♦ ^-^ * °o •*■_ * •^^^'^' ^°-nK ,-io. ' .^^ .* /^v^v v./ /^i^\ ^^^^ ♦*' >^^>. Sunshine and ^oses IFor you MlttY r^ur bay^s be 1\)q, sunshine of 5f ring time anb yout^, Ol)rous^ l^e ^leiis. In l^e wolb* by l^e lakes anb t^e scores: 5tta? roses of happiness blossom* anb Irul^ TXnb love f>etals cloy* Is t^ ^eart wls^ of yours. -O^ My Baby" Page 24 r ^ DEDICATED Lovers of Sunshine, Spring, Flowers, Birds, Squirrels, Field, Woodland, Stream, Nature, Books, Art, Youth, Beauty, Love, Hope, Faith, Memory, Age, Life, Lovers, Children, Man, God CONTENTS. PACE A FANCY 57 A FLOWER 44 A LAY OF HOME 60 A MAIDEN'S VOW 46 AN ARTIFICIAL ROSE 50 A REMINISCENCE 89 A SONG— TODAY 35 AT DUSK 30 AT REST 56 AZMARINE 26 COMMON FOLKS 99 DEAD 93 DESERTED 79 DRIFTING 76 HER BECKONING HAND 45 HER SINGING VOICE 82 IF I COULD SIT BY YOU 63 I LOVE YOU 25 JOSEPHA 54 LITTLE SWEETHEART BESS 29 LOVE'S VICTORY 81 MAPLE STIRRING TIME 84 MARY 51 MEDIAEVAL SERENADE 73 MY BABY 24 MY BRIDE 15 CONTENTS. PACE MY MAID OF JUNE 62 MY MOON GODDESS 53 ONLY AN ANTIQUATED BEAU 36 ON THE LITTLE BLUE 40 PROEM II RESIGNATION 48 SHE SOUGHT HER LORD 88 SOUL-MATED 61 SUMMER HERE 20 SWOONED 28 THE AGED VETERAN 97 THE BOOKS WE READ 70 THE BROKEN RANKS 58 THE DREAM OF AGE 41 THE FRONTIER GRAVE 68 THE HEAVEN GUILD 91 THE MAN THAT JUST DON'T CARE 102 THE PARTING 32 THE REAPERS 64 THE STOLEN KISS 74 THE STORM PAST 39 THE YOUNG IMITATOR 71 TO HAVE, TO LOSE 18 WAITING n WHEN EVEN COMES 94 WHICH, LOVE? 67 PROEM. Song, song, only song. Song that cheers the world along; Simple, light, a word of rhyme, Blithe as is the gay springtime. Song, song, just a line. Lithesome as the bright sunshine; Fragrance of the springtide rose And its tint — just as it grows. Song, song, light, care-free As the squirrel in the tree, Carol of the singing bird, — Denizen of field and wood. mii^^^. fD, Song, song, and a smile, — Help a listless hour beguile, Though mayhap a wayward tear Smile in memory of a bier. Song, song, — oh, the grave. Serious lessons let us save For a gloomier day than this Rainbozv-tinted day of bliss! Song, S07ig, — ah, with me Sing a song full joyfully! Where the sun shines brightest, grows. Thriving most, the fragrant rose. 12 J^ SUNSHINE AND ROSES O cycling eras, turn the page, Search through the realm of by-gone age, Fathom the depths of soundless deep. Seek among those in Time's long sleep, Those, who are living in all climes, Those of the meted poets' rhymes, Find me the image I shall name, Her I will worship into fame, Make her to be My bride. Let her have hair of rippling brown. Rich as an empress' regal crown; Eyes of the ocean's sunset shoal. Clear to reflect the inmost soul; Lips as the ripest cherry red. Sweet as the topmost overhead; Cheeks as the rosebud scarcely burst. Deepened to crimson when thou durst Touch them with lips, Profane; n^.^^^^ ..A ,<^/-vV Brow nobly arched, and dimpled chin, Neck as the swan's; and pearly skin Covering a pair of shoulders and breast Fit for a pillow of gods caressed; Arms and limbs and figure, mien, Grace all unknown to goddess queen; Yet with a silent dignity, Borne in child-like simplicity. Conscious of innate Power. Give her an intellect and brain Worthy to lead in genius' train Whether in industry, the arts. Statesmanship, commercial marts, Yet with a heart to guide her steps Into a woman's deeper depths. Into the altruistic love. Leading the souls of men Above By her unconscious Smile. 16 y^^ T-y/^^ Give her all this and give her more. Give her a soul with constant store Of the more selfish love that lives, Growing the more, the more it gives Of its ne'er failing strength to one — Father perpetuate in son — Give her this selfish love and let — Oh, above all do not forget! — To let that one Be me. Is it too hard, the thing I ask? Is it too difficult a task? Bring then a regal diadem, Deck it with jewel of purest gem. Come to my humble thatch and see Rarest of pearls about my knee, While to my cheek a goddess queen Presses her lips with grace, serene. Crown, you, the quested Bride. 17 r^. € 'CJf^ ^' ^^-N^ TO HAVE, TO LOSE. Beautiful, flaxen-haired dolly — too bad! Don't cry, my dearie! Spoiled are the beautiful features she had, Don't cry, my dearie! Yours was the foot that rocked her to sleep, Yours was the heart she lightly made leap. Your hand prepared her to join the scrap-heap, Don't cry, my dearie! Elegant frocks that were joyously worn. Don't cry, my dearie! Now are they soiled, bedraggled and torn. Don't cry, my dearie! Many the happy hours dressed in these clothes, Gayly you donned them to parade with your beaux — Wear out yet keep them, you can't, heaven knows ! — Don't cry, my dearie! 18 \.r1^r^ "V^ f\:t^!^ Beauteous features and eloquent grace, Don't cry, my dearie! Once told a story not in the worn face. Don't cry, my dearie! Happily bore you the pleasures of youth. Life, love and joyance, health, beauty, for- sooth, — Life's pleasures spent — lie on sorrow and ruth! Don't cry, my dearie! Hard is the pillow you've made for your bed. Don't cry, my dearie! Now you have made it, it's lay down your head, Don't cry, my dearie! Joyous you sip at the nectar and wine, Froth you flick light as you merrily dine, — Quaff down the dregs! Too late to repine! Don't cry, my dearie! 19 Tp^ f^^ -1 r^r^ '^^- €/ SUMMER HERE. Summer here! O what a joy! Life is sweet to every boy When the sun comes pouring down On the field and wood and lawn, When the May has turned to June, Fruit and plant and bird a-swoon With the ecstasy and bliss Of Her ardent lover-kiss. Summer here and with it come Freedom from the martyrdom Of the schoolroom and the shoe And the pleasure of the true- Blue, outdoor and nature-lore Student as he lades his store — First hand knowledge all agree, — Nature fakir, — no, not he! 20 r\ /H ..j^: r^. XS.V :-^/^/^-,-.':" ■X/^ ^U Summer here and fishing time, Pole on shoulder, heart a-chime With the merry nature-moods Of the birded, squirreled woods, — Minnows schooling in the brook, Nibbling bait from oif the hook, — Drowsing, lazing, basking on Till the afternoon is gone. Summer here and Juniper Tempting starving forager With its sun-kissed, cherry-red, Heaven-lent apples overhead — Fruit the gods were wont to brew Nectar from, — ambrosia, too. Was concocted from this same Little luscious orb of flame. 21 n .^'^'^^^^ ^^ Summer here and singing bird, Crowing cock and lowing herd Swell the welkin with a long Joyous, early matin-song; Buzzing bee and skying lark Mingle with the collie's bark As the glorious morning cheer All bespeak the summer here. Summer here and thunder storm. Cloud and darkness and the warm Pelting, whirling, swirling drops Bringing verdure, bloom and crops, Followed by the pools and flood And bare foot-prints in the mud, — Shining, grimy legs and feet Make a joyance most complete. (TvS^'tlC^'-G P6^ Summer here, ah, what would be Summer without flower and tree, Budding bush and blushing plant, Humming bird with wings a-chant. Rose and thorn and wheat and tare. Storm and sunshine, pleasure, care. Dews and droughts, scorch-heat and rain, Gladness mixed with chastening painl Summer here, O, glory bel Life and health and jollity, Rhapsody of mingled bliss, Nature ravishing with kiss All the senses, till a boy Lives a-glut with perfect joyl O, if might be all the year. Summer here, yes, summer here! 23 i rl/^ ,)^^ ^~=:^. Little cherub on the knee, In the lap, now on the floor, — Hither, thither, full of glee. Gurgling, laughing, bubbling o'er, Jumping, springing, lilting on, Crooning, drooning, sprightly elf, Winsome as a graceful swan. Beauteous image of love's self. Golden sunbeam of my heart Radiant idol of a mother. Never lived an one so smart, Never more will live another. Beauty, pleasance, radiance. Rainbow-tinted, glorious joy, Acme of all elegance, Thou pure gold, the rest alloy! r I LOVE YOU. I love you, I love you, I love you! So singeth the bird in the bower. I love you, I love you, I love you! So buzzeth the bee in the flower. As singeth the bird and as buzzeth the bee, So pulsates my heart in its rhythmical glee. And carols my soul in a grand balladry: "I love you, I love you, I love you!" 25 AZMARINE. "Azmarine!" Her beaming eyes, Half-inviting lips, As a vision 'fore me rise In my dreamland-trips, Beckon me to fairy dells, Woodland scenes and mystic spells To the heart of Nature's moods Where her spirit dwells. "Azmarine!" Enchantress, she Leads me through the glens, Coaxing and beguiling me With some power not human's, Leads me on and ever on, Skipping, tripping, dancing fawn, When I beg the boon I ask, Look, and she is gone. O<^ik0^ ^^^^^ v^^^ //:*;; ^K^- "Azmarine!" Fair nature-child, Will you never love? Will you ever rove a-wild Nature's fairy grove? Listen to a story sweet As the rosebud at your feet Fragrant as a lily, white. Make my life replete. "Azmarine! My heart's desire!'* Still she trips away — Ever grows ambition higher Through life's working day; Ne'er attained, heart's fondest hope; Gained one landmark, still we grope Infinitely finding new Barriers to cope. -'"^2^%?<>' ^/-^ ii^^^t^ Still other hopes appear anon. — Sweet faces born of morn's fair light, The richly jeweled innocents, — But all succumb Fate's bitter blight. Yet, in my bachelor-chair of woe, I muse, at ease, resigned, that Time Has dealt her cards, declared that Vm Only an antiquated beau. {'-% Ao~^ c^.X5^^ ^-. ^'l THE DREAM OF AGE. A golden mist of sunbeams from the incense- laden breeze Wells smokeless from man's dream-pipe, as he basks in age's ease. The future lies a nebulous aroma leaward blown ; The past a hazy vista, thorn and roses inter- strewn. But Memory dismantles ev'ry vestige of the sad, And builds a gilded castle for the one wrought iron-clad. Apartments molded to the whims Caprice suggests are fair With priceless images to deck the walls, once frescoed-bare. The floor adorns with rug and fur and easeled panel rare And mantlepieces amber-brown, dais and furniture Of jeweled worth too fabulous for Fancy e'en to prize As gloating o'er with sated sense, she cloys her lavish eyes. About the castle to the stars she rears an ivied wall Debarring storm and cloud and thorn and winter's chilling thrall; And in the close of verdant-fair, a shimmering garden sheen, With nectar spring, and fragrant bloom, and bird and arbor-green. ^^^^yp^ ^^rDnS Profane with prodigality, yet loth to lavish less She squanders ruthlessly again far more of pricelessness. Within this Paradise to rule with magic sceptered glove, She places aye a splend'rous queen, and bids Man call her Love. ^An 43 ■'?i ..*^^§^ ^C^ -\s>^ Nj^ej*^ ^' ..^<7^Vn/^,^?/0c;^ A FLOWER. Deep in the grass a little flower Snuggled its innocent perfume From ardent gaze, of sun and shower, Some tiny lorn-love to illume. But as I trod, a reckless heel Lowered the beauty. Heaven-caressed Oh, that the ruthless one might feel, Alone, the ill of life earth pressed. n^'^^^^^^R^^:^ A MAIDEN'S VOW. It is spoken. I have promised. And the stars that shine above And moon shall lose their lustre ere I fail that vow of love. The words are writ indelible on my heart with adamant Till time can ne'er efface them, nor change can them supplant. If be the throb of years continue to Eternity Ere Fate shall seal that compact with the promises to be, My faith shall be unshaken and my promise to be true Shall be a virgin covenant of loyalty to you. 46 What though the seas divide us with their azure-green expanse Or warring races separate us with their hostile glance; What though the battling elements be raging aye between, Or kinsmen's blood be carnage-gore upon a common green. M Forsooth, though wracked with torture's pangs or humbled to the dust, With bating breath and faltering hope, I'll still have faith to trust. It is spoken. I have promised. And the stars that shine above And moon shall lose their lustre ere I fail that vow of love. 47 l(!K(!f^^!^^ ^y^VAx l^^fllr --'C^' Shall I sit in the shade, while others have light, Sing the song of the weary, while others delight; Shall I serve in the room of affliction and woe While the world dances gayly as past me they go; ^ Shall I smile the faint heart into rallying hope, Weep with those who must weep in life's lowly station. Teach the humble the way with life's problems to cope; — If I do it submissive, 'tis true resignation. /^v^^^/Oc>^@-C '-^I't 1 w II w ,^ Do I sit meekly down to weep and to mourn, Or take up the burden too easily borne; Do I look on a wrong that I might set a-right; Or take the rough blows meant another in a fight; Do I grieve for the youthful one startmg out wrong, Or behold an error in brother or nation, E'en submissively hear a false note in a song. Which I might prevent,— this is false resigna- tion. n/L-j^:^!^ ^^^,- '■'/); AN ARTIFICIAL ROSE. It is only an artificial rose, Witherless, fadeless, unreal, Wanting the fragrance and freshness, forsooth, Genuine roses reveal. It is only the artistic handwork of man, Imitation of nature and life. But yet in this art, is concealed for a heart, The mem'ry of love and of strife. rt^^ On the eve of a parting it fell from her hand, — A parting since proven for aye, — A lifeless, lone monument now does it stand To one once so happy and gay. And I treasure this valueless rose more than wealth, Or any fair blossom that blows. For all, now revealed of her, is concealed, For me in this artificial rose. €U.^.^--rv mc^ She left us weeping bitter tears, Yes, woeful tears, e'en soulful tears, At the untimely call which sears All hope for future useful years. Nor could her smiling lips erase The awful trace, resentful trace, Of bitterness, against His grace. We felt, from off a single face. But now back through the years, we see Eternity, eternity Commence with us on bended knee At Mary's side in heavenly plea. 61 K!f^^^ "Mary!'* That sound still like a knell, A funeral knell, celestial knell, Is leading us, the throng, to swell, That holy throng, where angels dwell. ,Sf^<\!fk1 MY MOON-GODDESS. Immersed in the billowy, silvery rays Of the fulling moon as they spray down between The nude, writhing limbs of the forest that sways In the hiemal breezes and swell and careen, My moon-goddess basks. Her ringlets of pearl Reflect the transparent slivers and gleams That lave her soft throat and curl and swirl In eddies and whirlpools of deluging beams. iii( ill! JOSEPHA. Josepha, little sweetheart, With your locks of sunset sheen And dancing eyes of autumn's Radiant, nut-brown gleam, I ween. No ardent lover ever found Or poet dared to sing Such glowing image, fervor-crowned, And set his soul a-wing To such sweet verve And ecstasy As constant strove From you to me. <-2c^ Josepha, glowing remnant Of the ember brought from Heaven, Your countenance a dazzling coal, Your soul with flame, absolved and shriven, With such a goddess to adore And render sacrifice I turn a Pagan worshiper; Incense of myrrhs and spice, I tender you, In boundless store. Growing more poor. Yet having more. I*. 5 ,€: i^,^O^^or^^m^<^l AT REST. Sweet voices chant the song of blissful peace And snowy lilies lie above in scattered grace, A silent benediction of release, Intoned in thought, lends to the peaceful calmness of the place Where she lies hidden on the breast Of Him who lured her to the rest Of His soft beaming face. K^r^(^^k<^ C^..,- yr ^ m A FANCY. Quiet, demure, withal serene, Modest, retiring, placid, calm, Blissful and silent as a psalm, Constant as any goddess-queen 1 Happy, contented, coy and grave E'en to the smile that curves the lips, Gracing their roseate blooms with sips Of nectar, kept for their veriest slave. Gentle and sweet as the fragrant breeze That rocks the verdure of the spring And precious nestlings, fro and swing. Up 'mong the leafy boughs and trees. Ah, what a crown of gracious gifts Laurels the brow, I dare not love! E'en as I fancy, far above, Vanishes she among cirrus-rifts. 67 # THE BROKEN RANKS. Oh, my little boy, Ronald, is joyous And he hums him a blithe little lay As away he trips light with the children To school and before school to play; But when teacher has given the signal And the pupils form line books to tend. Instinctive a hush swells the silence, At the thought of my little boy's friend. Oh, the ranks of the marchers are broken And my little boy's arms slowly fall, As he reaches his hands for the shoulders Where now are no shoulders at all. And the little bright face of my Ronald, That was wont the sun's beaming to blend And reflect, has turned pale and has saddened^ At the thought of his little boy friend. 68 a^M^. .-r^^VV?-'^ Oh the little torn books are no longer In use and the red bounden slate With initials, crude carved in the frame-work, The sponge and the pencil that late Has been chewed and been hacked with a pen knife, — And the seat, the whole vacant end Sets staring, a blatant remembrance Of thoughts of my little boy's friend. .a(Mmj' c' And ever the ranks are a-thinning And early life's lessons begin And the little forms quake with a tremor As Fate sits and leers with a grin. In vain do I wish I might gather My little boy to me and send Care a-gallop forever and save him Thoughts such as of his little boy friend! --x^ ^M '^ A LAY OF HOME. O tune me a lay of a lowly roofed thatch, A lay close of kin to the loam; O tune it to chord with a feeling I catch When I think of a once humble home. O sing the words soft, to a minor pitched key, With a pathos so gentle, sublime; Let the cadences glide, not from monotone free, And careless of meter and rhyme. ?M O sing it, or drone it, or whisper it low, But a-tune to the soul of the past, A-raptured by feelings that no one may know, Unenthralled by memories that last. O tune it and wing it and set it a-float In the tireless arms of the breeze To lull me to sleep with its sweet cadenced note 'Mong the leaves of the e'er verdant trees. >n^! a.-^.,^-\^/7/tHr:>^ •'C^ SOUL-MATED. Between the darkness and the day, Between the sunbeams and the gray- Blue nuptial gleaming of the moon, She silent waits me in a swoon Of virgin woman-loveliness. Verdant the ardor of those eyes That stole the deep Venetian skies; The ripe-red lips await the bliss Of being robbed of soul-mate kiss; The heaving, rounded, pearly breast Courts ravishment of manly chest; And blushing heart with rhythmic blood Deluges with its crimson flood A soul of cloying heavenliness. r\A^ Hid in a niche in Mem'ry's wall Safe from the mongers, venders, all, Secreted for recall in rarest moon, The image of a pretty maid Is wrapped in tissue, ne'er to fade, — O mem'ry of my little Maid of June! The seasons come, the seasons wane, • With gale and blast, with song-bird's strain, With birth and growth and blossom, fade and swoon, And in the midst, enchantress, dear, Rocked on the bosom of the year. Laughs aye my sunny-mooded Maid of June. And now her image, from the wall. Returns again at Mem'ry's call. And thrills me with her mellow croon and tune; And love, again awakened, sighs. And beams of youth fill dew-dimmed eyes, Enraptured by my little Maid of June! 62 -L^'^i IF I COULD SIT BY YOU. If I could sit by you, my love, If I could sit by you, And hear your tender words, sweet love, In accents old, yet new. If I could sit by you and hear, Through all eternity, Your silver sigh, 'T love you, dear," 'T would be too short for me. 63 /•^^^ Vi>^ THE REAPERS. Early they rise, at break of dawn, Ere the splendrous dews have gone, And hasten forth to laden field To garner in the golden yield. Before old Sol has shown his face, — While yet the eastern sombre grace Of grey awaits the radiant ray Of blushing aureoled day. The reapers start their glorious work Nor dare to drone or laze or shirk During the long and scorching hours- Lest Nature intercept with showers. 64 n^j^^^ f. '^ p m 0. ) iC Who gives a care for parching heat And ceaseless moil for labored feet? The harvest field is laden fair With its rich yield of grain so rare! It is all waving in the breeze, Rousing and calling from their ease Into the joyous harvesting, Into the toil of garnering. Master and servant, maid and swain, Lout and savant. None refrain From the exquisite joy and rare Of gathering in his precious share. m L^. E'en till the sun has sunk to rest And the gold glory of the west Has faded, e'en till dusk has set Her seal on day, the reapers yet Proceed to garner in the sheaves, The heavy-laden golden sheaves. Fruits of the season's joyous toil. Rarest of vintage of the soil. Here's to the reapers, jewel crowned, Those whose pleasure is aye found In the enravishing delight Of garnering from dawn till night! WHICH, LOVE? 'Neath the moon's pale beams we smile, I at you and you at me, Rapidly the hours beguile. Stealing kisses granted free. Yet how soon we two must part. One to wear a bruised heart. 'Tis the way of love and life; One is strong, the other weak; One is conqueror in the strife. The vanquished flounders at his feet. Which of us shall stand, God knows! Heaven pity the other's throes! 67 m i3§^ * JsAfV-^'^ 1i I \^S THE FRONTIER GRAVE. A fragile shallow on a gentle hill Where birds are wont to hide their precious nest, An ancient rosebush and a rippling rill, Are Nature's landmarks for her unknown guest. No potted flowers deck that ancient grave, No marble foot or headboard gives the name. And yet, mayhap, some warrior, generous brave. Some noble prince, lies there, unknown to fame. Or who knows but some mother terror struck, Defending with her life her helpless child; Some maid, emboldened by a lover's pluck, Risked all, lost all, then placid lay and smiled. ^<:3 ^ "W y/ Some abnegating Jesuit; some brave, Who fought to save his papoose, home, from foes; Some luckless hunter, or some pioneer slave; Defenseless youth, or harmless babe, who knows ? D -e>->,:5 THE BOOKS WE READ. Where are the books we used to read, Whiling away the summer's day, Lolling in house or wooded shade, Oft till the eventide grew gray? Where are those books, whose magic spell Held us in rapture hours together, Making the earth a paradise. Whether in shine or stormy weather? Where are they, pray? Read them again. Bring back to mem'ry those flitting joys. Read me a passage of love without strife, Life without sorrow's cursed alloys. Read me, and let my head rest, love, Now, as of yore, without demur. There on your knee, and tell me, love, Why are we not, dear, as we were! 70 THE YOUNG IMITATOR. Here my little wee lad, he comes wooing, comes cooing, And my sweet little lad he comes cooing, comes suing. Oh, he comes with a smiling, He comes care beguiling, And he comes with a cry Of the joy that his eye Is a visioning aye, is a visioning ever. Oh, my little lad ever is clever, so clever ! Here my dimpling dandy comes handy, comes handy. Oh, my Jolly -Come -Jupiter dandy wants candy. Oh he comes with a smiling. Cajoling, beguiling. And he comes with a tooth That is hollow, forsooth. For a chocolate drop, or a mint or a sucker. Oh my lad is a mucker, deceiver and mucker. Ac ^-C^' mi ^ c^^v^==^ ill; Oh my amateur mendicant's other, dear other, Parental progenitor — how she does smother, — Oh, she comes with a smiling. Comes kissing, beguiling. Comes smirking, and working Her consort, and perking. — Oh, a chip from the old block, his love of a mother. With his smirking and pother, his kisses, his smother! r- Mi 72 :,/p7/^/r. DRIFTING. Softly the zephyrs are silently blowing, Gently the current is ceaselessly flowing, Drifting, drifting, carelessly, Toward the fathomless, boundless sea, Out to an unknown eternity. As with my skiff", so my life is afloat. Gliding as light as the singing bird's note, Heedless my thoughts of the whirlpools below, Forgetful of strifes of the sad "long ago," Drifting, drifting, carelessly. Toward the fathomless, boundless sea, Out to an unknown eternity. 76 WAITING. She sits and toys with furs and feather; A look expectant in her eye, She wonders at window casement whether A tear or smile will grace the sky. Reseated by the soothing fire, She looks at clock and door and clock; Then with a heart-throb waxing higher. She lists for wonted, welcome knock. Impatiently she goes to mirror, A gentle touch to tuft and brow, She opes the door. The sky is clearer. The pout on lip begins to grow. Half-standing seated on a chair-arm She pauses for familiar tread; Despaired, recHnes on couch, a wan charm Paling the cheek that hope had fled. DESERTED. Though dark Is night, still darker is the day That shrouds my vision's hope. For he is gone. And with him vanished all my hope to sway His dallying purpose. Ere the morrow's dawn Another will be planted in my place, Be circled by the arms that circled me. Be fondled and caressed with gallant grace, As I was wont of yore and yet would be. Her hands can never hope to soothe his brow, Her eyes to lure the sparkle to his own, Lips kiss away the care, nor tongue avow The oaths of love that should be mine alone. For other loves are weak compared with mine Whose strength would lead me smiling to the stake Or all life's fondest hopes tread down, resign To ward one pain from him, one joy to make. a^i^^f^^Js. ^^■Cj^ And yet he left me comfortless to pine The painless pangs of anguish, silent-fraught, Left me to face, heart-broke, the world's malign I gladly dared for him, for him for — naught 1 — No, no! It cannot be! He cared no whit For me, to leave me, and so cruelly! ril blot him from my life, our past unknit. — But, no! — I cannot blot out Memory. 80 !) LOVE'S VICTORY. An angel sang a song of Death And lulled me in his arms, But Love came as a morning breath And lured me with her charms, Bidding Death bide another day To chant his dirge, in winter, gray. Bound by the cords of Love to life, I raised a drooping lid, And added strength for battle's strife, To find Death's conqueror fled. E'en as the angel turned from me, He bore away Life's victory. 81 . ^^..(1^, //^■^ V c:,-...- Her singing voice — her singing voice Sounds like the angels that rejoice And lisp their happiness in word Of cadenced love or song of bird. Her singing voice is as the breeze That rustles 'mong the swaying trees And croons its love song in the bowers Or stoops and kisses leaves and flowers. Her singing voice is like the lyre With accent softer, sweeter, higher, Then dying to a silent tone Observant to Love's ear alone. Ah soft, mellifluent and sweet As coos the baby at your feet; As rich as carol of the bird Or denizen of field or wood ! r^<^> t The sprites and elves that dance and sing Through verdant dell, 'bout shaded spring, Are shorn their powers to delight Beside the charms she can incite. Behold yon seraph's gracious note That trills from out her dainty throat, Yet pales to insignificance Beside her voiced extravagance. The music of her singing voice ^ Sounds like the angels that rejoice And from the joyance of its tone Steal, to re-echo as their own. Oh rich, rare voice— so radiant rare, That pulsates glory through the air Leaving no earthly, heavenly choice— Her singing voice— her singing voice 1 ?^^^o>^^0^^ ( s ^m'j w% MAPLE STIRRING TIME. Did you ever sit by the old camp fire In the woods in the Ides of March, And the night wind tuning the tree-top lyre, — And your shins you scorch and parch. While your back is freezing And it keeps you sneezing,^— And the kettles boil and sob and spoil With their burden of maple sweets! Did you ever gather in springtime weather From the orchard of maple trees When the equinoctial turns clouds of feather To crystalline pendant frieze On the limbs and branches — Ah, the sight entrances! — While the kettles boil and sob and spoil With their burden of maple sweets! 84 You remember tapping the trees for sapping And driving the hedge-alder "spiles," While the sap-sucker kept up his tap, tap, tapping; The butter-nut troughs from their piles, You scattered for catching, The trees' life-blood, snatching — While the kettles boil and sob and spoil With their burden of maple sweets I Then gathering and fetching, — a perfect etching Is the vision of tree-runner sledge And the frisking team with their taut muscles stretching As they prance through the dale, o'er the ledge. The froze earth bare skimming — With fire their blood brimming — While the kettles boil and sob and spoil With their burden of maple sweets. And then comes the toiling — the stirring and boiling, The watching and tasting the while, The blubbering, seething, the coursing and coiling. The thickening, dark'ning in style, — The fire burns lower And slower and slower — Yet the kettles boil and sob and spoil With their burden of maple sweets! At last comes the jolly good time, the finale, The stir-off" with neighbors to aid. The pulling of taffy, the fun, frolic, folly, Making care, dull fatigue quick to fade, The heart-throb beat stronger. But longer, no longer Do the kettles boil and sob and spoil With their burden of maple sweets. ,J^ For there she stands beaming, the girl of my dreaming, My idol of gossamer dreams, The vision of rapture that sets my pulse teeming, Transfixes my heart with the gleams From her eyes rich and sparkling. Her purpose, deep darkling. Makes my life blood boil and sob and spoil With its burden of soul-kissed sweets. ]liU SHE SOUGHT HER LORD. Her Lord she sought from out the mottled throng And, daring scarce to seek his gaze, reached forth And humbly touched his flowing robe, conscious In it was clothed her perfect counterpart. A saintly creature stole behind and gazed A-raptured at the man whose lordly soul Could make her perfect. Straight he turned around And saw and knew. For virtue was gone out. A REMINISCENCE. The scented breath of dewdrops wafted on the silken breeze And the carol of the song-birds in the honey- laden trees, Lead itinerant the fancy to the mellow days a-gone, When lover eyes were only for the form of angel-fawn. Ethereal the image welling from the hazy past, Cloying memory with sadness, mellifluent o'er-cast. An aromatic fragrance floats among the vernal dreams And adds to fact a fancy, rippling generous with heart-beams. // An airy, fairy lady, leaning toward the early teen, Lends luster to the listless ones, with dancing eyes of sheen; And a soul with all of Heaven painted in its countenance Repletes the heart of age again with infant innocence. Yet, 'mong the secret images that mystic memory holds, Is one so sacred-sad the tongue, its sweetness, ne'er unfolds. But the hallowed dews of eyelid, that a-down the furrows lave, Are truant testament to thoughts of an un- timely grave. '3.. THE HEAVEN GUILD. Oh, my little maid dimples and billows, My little maid gurgles and coos, She laughs in the face of all strangers, And dangers she fearlessly woos. And ruthless my little wee girlie Rules over my heart and another. But she saves all her free-given kisses To press the soft lips of her brother. Ah, vainly I beg upon leaving. As vainly when I have returned, For a sweet little hug and the pressure Those lips have but recently learned. But I try and I try it but vainly, And almost as vainly her mother. For the sweet, rippling cherub instinctive Saves her kisses to give her wee brother. iM(M^. 91 (1/ Each day as from play, kindergarten He homes, her rose lips she upturns And brother may never neglect her Unspoken appeal as she yearns For the token of love and remembrance Not asked from nor granted her father — Reserved for the lips of the knowing. Reserved for her darling, wee brother. Can it be that the hearts of the grown-ups Lack the rhythm to tune with the child? Can it be that the Heaven forsaken But recently formeth a guild Of other new spirits related ? That even the father, the mother With their loves and desires are less kin Than the Heaven-kissed soul of the brother? 92 Listless the eye, and idle tongued, Silent the hands that ever moved, Placid the countenance, now stilled The palpitating heart that loved. Dead, do you say? It cannot be She who was e'er the morning ray, Dissipating my gloom-set night. Now is a pulseless, mould'ring clay! Dead ? Then lift her up carefully. Bear her gently o'er the sod. Lower her slowly, silently Down 'neath the heartless, cruel clod. Dead! — To meet in eternity, — Soul's consolation makes me wild! — Yes! — ^Then a final, long embrace! And place in my arms my darling child! (f>r>^. --., \ WHEN EVEN COMES. When even comes I sit and sigh ; And dream of days of long ago, l!||' Of youth and life and early love, 111; And hopes and fears and faith and vow. !J!h| I sit and sigh and dream Until again things seem As real as, In days agone, The summer was; When night and dawn Were laden with the zephrs sweet, And freshness of the morning dews. That wrapt the fields of golding wheat Ere yet the moon had crept from view. ^^./fV I I When even comes and walnut logs, Heaped in the fireplace, Are bombarding the patient dogs That occupy the space About the hearth, and shadows flit And, flickering, arise then sit In darkling corners mid the gloom, The joys of youth, the life and bloom, The radiance And happiness Of childish love And fond caress, Again are mirrored in the mind — Are images ego doth find More firmly grounded than the strife And victories of later life. 95 A^..^^^l? jKrr\ •s--^ ^1 When even comes and fireside glow And fanning embers wane and grow And on the wall The shadows fall And dimmer Grows within The glimmer, — And the thin Phantom images that crawl and creep, Twist and turn and writhe, a jumbled heap, Are a reminder of the days gone by When life was new and love was young, The future loomed a mountain hard and high. Impassioned songs of life were yet unsung. But youth is youth and love is love and life Is joy, for all the labor, pain and strife, That waits the years With bitter tears, — When even comes — When even comes. THE AGED VETERAN. Aged and weary, tottering, lame, Crippled and bent with the weight of years And a nation's burden of honor and fame The old man falters above the biers Of comrades passed to their last reward For bravery with bullet and sword. Lonely he looks with his scarry face Furrowed and blanched with the frosts of age, Weighted with solitude and a trace Of the fear of death, age can't assuage- Though oft he had mired in carnage and gore, And been lost in the tumult and battle and roar. •7 Only a few more days till he — Only a few more bugle calls Till he shall answer the signal and be Summoned to meet in the festal halls And dine and sup in jubilee At the eternal banquet of victory. Ah! aged veteran, hoary browed, Fretted with wars of the elements, Soon will you meet the trooper-crowd Soon will you bivouac within the tents Walled and canopied overhead With stars, and stars for your pillow and bed. Then courage, comfort, good fellowship Be to your last reclining days! List while the chalice we raise to the lip And quaff to the memory of battle-frays! Raise to the heavens your brow, storm- browned, — Ah! aged veteran, victory-crowned! COMMON FOLKS. The world is filled with people, great 'nd small, With good, bad 'nd indlffer'nt ones. 'Nd all Have some good traits 'bout 'em 'nd some bad, Are sometimes full of smiles 'nd sometimes sad. But fur the best all-round class of the whole Blamed lot of God's creation born with soul. The one that towers 'bove the rest like oaks Is jest yer common folks. Them folks that does the workin' fur the "class;" Them folks that does the thinkin' fur the mass; That gives their sons 'nd daughters to the cause Of elevatin' man by deeds 'nd laws; Them folks that reads their Bibles ever' day, 'Nd never goes to bed until they pray; — I say, them folks that don't fear heavy yokes Is jest yer common folks. C) A A. The folks on which the gover'ment depends; The folks that does the fightin' 'nd that lends Their rank 'nd file to fill the offices; jj ;> The folks that pays the bills; 'nd them that does The work that fills the mouths of rich 'nd po'r 'Nd drives the wolf of famine from the door; The hub of ever' wheel, fellers 'nd spokes, Is jest yer common folks. When God made man, I s'pose he must a-knowed His business, fur He real wisdom showed By makin', of mankind, the biggest part 'Nd usin' them fur motor-power 'nd heart Of all the broad infinity that He Inaugerated; then set them to be The jedge 'nd justice, which the rest invokes Fur aid — yer common folks. 100 S c:^- ^ God bless yer common folks! 'nd when He calls That final roll in them celestial halls, 'Nd each one moves from out his humble bed, Whether 'mong rich or po'r — let it be said, When he looks round in search fur whur I lie, 'Nd asks the question of a stander-by, "He lies round som'ers," as He makes His strokes, "Among yer common folks ^ 101 -^ — l-r^,^/ ,•). ^ THE MAN THAT JUST DON'T CARE. Some folks have got the notion that they've got to be a sight, Be somethin' big to look at or to talk about 'nd write; They want to be the "center of attraction" 'nd "the rage," To figger much in politics, soci'ty, on the stage; They're 'flicted with ambition, fur position, gain, 'nd wealth, — 'Nd sometimes when fame don't come right, invite it 'round by stealth, — But fur the best, good-naturedest 'nd honestest, I swear, I'll take the good old fashioned kind, the man that just don't care. X)^ There's lots of evil in the world, 'nd 'pears like some folks think That raisin' themselves up a notch, knocks out an evil link; They seem to have the idee that the higher up they climb, The better off the world will be, 'nd nearder come the time The earth will be a Paradise; but one thing I have seen. That greatness don't make us more good, except in outward mien, 'Nd don't help raise our fellermen, fur as we climb in air, We add ourselves in burden to the man that just don't care. lOS Ambitious folks are very nice, if all you ask is win; But if ambition was withdrawed, I say the bulk of sin Would be reduced to minimum; 'nd folks could sleep at night After a day of honest toil 'nd not lay 'wake to fight Their battles over 'nd to gyard the hoards they've wrongly won, — Yes, sir! We'll have a Paradise whenev'r ambition's run Its course, 'nd worn the fever out of folks 'nd left 'em bare Of all this superfluousness — just folks that just don't care. 104 v^^ ^ * O « ' -^^ ^n.^:^^ ^i^M^r;*. "^^rS> oV'^^^^^MT- ^n-<'^ .-^^^ .v^. o ^'^m^,* „o W /^X^^ Z'^^''- '-^'' /\ -■ c WERT800KBlI»i^Ij^»G JAN.. j9§g=^ .♦^•v