within a rocky dell, Is wafted by the breeze— Of waterfalls, that tell To all the whispering trees. Of a brook's laughing flow; Upon whose mossy brink, AND OTHEE POEMS. 27 Where purple violets blow, Wild creatures come to drink. Forth from that lofty tower The bells ring out the time Of midnight's solemn hour — What sweetness in their chime ! By the free night wind borne O'er halls where feasts are spread, O'er homes whose inmates mourn. O'er cities of the dead. These know not hope or fear, These feel not joy or pain ; On dull, unheeding ear Time's message rings in vain. Dear, silent ones, who sleep In graves out there alone, Where stars their vigils keep, Ye cannot hear the moan Of anguish at our loss, Ye cannot see the tears That fall, or know the cross Borne for you, through the years. And, thou, dear, restless one, Koaming the wide world o'er— Somewhere beneath the sun ; How can we shut the door And leave thee there without— Perchance, where billows rage; Oh, ever thus in doubt — Unrest thy heritage. Will e'er desire to roam Yield to a safe return? Will e'er the lights of home. In welcome, brightly burn? The wind sounds like a wail Wrung from the breast of Night, 28 THE THEEE BEIDES And, on the rising gale, The clouds speed in their flight Across the fields on high; And hidden is each star Behind a blackening sky— The thunder peals from far. And, now, the dashing rain Makes music all its own On roof and window pane— A pleasing monotone; Until there cometh peace To sky and wind and wave, As Nature bids them cease To silence, deep and grave. LET THE BLESSED SUNSHINE IN. Open windows and the doors — Let the blessed sunshine in. "What, though, on rich plush it pours; Let the 'broidered roses pale 'Neath the sunlight's ardent gaze Rather than your own should fail, Lacking its health giving rays; Would you well the day begin— Let the blessed sunshine in. Open th' windows of your soul— Let the blessed sunshine in. Then, the mists will there unroll. Shone on by the light of truth; Scattered will be doubts and fears; Th' fountain of eternal youth You will drink from through the years. To be true and free from sin Let the blessed sunshine in. AND OTHER POEMS. Find your way to people's hearts — Let the blessed sunshine in; Wounded by the world's keen darts- Light those on their rugged way Who are suffering from defeat, Wait not for their funeral day To say something kind and sweet- Say it now— just now begin— Let the blessed sunshine in. TO BE CONTENT. Learn, thou, to be content Oh, Soul, To be content. Behold the matchless skies. The hills that proudly rise Beyond the vale, that lies A green and shining gem In Nature's diadem; The blue, tempestuous sea, The soft winds, blowing free — All, all were made for thee — From Heaven sent, Thy own fair goal; Then learn to be content Oh, Soul, To be content. Learn, thou, to be content Oh, Soul, To be content. What, though, no palace fair, No jewels, rich and rare, Nor wealth beyond compare Thou e'er can'st call thine own- Poor art thou and unknown ; While, some, great deeds have done, 30 THE THREE BRIDES Some, wealth and glory won, While thy name, there are none, Through years well spent To write it on Fame's scroll; Yet, still, be thou content Oh, Soul, Be thou content. Strive, thou, to be content Oh, Soul, To be content. If thou hast humble cot In some secluded spot- How happy is thy lot! There 'mid loved ones and flowers To pass the fragrant hours. Away from Envy's dart. Away from Pride 's keen smart ; To the world weary heart Blest banishment. The years will roll Too soon in sweet content. Oh, Soul, In sweet content. THE DEBTOR'S PRISON. One ray of sunlight stole through dungeon grim And lit a pathway to a corner dim. Where, on a rugged couch, an old man lay, Shut out from hope and the sweet light of day. Something there was, both in his face and mien, Which told of better days that he had seen. His thoughtful brow bore not the mark of Cain, His toil worn hands of crime betrayed no stain- Then, why, in this broad country of the free Was this old man deprived of liberty? List to his words and then deplore the times When prisons yawn for men unstained by crimes. AND OTHEE POEMS. 31 "In my young manhood, heart and hope beat high, No cloud bedimmed the brightness of my sky; Health waited on me; friends on every side — My wife and children dear— our home my pride. Prosperity was mine and toil was sweet; I smoothed life's rugged ways for th' helpless feet Of those whose wants more numerous became, As each succeeding year, the vital flame Sank lower in my breast, until the day When strength was gone and riches sped away. Then, friends forsook me and misfortune's train Of evil spectres— sorrow, want and pain, Surrounded me— they followed to the tomb My loved ones, and, 'mid gathering gloom. That thickened 'round and o'er me like a pall, Heard clang of prison gates— chief woe of all." "Why should I grieve? How rich we mortals are When Thought can travel to the farthest star And people vast immensities of space, And in all Nature's works a system trace. What terrors should have bolts and bars for me When, soon, the glories of Eternity Shall break upon my vision, and the shore Be reached, where loved ones gone before Shall meet me with glad weleomings, and youth And love be mine in the fair realms of Truth. My greatest sorrow and sincerest care Are for those, who my dreary prison share," "There is immured within these gloomy walls A youth on whom no shadow of crime falls. Save that he spent a fortune recklessly. Fell into debt— of bitter penury He drank the dregs where once was sweet delight; Life's rosy morn sunk into darkest night. The law condemns him to an idler's fate When his strong arm is needed by the State. 32 THE THEEE BEIDES Thus his young manhood and his sturdy health Become a tax upon the Commonwealth ; While, criminals, with lives of blackest dye Walk forth, untrammeled, 'neath the open sky." "There is, so near that I can hear her weep Through the long hours, when the sweet balm of sleep Consoles me not, a woman young and fair— Her sobs sound weirdly on the midnight air; Incurring debt for sake of great display, Has brought her to a narrow cell today. How could she think that dress would make amends For home's sweet scenes and love of humble friends; That silks and laces fair could heal the smart Made by her folly, on each trusting heart. But, still, the Law's arm falls too heavily On one whose greatest crime is vanity." "In the new Century's enlightening beams"— What have I done that sleep should bring such dreams ? The youth, the maiden and the man of years Pass in the night, with all their hopes and fears. The hearth is cold, the lights are burning low. Within the room, strange shadows come and go; My hand clasps yet the paper— the sole cause Of visions wild and new; strange code of laws. Wove in the tangled fancies of my brain, At intervals, when will had ceased to reign; A plea from creditors, in sore distress. The Legislature asking for redress Of grievances from that great debtor band, That prey, like harpies on a generous land. BURIED ALIVE. Oh, for the power to utter a cry That might be heard by the passers by Gazing, perhaps, at the crape on the door- The look of gladness their faces wore ' AND OTHER POEMS. 33 Saddened by the emblem that doth remind Of the common fate of all mankind. Like the roar of waves come the sounds of the street, Soft blows the west wind with fragrance sweet; Through the rooms, to and fro, with faltering tread, Go loved ones mourning me as one dead; Kneeling beside me in grief and in pain. Calling my name, alas, calling in vain — Could I but move the one breadth of a hair Would not their loving eyes note the change there? Tenderly, gentle hands now my form place, Within a casket's abhorred embrace; Can it be, can it be, this is my doom To be borne conscious to the dark tomb ! Hark to the sobs and the songs rising clear — The hymns I best love falling sweet on the ear. Over the threshold they bear me away — Th' threshold, it seems but as yesterday, I passed o'er radiant with hope and with health; The future made golden by love's promised wealth To be gleaned from the harvests whose seeds I had sown — That future now reaching out, dreary and lone. Limited by the small space of a grave, For the rain to fall on and the grasses to wave O'er it, with only the angels to know Th' secret grim, hid in the mold below. Winds the procession with scarcely a sound Through the streets on to the hallowed ground. To whose portals are borne the fairest and best; Foes, here, as comrades now tranquilly rest; Friends, whom I love, to whom I am dear Will you, deluded, thus leave me here? Oh, for the time coming when science will take Measures preventing such fatal mistake. Down, down they lower me to my last sleep; Dear friends, good reason you have to weep. The scent of the roses oppresses the air- Stifling me, th' clods fall— oh, black despair! 34 THE THEEE BEIDES Heard ye that cry piercing the air of night, A cry of horror and wild affright? Borne from a beautiful, dimly lit room. Whose air is heavy with rich perfume Of the sweet violet, lily and rose ; Where lies a fair dreamer in th' dread throes Of a dream, that in such an air doth thrive— A dream of being buried alive. WAITING. I have smoothed my wayward tresses And bound them back with blue, And have fastened at belt and on bosom Rosebuds, damp with the evening dew ; And now I am waiting for him. But for him, the one truest and best Of men, who, loving one woman, Pays due homage to all the rest. How serenely sweet and how pleasant The hour and the dim lighted room; The south wind merely stirring the curtains And wafting in breaths of perfume From the garden where the sweet honeysuckle Bendeth low to the meek mignonette. And the old fashioned pinks and the roses Fill with beauty the place they are set. A June night flooded with moonlight ! A woman's heart flooded with love! The bird's have ceased twittering their vespers In the green, swaying branches above And the great world is hushed into silence— The turmoil of the day is now o'er, And strong Labor sitteth aweary, 'Neath the vines of his cottage door. AND OTHER POEMS. 35 Hark, a footfall now sounds in the distance— Far adown the long village street— A familiar step, eager and manly, That my heart goeth forth to meet. If a thousand feet passed on the pavement- Only heard but unseen by the eye And the step that I hear were among them I would know that my lover went by. Or, if I were by Como's bright waters, Dreaming all the long summer day, At the faintest sound of that footfall All my dreams would vanish away ; He is coming, the gate latch is lifted And the tall grasses bend 'neath his tread, And the elm trees are whispering the secret — **By the spirit of love he is led." A low knock at the door— he is coming, E 'en my pulses well know who is there ; Tide of crimson, flow back to your fountains, For my face, I would fain have you fair. I will go to the door to receive him— Oh, my heart, what is this I behold ! "Miss, if you've any scraps left from your supper. Sure, to ask them of you I'll make bold." OLD LETTERS. The Day, with its golden shuttle. Had woven a curtain fair To hang in the western gateway— A beauteous picture there ; Its colors, now, half hidden By the night mists sweeping down. Through which the fire flies glimmer And the lights of the distant town. 36 THE THREE BRIDES Deep gloom enshrouds the valley- Like a pall, hangs o'er the sea; And the shadows of the night-time In my soul find sympathy; As the Past, for the fleeting Present, Lights a torch to reveal the years, And the faces of friends long vanished, Last seen through blinding tears; And forms of grace and beauty. Concealed within the grave In many a distant churchyard. Where rippling grasses wave. Draw closely, now, the curtains, Let the lamp-light's mellow glow Fall on these faded letters, The relics of long ago ; When joyous seemed the future, When hope and faith were strong And the air was filled with the voices Of melody and song. Dear hand, that penned this missive Of counsel and of cheer. How my heart has longed for its pressure Through many a weary year; For many a long year folded Above the peaceful breast And the spirit freed from sorrow In the regions of the blest. And here, a bundle of letters Writ in a boyish hand. When flowed a tide of crimson Through the sunny, southern land. Oft, on the eve of battle. When the foe was drawing near, He would pen some cheering message To those he held most dear. AND OTHEK POEMS. 37 But, one day came the tidings— Sad tidings, that smote the heart — That the soldier boy had fallen, Performing a hero's part. Where the brightly glancing waters Of the blue Potomac roll, There lies serenely sleeping A brave, heroic soul. These bearing foreign postmarks — From the Tiber's yellow tide, From the waterways of Venice, From cities in the pride Of palace, mosque and temple; Upon whose crowded streets, A strangely speaking people The homesick traveler meets. On each page a confession— Although not oft expressed— Most prized are the old friendships, That scenes of home are best; Not castle nor cathedral. However nobly planned, Charms as the humblest cottage Of one's own native land. And these from one whom Honor Crowned with a deathless name ; And these, whose sun of promise Went down in sin and shame; These, written in life's springtime, From one now gray and old; And, these, from the hand of a toiler, Who hoardeth, now, his gold. Old letters, yours the mission To stir the embers of youth And strew o'er the wastes of a lifetime Mementos of love and truth ; 38 THE THEEE BEIDES As, back of the clouds and the darkness The moon mounts o'er the pine, To shine on the graves of your writers— That, soon, will shine on mine. THE WORKING MAN. When the sun, with rosy fingers, Draws aside night's dusky shade, Then are heard the rapid footsteps Of the sturdy Toil Brigade ; Ringing on the city pavement. On the dew gemmed woodland lane, On the rugged mountain pathway. On the harvest gilded plain. Where the proud ship rides at anchor. Waiting for her seamen bold ; Where the shaft has pierced the Earth's breast, Laying bare her veins of gold; Where the great trees tower skyward, Waiting for the woodman's blow; Where the plow stands in the furrow- To such scenes these heroes go. No gay uniform bedecks them ; Martial music is not heard On the way, nor brilliant banners By the morning breeze are stirred. Having "Duty" for their watchword, Purpose writ on flag unfurled. Firm resolve on every feature As they go to serve the world. Fame and Fortune may be waiting For a few adown the way, But to most will the tomorrow Be the same as yesterday. AND OTHER POEMS. 39 Marching onward, toiling ever, Happy if the view before Holds for them but Love and Plenty Smiling from some cottage door. Braver than the bravest warriors, Victor crowned by loyal hand ; Greater than the wisest statesmen, Famed and praised throughout the land, Are the humblest of these heroes, Drawing water, hewing stone; Their 's a mission greater even Than the King's upon his throne. WESTERN WONDERS. Now, Muse, attune with pleasing note While on the stream of Time we float A few short years, when the Far West Was by the white man yet unblest. Save by a few, who loved the moods Of Nature in her solitudes Too well to be enslaved by art Within the city's throbbing heart. 'Here, forests stood in stately pride As if they time and storm defied; Within their depths did panther roam, Here, deer and rabbit, found a home; The grape-vine swung from the lofty oak. The blue-bird's song the stillness broke, And savage youth his arrows made Within the woodland's cooling shade. Here, too, was boundless prairie seen — A waving, billowy sea of green — Where buffalo roamed, free as the air And flowers bloomed on a bosom fair. Within whose veins ran a sluggish tide,- The mirror of the Indian bride. 40 THE THREE BRIDES Where forests stood now cities stand, The pride and wonder of the land; The tilling of the prairie soil Full well repays the farmer's toil, And scattered thick, o'er plain, by stream. Ten thousand hearthstones brightly gleam. The Indian's bark canoe no more Skims, with wild grace, the waters o'er; No more, his wigwam dots the place— The dwelling of a simple race, That owneth not a rood of land Where once their fathers held command. A race untaught, of stalwart frame, That loveth not the white man's name. By the Missouri's sluggish wave, Where the wild Kansas finds a grave, On hills, where red men passed the hours, Stands now a city, rich in towers; It stands, today, the Golden Gate For Kansas' young and rising state, It is, today, will ever be The home of thought and energy. Oh, city, glittering in the sun ! Many the victory by thee won O'er rugged Nature's frowning look — So many, 'twould require a book To tell thy "ups and downs" and still Thy people love each rocky hill ; And, though thou art in years yet young Still will thy praises well be sung In every land, in every zone, Where Kansas City's name is known. THE TWO BURIALS. On St. Helena's rugged shores 'Gainst which the blue waves beat, Enveloping the gray, old rocks As with a winding sheet; AND OTHER POEMS. 41 Where naught is heard to break the calm That fills the air around, Except the sea bird's lonely cry And ocean's murmuring sound; — A grave is made, a narrow grave For the resting place of one Who, but so short a time before. Such glorious deeds had done; Who had filled the world with clash of arms And lofty battle song; And had, with spirit firm and bold. Spurned right instead of wrong. Who had waved his silken banner fair O'er many a clime and sea; Had battled with the strong of arm And chained the brave and free ; Whose dauntless spirit prompted him To visit distant lands— To traverse Russia's glittering snows And Egypt's burning sands. Carry him slowly, oh, soldier, grim, To this grave where the willows weep; Lower him gently, this warrior brave, To his last, long, dreamless sleep ; Roll the stone carefully over his tomb. Press smoothly the damp, yielding sod. Speak low and kindly of the great dead, And leave him alone — with his God. Weep, oh, France, for your hero, who lies So far from the scenes of his glory. Tell to the world the spirit you've lost And the winds will so waft the sad story, That nations afar will take up the tale And learn of the hero who's fallen; While some will rejoice and some will lament O'er the death of the mighty Napoleon. 42 THE THREE BRIDES From heathen India's burning skies A ship comes o 'er the foam ; Its precious freight a little band Bound for their early home. Blow soft, oh, winds, ye skies, be fair And billows cease to roll; Nor gales arise, nor storms descend, 'Till these have reached their goal. For many years, this noble man And gentle, saint-like wife Had followed in the footsteps plain Made by the Saviour's life; Their mission was on India's plains To scatter truth and love And point these erring, heathen ones To brighter plains above. But, longings come amid their toil To see their friends once more; To hear again sweet, welcoming words And tread their native shore; To press again the hands of those Fast bound by friendship's chain. And 'twas for this they left their cause To cross the raging main. But, Death, "who loves a shining mark," Had singled for his own Her from whose pure and gentle soul Each grace resplendent shone; And so the rose-tint left her cheek As brightness did her eye; And, mournfully, her faithful friends Stood 'round to see her die. On St, Helena's lonely isle, By the side of the sounding sea. They made her a grave where naught could disturb Save Nature's minstrelsy. AND OTHER POEMS. Take one more look at her pale, sweet face Ere you lower her into the tomb, Chant one more dirge and scatter fresh flowers Before you depart through the gloom. Weep, oh, India's dusky sons. For your friend and Christian guide Who, all these long and weary years. Was ever at your side; And, weep, oh, husband, standing alone By the grave of your cherished one — But, rejoice, oh, angels, for by their loss, Her joys have just begun. On St. Helena's rugged shores, 'Gainst which the blue waves beat. Enveloping the gray, old rocks As with a winding sheet— Two graves were made— two narrow graves For the sunbeams to illumine ; In the one was laid a soldier brave. In the other a Christian woman. (Mrs. Judson.) TIRED. "I am so tired," the little child said As he sank to rest in his trundle bed. ''AH the day long, 'mid the garden bowers, I've chased the bees and plucked the flowers. Until the sun became weary too, And sank to rest in his bed of blue. While the stars came out to light the sky And guide the angels passing by." ' ' Why am I thus ? This morn I was not As I went to play in th' accustomed spot; My limbs were active and free from pains While now they seem as bound with chains. THE THEEE BRIDES Sweet child, the answer comes e'en now While weary nature bathes your brow, And sweet influences 'round you creep To waft you to the realms of sleep. While yet in infancy, you gain That in all of joy there's much of pain ; The roses you pressed this sunny morn Contained among them many a thorn; The bee that passed on shining wing But hid from view a cruel sting; So, the sweets of life though they you bless Contain the pains of weariness. "I am so tired," said he whose name Is written high on the roll of fame; "Tired of strife and noisy debate. Tired of guiding the 'Ship of State'; Of the servile bow and the hollow smile That ill conceal the serpent's guile; But, tired of more than all beside. This lofty seat though fair and wide." "How I have toiled and not in vain A mocking phantom to obtain ; It beckoned me from the vale of rest, Where peace and love alone are blest, To seek it on Ambition's steep. Where lofty Power his vigils keep ; But, now, the toiling all is done, The crown is mine, the scepter won," "But what have I gained through all these years, So fraught with care and stormy fears? 'Tis true that glory decks my brow But, ah, its weight is heavy now; Voices of praise sound on my ear But loving friends I do not hear; What to me is a deathless name When clods shall cover my weary frame ? ' ' AND OTHEE POEMS. 45 "I am SO tired," the old man cried As he stood the surging sea beside; While the fitful blasts of briny air Played with his snowy locks of hair ; And his form was bent with the weight, I ween, Of the many cares he had stopped to glean While passing o'er the plains of Life, Where toil and care are all so rife. **The way was long and rough to me Before I came to this rushing sea, The ebb and flow of whose mighty tide But tell me tales of mortals' pride— The thorns have pierced my weary feet, My lips are parched with burning heat. My eyes are dim with falling tears— I wait for the ebb of the tide of years." **I know that on the other shore There will be rest forevermore For the weary ones of earth below. Who sadly on this journey go From sunny youth with its smiles and tears Onward through manhood's riper years. Till we come to the shores of Death's dark sea And are borne on its waves to Eternity." THE CHILD AND THE ROSE. I gave to the child a rose All fragrant and sparkling with dew, And I said in my heart, little child. This rose is just like you; Blooming so fresh and fair, Sent by the angels above Down to this sad, dark world To cheer by your smiles of love. 46 THE THREE BRIDES I took from the earth a rose, All drenched by the night's cold rain, And on the grave of my beautiful one I laid it in grief and pain; For it had passed in the night Back to the fadeless bloom Of the amaranthine bowers above And left me only a tomb. LINES IN AN ALBUM. In Life's fair book thou'rt writing, Day by day ; And what therein is traced Will ever stay. Nor wish nor word of thine May change a single line— There, dark 'twill be or shine Alway. Of pages in that book Are seventeen, Writ with thy thoughts and deeds, My Josephine; And when they all are done, Well finished as begun, May Heaven then be won, Aunt Rene. LINES TO M The sky broodeth low o'er the mountains, Each peak and each crag gleams with snow ; The canons e'en rival in whiteness The clouds that are floating below. The winds have, in awe, hushed their voices. Not a sound of the wild bird or bee— There's naught but deep silence and sadness In this scene for you, friend, and me. AND OTHEE POEMS. 47 Far down lies the beautiful valley Where Summer loves best to unfold Her wonders and lay a mosaic, Mosaic of green and of gold ; With rivers that glimmer and wander And sing on their way to the sea And kiss the bowed heads of the lilies, That bloom there for you, friend, and me. The snow in your dark hair is shining. Care sits on your brow as on mine. Our joys are less bright, our steps are less light, Than in days of the ''auld lang syne"; But down in our hearts may dwell summer. There, blossoms of love may yet be, And hope's birds, that sing in all seasons, Will yet sing for you, friend, and me. COMING HOME. Sweet the hymns of the forest. The anthems sung by the sea And the laughter of rill in the meadow- But the sweetest music to me Falls on my ear when the shadows Gather thickly in the lane, For then a loved one cometh. Whistling some joyous strain. Long though the day and toilsome, Burdened with many a care; For the stern duties of manhood Are for him to brave and bear; Still when the evening shadows Show that day is on the wane. Homeward he cometh whistling The notes of some old refrain. 48 THE THREE BEIDES Even as in boyhood, Weary of comrades and play, Longing for the home nest, Toward it makes his way ; Glad of the light in the window, Trudging through fog and rain- Gleefully waking the echoes, Whistling some boyish strain. Shattered in every lifetime Are some cups of joy; With our sweetest pleasures There is mingled some alloy. But no vain repining Over Fortune's frown or pain If he comes homeward whistling Some old, familiar strain. Love is the ruling power On this earthly sphere, Infinite love doth govern The world that lies so near ; Where, some day, 'mid voices, Blending in harmony, His voice will waft the message— He is coming home to me. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. Beautiful of face and form. Rich in rippling tresses, Only seemed she born for joy, Love and fond caresses. Dark eyes so bright. Round arms as white As lilies on the water; No one so fair in all the land As Maud, the miller's daughter. AND .0THER POEMS. Reared 'mid scenes where Nature blends Woodland, glen and bower, Stateliness she took from pine, Grace from every flower; And ne'er was heard The song of bird More sweet than her merry laughter; 'Twould thrill the heart like an old love tune, Remembered for aye after. Wealth nor rank o'er her fair head Reared a stately palace; Fortune's hand held not for her The sweets of luxury's chalice; Yet no proud dame Of noble name Would better grace an Eden With pleasing charms and winning ways Than this sweet village maiden. Vine embowered her dwelling stood On a green sward, sloping Downward to the pleasant banks Of a stream, that, groping Through verdant gloom And tangled bloom Its way went onward sweeping To turn a moss grown mill-wheel 'round. Then, on through green fields creeping. Humble though her roof-tree, yet Nature showered her fairest Offerings on the spot, from Wood and field the rarest; Shells from the shore That evermore Shall sound of the sea's low sighing; Moss, sweet singing birds and flowers; With each other in beauty vying. Bird and bee will find the flower Hidden in the wildwood. 50 THE THREE BRIDES So, lovers found this human rose Blooming sweet from childhood; To sue in vain Her love to gain; Not the rich tones of the pastor Could win her, nor the squire's heaped gold, Nor lore of the village master. Loved she well at eventide When the day, grown weary. Rested on his crimson couch And the night wind dreary Whispered in the green pine tops— To watch the gleam Fade from the stream To brighten village bowers And linger last as though loved best On Courtney Hall's fair towers. Good night twitter of bird, Fire flies in dim fields dancing. Perfume on west wind borne, Stars from their blue depths glancing; E'en charms as these Would fail to please, If had not fallen the shadow, That day, of heir of Courtney Hall On bridge or daisied meadow. Childhood's bright winged hours, meanwhile, O'er them ceased to hover; She no maiden vain became, He no foolish lover; As one by one The years sped on Since first they shared their pleasures; Together read some legend wild Or searched for woodland treasures. Dear she was to him and fair- Fairer than the morning AND OTHER POEMS. 51 Dew gemmed, or the flakes each year Threw down the earth adorning. In his glad youth The unwelcome truth Ne'er crossed his mental vision, That wedded rank and humble birth Might mar their lives elysian. One great lesson she had learned From the book of Nature— Love the theme, beginning, end— ' Love for every creature; Yet in her breast A vague unrest Would creep were he not sharing, As none else could, each passing joy That her young life was wearing. Thus as streamlets were their lives, Side by side descending From their mountain home, 'mid banks Blue with love's flowers, wending. In joyous glee. Their way to the sea. Too soon the time was nearing Of ice bound brook and wintery sky And songsters disappearing. Bitterly the old lord spoke Of the fullest duty Owed him— that no heir of his Should be lured by beauty;— Of high degree His bride should be, Not one of lowly station. Whose very presence in their midst Would be contamination. Proudly, then, the young lord spoke : "Dearest, cease your weeping; Deep our love and wide the world. We'll seek its kindly keeping; THE THEEE BRIDES Like Knight of old, Firm, true and bold, I'll win by high endeavor; While you will be my lady Maud, And I your true lord ever." They, then, over hill and moor Soon were swiftly speeding ; Ivied tower and ancient mill From their sight receding; Away, away, 'Neath light of day The world seems fair and smiling; Speed on, with youth and hope and love Your every care beguiling. The port is reached, their union blessed By priest for joy or sorrow— The blue sea beckons them away— Their good ship sails tomorrow. Nor time nor fate May separate Whom God hath joined together, Through all the changing scenes of life— Of fair or stormy weather. The good ship sails, on deck they stand Viewing with emotion Their loved land fade, then disappear— Blent with the mists of ocean. But wind and wave They gladly brave So they may not be parted; What to him is rank or gold If she be broken hearted? Borne to a fair and sunny land. Turn they radiant faces Ever towards the setting sun- Journeying 'mid strange places, Until is found A spot of ground AND OTHEB POEMS. On which to rear home *3 altar ; A task, in which, with love and zeal. Its bnilders may not falter. But vanished, now, its cheerful lights— For o'er the sea came tidings- Happy tidings— words of love Expressed instead of ehidings: "Our hearts are lone. Come to your own Of titled wealth, forgiven You and your bride for love's sweet sake, For which you well have striven." THE OLD HOUSE BY THE SEA. Grim, deserted and dreary. The house on the lone beach stands, Like the hull of a shipwrecked vessel Cast there by the shifting sands ; Ancient and weather beaten. The sport of wind and of tide; The owl and the bat haunt its rafters— O'er its floor the lizards glide. Like great eyes the uncurtained windows Ever look out o'er the sea. Watching as if for something To reveal the mystery Why comes not a light craft sailing, Sailing out of the gleaming west. To be moored again by the stairway. By the inmates feet oft pressed; Leading up to the time stained doorway, Through which in the long ago, Forth came a happy household To descend to the waves below. Lapping gently sand and seaweed- Fair and smiling the ocean lay, As, embarked on its tranquil bosom. Light of heart they sailed away. 54 THE THBEE BEIDES But o'er the face of Nature Slowly there came a change; Dim and dimmer grew the sunlight While a silence weird and strange Brooded over the waters— E'en the beasts and birds on land Seemed bound by a mystic silence, As if awed by some stern command. Broken by a low wailing Borne o'er the face of the deep, Like the cry of some lost spirit, Wakened from troubled sleep. Then the Storm King blew his trumpet, Summoning from ocean's caves The wild demons of destruction To disport on the bounding waves. Oh, for the proud ship plunging Wildly amid the foam, Oh, for the weak hands clinging To the frail bark far from home. Spar, mast and lifeless body Floated slowly in to shore But the one time happy household To the old house came no more. Nevermore were heard their voices Calling from room to room. Nevermore the flickering firelight Banished the shades of gloom. Seeming a blot on the landscape When the sun reveals its form, Like a wraith when the moon shines dimly Or, enveloped in fog and storm; But a beacon to the boatman Far out on the lonely main When the setting sun, with crimson, Paints each narrow window pane. AND OTHEE POEMS. 55 THE TIBER. Thoughts suggested by the proposed dredging of the Tiber to obtain its treasures. A silver thread among the Appenines Becomes a brook among the somber pines, Where tuneful birds and wild beasts come to drink. And children, still more wild, upon its brink Play their rude games with savage, careless grace— The fauns and satyrs of the rugged place. With ever widening channel on it flows, With song and murmur, knowing no repose. Until, its banks unable to restrain, It leaps unfettered to the boundless plain. Here, fed by other streams, 'neath bluer skies. Stirred by soft winds, that croon sweet lullabies, It flows on grandly to the distant sea To shape the course of human destiny. At first, through lands primeval, whose rich soil Had ne'er responded to the touch of Toil; Then Tuscan garden and Etrurian field Shadowed its waters with luxuriant yield. Here, weary Priam stopped to rest and sing Of the Eternal City that would spring Upon its banks, and, like a star, Shed a rich luster upon lands afar ; When Romulus would rear the sturdy wall. Stone upon stone.— Did he not hear the call. Across the ages, of the toiling slave, Of tribune and of Caesar stern and brave, The roll of chariot, the shout of victory. The wail of captive? And did he not see The eagles on the Roman banners gleam. That waved and glittered in the morning's beam; And in the faces of Rome's foes the dread When they would hear the Roman soldier's tread? 56 THE THREE BRIDES And from Eome's rise to glory, half untold, Still, by its Avails, the Tiber onward rolled. Upon the frail bridge, o'er its waters flung, Horatio stood— whose praises have been sung More than the thousands have, who, with their swords, Drove back the Sabine and the Gallic h'ordes In Rome's defense, and for her shed their blood. Then sank to death beneath the encrimsoned flood. Here wept Zenobia, the captive queen, That, nevermore, her own land would be seen; There echoed here, Vespasian's bitter cry Of "Give me back my legions, ere I die"; And the sweet tones, produced by Nero's bow. Blent with the music of the river's flow. The heathen came here with his offerings To "Father Tiber" of most precious things; The Christian of his wealth to leave no trace. Within its depths, found a safe hiding place;— Etruscan vases, many a priceless gem, The golden candlestick brought from Jerusalem — Most holy, of pure gold, borne to and fro, And thrice around the walls of Jericho ; Fair works of art from Greece and other lands, All here, were buried 'neath the shifting sands. And, as in ancient times, so, still today, Beside Rome's walls the Tiber takes its way. But, in this twentieth century, no plan Seems futile to the active brain of man ; He lifts from Science the veil of mysteries. He reads the secrets of the earth and seas; The depths are his, high are his flags unfurled, He whispers and his words speed 'round the world. So, not unmeet, the Tiber too should hear A strange voice calling to it, sweet and clear : 1 f . 1 AND OTHEE POEMS. 57 "Give back, oh, river of the yellow tide. The jewels that adorned the hand of bride, The crowns of gold, the gems plucked from a throne, The priceless gifts brought thee from every zone, The heaps of gold, that have for centuries lain In thy embrace ; that want and woe and pain May solace find in these, a gift from thee. And Joy and Plenty smile on Italy." THE GREAT SOUTH WEST. We sing, we sing of thee. The brightest jewel on the nation's brow. In all her galaxy Of glorious sections, the most glorious thou ; A beautiful and wide and rich domain That aeons 'neath thine azure skies have lain And drank of dew and sunshine to make strong The soil as fit abode for that great throng Of freemen, following from sea to sea "The star of empire" and of destiny. Not the first race that has thy verdure pressed But greatest one that yet has sought thy breast— The greatest! Who can tell what empires lay Upon these shores in Time's remotest day? That sank, perchance, in dark oblivion. Before had fallen mighty Babylon; Oh, mystic land, thou guard 'st thy secret well Of the first people that in thee did dwell ; Who climbed thy mountains, drank from out thy streams. Thy canons roamed, who dreamed their pleasant dreams Of love and conquest, fleeting and as fair As the mirage they viewed in desert air; But thou hast vouchsafed, here and there, a trace In times less ancient, of a simple race Who dwelt 'mid cliffs and in thy caves obscure, With lives best told in place of sepulture. 58 THE THREE BRIDES Balboa and his men The shining waves of a great sea behold From th' heights of Darien; Before unseen by white men, there unrolled And stretching out to the horizon's rim, Sunlit and rippling, in the distance dim, To break upon some distant, unknown shore— Thy fair Pacific, bold Conquistador. And yet unfurrowed lay its waters blue. Save by the passage of some rude canoe, Till snowy English sails gleamed in the bays As gleamed, on shore, the sword o'er rugged ways Carved by the Spaniard for the coming feet Of the Franciscan fathers, with the sweet Old story of the Cross to tell, content Could they but change to humble penitent Th' untutored Indian, in whose nature wild Reposed the tru,stful spirit of a child. Dawned a new era on the wondrous land When Civilization, by a priestly hand, Built high the mission walls and laid the tile And marked the outline of each nave and aisle; Upturned the soil and planted tree and vine For future largess of rich fruit and wine. In safety fed the flocks upon the hills. The vales were watered by the mountain rills, Where, in the harvest time, shone golden grain- In mission gardens bloomed the flowers of Spain; And, like the wild rose, bloomed the Indian maid Who met her lover 'neath its fragrant shade. A sweet contentment in each bosom dwells, As, overhead, ring out the mission bells; Each swelling note and silvery cadence clear Revealing its sweet purpose to the ear; While eastward, far beyond the prairies wide, Ring other bells o'er the Atlantic tide, Proclaiming to a listening world the birth Of a new nation cradled on the earth ; Proclaiming that the banner o'er it thrown Shall ne'er be shadowed by a tyrant's throne;— AND OTHER POEMS. 59 Ring, mission bells, your notes of love and peace, Ring, freedom's bells, that tyranny may cease; Ring out the victories that ye have won, And ring, forevermore, in unison. Since that far distant time, When on the breeze the bells their music flung In messages sublime. Whose glorious tones through all the years have rung; With added stars, that flag baptized in blood, From the Atlantic to Pacific's flood Has proudly waved; most proudly in the glow Where fading sunbeams their last glances throw Upon its folds ere sinking in the deep. And purple shadows o'er the landscape creep Of the South West, our loving hope and pride. More fair than other land on earth beside. Whose breast is veined by riches all untold. Of purest silver and of shining gold; Where, 'mid the rocks, lies hidden many a gem Fit to adorn a kingly diadem : But of small worth compared to the great wealth Presided over by the goddess Health; Of fruitful orchards and of smiling plains Where a perpetual summer joyous reigns ; Where flowers scatter perfume through the year. Nor fiery bolt nor chilling blast to fear; Whose mountains, grandly towering, capped with snow, Look proudly down upon the vales below ; Where many a city in its beauty stands, The wonder and delight of older lands ; With trade and industry on ever street. And in whose temples Grace and Culture meet. In such an air, amid such scenes as these, Man may develop fullest energies : Beneath such skies, fulfilled each heart's desire, To what high purpose may he not nspire? In all the years to come, will this not be The crowning spot of noblest faculty? 60 THE THKEE BEIDES LOS ANGELES. A perfect setting for a spot so fair Of mountain, vale and sea ; The desert's mystery Beyond, with its strange stillness everywhere, Beneath the fierceness of whose noontide rays, The weary traveler, on its sandy ways. Toward thee casts many an eager gaze And sighs for thy rose scented breeze. Thy singing birds and blossoming trees,— Los Angeles. What changes wrought since that time long ago When Spanish cavalier And Don with look austere. On the King's Highway journeying, to and fro, Here at pueblo lingered long to rest In some patio as a welcome guest. With padre waiting that he might be blessed ; Ere that dread time when cannon's roar Shook the mission walls, ne'er heard before On this calm shore. The mission bells then seemed a wondrous voice. Subdued, if death the theme, Or spoke with joy supreme Of birth or wedding that all might rejoice. Grandee and Indian would pause to hear The message ringing down upon the ear Of faith and love, of woe or happy cheer ; And Angelus from out the tower Would cast a spell of mystic power O'er evening hour. There came a paler race, of quicker tread. More apt to toil and strive And skillfully contrive Great purposes, more by ambition led. A new civilization then held sway And Growth and Progress marked a wider way AND OTHER POEMS. 61 For all than that of drowsy yesterday. Now, 'neath these matchless skies. The high and splendid walls arise Of Enterprise. Ships crowd the harbor, and the gleaming rails. O'er which the iron steed Bounds with impetuous speed, All but efface the old priest trodden trails; Trade reaches out with ever broadening hand To grasp the harvests of the fertile land, In every season by soft breezes fanned. Year after year, on every side, Are barren places beautified With loving pride; Until, on every hill fair homes are seen. Amid whose lovely bowers, Bedecked with countless flowers, The City of the Angels reigns as queen ; Queen of a realm that sea and sky illume, Where winter cometh not nor time of gloom — A realm of beauty and of fadeless bloom ;— A queen as fair as she is old, With gardens rich, with hills so bold. Of charm untold. THE BUILDERS. When the Great Architect of worlds made man In His own image. He implanted in his breast The love of beauty— not the beauty as Revealed in Nature's various forms alone— In brightly glancing waters, where are mirrored The human face and form, most perfect type Of beauty as beheld in Nature's works; Not in the lights that flash at sunset hour 62 THE THREE BRIDES Upon the hills, not in the shining orbs Above, nor in the blossoms at his feet— But, with creative power he is endowed — The active brain, the skillful hand to plan And fashion other beauties to adorn Bare niches in Earth's somber galleries. Nor, do we need to stand before the works Of Thorwaldsen or Angelo to view The greatest beauties to be found in art; The world is teeming with the work of hands More beautiful than e'er was wrought by brush Or chisel. We, in fancy, may behold Those tombs that overlook the Nile's green banks. Or, may, in admiration, gaze upon The stateliness of Strasburg's graceful domes. Or, stand where yet the Coliseum rears Its head amid the ruined palaces — Those splendid relics of a splendid past; — Or, yet, in the fair edifices that Dot our own land to find perfection of That art not the less beautiful because With it is blent noble utility. From the beginning. Architecture has Stretched forth a mighty and artistic hand To shelter and adorn. "Go to, let us Build us a city and a tower whose top Shall reach to Heaven, ' ' was uttered when the world Was young. From that bold effort uprose Babylon, Rich in her palaces and hanging gardens fair. And through whose brazen gates the riches of All nations passed. In the advancing light Of civilization, men grew weary of A wandering life— then Lebanon's cedars fell And man first learned "to hew the shaft And lay the architrave." It was not Grecian soil that enriched Rome, It was the treasures of philosophy And art the conquered laid, in sorrow, at The conqueror's feet. Fair Athens pointed to AND OTHEE POEMS. 63 Her loved Acropolis and thus taught Rome To imitate her fanes and monuments; And Corinth opened her reluctant gates And showed her gleaming palaces. Thus Grecian art Adorned the seven hills, and Rome, no more Was called a city of barbarians. And where her standards shone, there Roman art Was as triumphant as were Roman arms;— A wall in Britain ; now, a pillar reared In Gaul; a temple built by the Euphrates' wave; Until, as milestones, rose her works throughout the world. Corinthian column nor the Gothic arch Was prized in that dark, medieval time When Civilization's waves of light swept backward, and The only light of learning seemed as a Dim taper shining from monastic walls. Then his cause was most just whose castle was Most strong ; hence strength, not beauty then, was seen In the rough tower and massive battlements. In the Elizabethen era when Sprang Poetry and Romance forth, as sprang Minerva fully armed forth from the brain Of Jove, then Architecture rose in power And corresponding grandeur, while, across the sea, In the New World, curled the blue smoke above The cabins of a race of freeman, yet To be ; each one a home and fortress, where Were heard the shouts of children and the songs Of women, who, ofttimes, in faltering tones, Sang of their native land. No masterpiece of architecture has Arisen in these latter times excelling those Built centuries ago; for, ever, art And science seem to follow Nature's plan:— Where rays of light diverge more widely, there The lesser power at a given point. — 64 THE THEEE BEIDES So, too, though Learning has lit up a hemisphere Since gravitation's law astonished men, Or, since a Virgil sang— yet, no great mind Has grappled with a greater truth, nor has The verse of modern poet been more sweet. Strains of grand music floated to the roofs Of splendid churches, and from palaces Lights gleamed upon Venetian waters when The New World lay an unknown waste, where now The home and church and schoolhouse send Their greetings to all peoples 'neath the sun. But these old architectural wonders are Too surely crumbling into dust; the same Sky, yet unfaded, and the mountains, stern And changeless still, look down upon them, and The streams flow sparkling at their feet as when They first stood forth fresh from the builder's hands. And thus the evanescence of men's works is seen When with the works o^ God they are compared . Ancient as Eden, more enduring far Than are the adamantine hills, there stands A temple fair, unmarred by touch of Time; Built by the good and glorious of the world. Each laying well a stone in his own time And carving name thereon— a noble work, Invisible, intangible, save to Our inner consciousness. It has Arisen slowly through the centuries. Like a stalagmite forming in the dim Recesses of some cavern; silently As Solomon's great temple, where was heard No sound of hammer or of iron tool In all its building. Warrior, statesman and The humble Christian and philosopher, The poet and the painter, all, have joined In elevating and adorning its Fair walls until the twentieth century Finds it, indeed, a goodly structure. When The walls were yet low, Homer builded well. AND OTHEE POEMS. 65 Justinian's name is there; and Newton, and Galileo and Bacon, each did his Part well and carved his name in letters deep ; The name of Martin Luther shines like gold. Around Columbus' name there lingers still The balmy air of his discovered realms. The names of Washington and Franklin are Deep graven as their memories are within The hearts of all their countrymen. Of Ptolemy Philadelphus it is told: He bade his name carved on that lighthouse, called One of the Seven Wonders of the World. Instead, the cunning architect carved his Own name upon the marble deeply, and O'er it, in plaster, cut his sovereign's name. There have been many, who have sought like this Egyptian King to leave a name fair and Imperishable on this temple, but Their efforts have been marred by personal Ambition, and the waves of Time soon swept Away their traces. Only those, who have Toiled for the good and true, shall have a place Enduring on this wondrous temple that Shall rise still higher through the coming years. Till time shall be no more. THE UNATTAINABLE. It ever lies beyond the musician's skill To woo, from keys, the music of the storm; The thunder, muttering from hill to hill, A great wind sweeping through the forest trees. The waves, high dashing, on a rock-bound shore, A mountain torrent's wild, tumultous roar, A brook's low laugh, the sigh of gentle breeze. The countless melodies rain drops perform; 66 THE THREE BEIDES The pain and anguish of a human cry, The song of lark upmounting to the sky. In vain would artist with his colors rare, Imprison, on his canvas, sunbeams bright; The gray, the rose and gold of morning fair, Spring's tender beauty. Autumn's pageantry, The misty radiance of a moonlit sea. The illumined shadows of a starry night; Nor can the spirit, shining through the eyes. Be more portrayed than lightning in the skies. Thought bears the poet on swift, steady wings To beauteous islands set in azure seas; Where many a happy fancy softly sings; The Past unseals rare volumes for his gaze, The Future sings prophetic of the days To come and all Earth's wondrous mysteries. By grand emotions are his heart strings stirred, Which, to express, there seems no fitting word. We, the plain plodders in life's valley, when We catch fair glimpses of the mountain peaks And note the beauty of Fame's portals, then Oft leave our work unfinished there to climb. That we, too, may attain to heights sublime; Unheeding mentor that within us speaks In accents sorrowing, "Not so, not so. Your mission lies here in the vale below." Unmindful on we climb through noonday heat. O'er rugged ways, oft wounding weary feet. Until the shadows deepen on the way And disappears from sky all trace of day; Again the pitying voice "Return, return. To where the lights of home in luster burn ; Renew your tasks though humble they may be. Think not this side of vast Eternity To reach the goal that hope would have you gain, But which you labor for on Earth in vain." AND OTHER POEMS. 67 "NULLA DIES SINE LINEA." The artist lingered in the morn's bright beams; The hills smiled down upon him and the trees Waved welcoming branches in the gentle breeze; That, with the bird songs and the rippling stream's Low melody, fell on his listening ear To charm his senses and his spirit cheer; — For all that bloomed or sang some pleasure gave. Beyond the green fields lay the restless sea, White with the sails of many an argosy From distant ports, borne o'er the briny wave. Full laden with rich stores from every land. Silks from Cathay, rich spice from Samarcand And wine and perfume from each tropic isle. But, high above the pilot's cheery call, Ambition sang, and visions that enthrall More than rich cargoes and kind Nature's smile — Unseen save by the devotees of art- Were cherished and enshrined within his heart. Above his easel shine — Whose canvas yet lies colorless and bare — The characters that form his motto fair: "No day without a line." The door is closed against all common things; And as he stands before the canvas there. His lips form speech, at once a vow and prayer ; That, borne on high by swift, angelic wings, Is writ within that book that will be read When both the land and sea give up their dead. What noble thoughts surge through his throbbing brain ! What glorious forms within his mental view ! What lovely landscapes where the morning dew Yet li.es ! Is inspiration all in vain ? The brush he seizes and with zeal afire. With magic stroke he paints his soul's desire. Not in a day, but many come and go— He heard the reaper sing amid the grain, He saw the purpling grape and heard the wain Of vintage sweet pass lumbering and slow ; 68 THE THREE BRIDES And, like confetti thrown in festive town, He saw the mad wind whirl the bright leaves down. Still on he toiled when nuts fell on dead leaves And when the fields were robbed of their last sheaves. Down to the snowline gleamed a mantle white, The rain fed rivers sang with fresh delight. Still, at each day's decline He could repeat though weary, worn and pale, Yet, with a spirit strong that could not fail : "No day without a line." At last the day came when his task was done; A perfect picture, rare, of priceless worth. Glowed there upon the canvas, and the earth Thereby enriched; and, as the westering sun Shone on it through the lattice, it seemed proud Its glory was not dimmed by passing cloud. Relentless Time o'er genius e'en holds sway, And, long ago, the artist went to dwell Amid the beauties of the asphodel. But in an Old World gallery, today, His picture hangs upon an ancient wall, On which the yellow sunbeams love to fall— A thing of beauty and of matchless grace. On which Time's signet e'en has left no trace; A monument more lasting and more fair Than brass or marble rising high in air. We cannot all paint pictures such as this, We cannot all write books profound and wise, Nor read the secrets of the brooding skies. Nor win high praise, sweet as a mother's kiss; But each, by high endeavor, in his sphere. Can do some daily good throughout the year- All humble deeds, perhaps, obscure and small, But the Great Judge will smile upon them all. Then we should not repine As we toil on through Life's sunshine and storm, If we can say, and, saying, well perform: **No day without a line." AND OTHER POEMS. 69 COLUMBUS. In fair Genoa, centuries ago, Ere Time, with onward and impetuous flow. Had left sad traces on each palace wall, Dwelt in by Doges stern, who reigned and fell, As dead leaves fall; A child looked out through many a sunny day. Upon the shining waters of the bay, Blue as the sky above him and the sea O'er which a path lay to his destiny. And who could tell The dreams and visions that beguiled each hour, Pealed by the bell from San Lorenzo's tower? Or, how his spirit chafed at youth's delay When he fain would have sailed o'er seas away. How sports pleased not but ever vague unrest Like some mysterious singing bird Within his breast. That sang of joys to come in future days When he had gained the world's full meed of praise. And, then, at last, came manhood's tardy years. With manhood's guerdon of rich hopes and fears. He knocked unheard At princes' doors, he knelt alone, A humble suppliant, at many a throne. He asked for aid to seek those regions dim, From which bright visions waved their hands to him But monarchs kept their gold and heeded not ; They had been told that, 'neath the circling sun, No other spot Remained, yet, undiscovered, and they smiled At charts and visions as chimeras wild. How could he, poor enthusiast, have discerned What priests and learned nobles had not learned? But there was one, A woman and a queen, of heart and brain- A gracious sovereign of the realm of Spain. 70 THE THEEE BRIDES Queen Isabella, that name the synonym Of grace and lofty zeal— she gave to him Her jewels rare, she gave unto his need; And thus, in giving, added hope and cheer. That he might speed Across the trackless ocean to his goal; And whether far Cathay, or, where there roll Vast billows 'round some lonely isle, or, where Some shore, dwelt on by happy people there. No peril dear. No toil too great, if in her royal hand He might but lay the treasures of that land. Away, away, both sea and sky are fair, And sweet the briny odors in the air; The white sails flutter in each passing breeze, The last farewell is said, the last fond word; And now for these "Who brave the dangers of the mighty deep. And these who stay behind to sigh and weep, The billows roll between; the ships now are Three glistening specks on the horizon's bar; No sounds are heard Save creak of cordage and the sea bird's cry And voice of wind and wave as they sweep by. Away, away, the emprise is begun; Their prows are turned toward the setting sun; Columbus resolute, his seamen brave; New empires they will now most surely gain Or watery grave. The sun their guide by day, the stars by night, As they speed onward in their steady flight; What though the tempests rage and calms delay? More bravely still they press upon their way. But all in vain. No land is seen— storms toss their tattered sails And Hope, that long has sung for them, now fails. But whence these branches as from wooded vale? These spicy scents borne by the passing gale ? AND OTHER POEMS. 71 Can they be near some lovely, verdant shore Where flowers blossom and sweet fountains rise, And, evermore, Shall well earned comfort and sweet peace be theirs? They look and answered are their fervent prayers, For just before them, through the sol(l