PS 350 3 ./Up, Class _:p LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Copies Received JUL I 1904 V Copyright Entry J^Mr Z - / of D Mr CLASS 1 ou XXo. No. 9 ° ±& *» ' COF* B Copyright, IQ04 By L. C. Page & Company (incorporated) ^4// rights reserved Published June, 1904 Colonial $r«K Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass., U.S.A. Ca Jlp fatjer O, thou, who first didst lead me by the hand, A little child, to roam the enchanted field Of Poesy ; the joy its treasures yield Taught me to feel, to love, to understand ; Then bade me lift mine eyes, where, towering grand, The monarch mounts of song their fronts revealed, Explore those heights, whose heaven no clouds concealed, And from their summits look o'er all the land, — / thank thee for that guidance : and since now, After so many bare and fruitless years, The seed that then with loving hand was sown Has come to fruitage on belated bough — For what of worth amid these leaves appears, Take thou the credit, it is all thine own. CONTENTS The Plains of Laramie PAGE 1 A Colorado Camp-fire 5 By Kettle River ii Dominion 15 A Poem of the Plains 19 The Prairie Farmer 24 The Buried Farm 29 Moosehead Lake 32 The Trapper 35 Illusion • 39 Dungeon Rock 43 Daniel Pratt 46 The Salvationists . 49 Retrospection • 5i False Promise • 53 The Whippoorwill • 55 On a Violin Solo • 58 The Clan - na - Gael • 59 The Fireman • 63 CONTENTS PAGE Chicago, a. d. 1903 . . . . .68 The Old General at Muster . . .71 Mating - time 75 The Water-lily 78 The Bayberry Leaf 81 The Face Above the Rose ... 84 The Land of My Dreams ... 86 The Fisherman's Daughter ... 89 The Origin of the Variegated Rose . 95 Carmencita 98 A Classic Idyl 100 Memories 103 Nature's Law 107 I Met a Friend no To My Wife • 113 Album Verses 115 To My Children 117 In the Nursery 120 On the Birth of Twins . . . .122 Two Pictures 124 To M. A. B 125 To My Father's Memory . . . .127 A Tribute to the Memory of Master King 130 At the Palmer House, Chicago . .134 The Parade . . . . . . . 139 viii CONTENTS On the Seventy - fifth Anniversary of the Lynn Light Infantry . . .143 Love's Maelstrom . 149 Ode on the Dedication of the Lynn High - schoolhouse . . . . 151 My Ship 159 POEMS THE PLAINS OF LARAMIE. The day is bright, the sky is fair, And clear the crystal mountain air, The upland grasses, low and sweet, Tread soft beneath our horses' feet; With loosened rein we gallop free Across the Plains of Laramie. Mile after mile, before our eyes, The level plain extended lies To where the mountains, brown and bare, Lift their unconquered heads in air, Like mighty kings that regally Rule the broad Plains of Laramie. THE PLAINS OF LARAMIE But see! across the sunlit grass Yon cloud's dark shadow slowly pass. In it a thousand shadows creep, A living cloud of countless sheep! With one lone herder, silently Pacing the Plains of Laramie. As we draw near, the shepherd seems Awakened from a world of dreams; With dull, sad speech, and listless eyes, Half to himself, he slow replies As to his life, and how came he To herd the sheep on Laramie. " Day after day, my watch I keep, Slow-wandering with these silent sheep In one dull round, day after day ; No human voice to cheer my way, Or break the drear monotony Of these dull Plains of Laramie." THE PLAINS OF LARAMIE Oft, in my lonely hut at night, Sleepless, I wait the morning's light; E'en my poor dog will understand, And in the darkness lick my hand, — The only thing that cares for me On these sad Plains of Laramie." And there are days so still and lone The very air seems fainter grown, Far, and more dim, the horizon's bound, The mountains float like shadows round; A wandering ghost I seem to be, Haunting these Plains of Laramie." At times, strange voices fill the air, And then I ask myself, if there Are spirits hovering round my way? Or if? — or if? — for men, they say, Go mad, and die in misery, Lost on these Plains of Laramie." 3 THE PLAINS OF LARAMIE We left him to his lonely way ; But when we came another day, The sheep were wandering far and wide, Our call no answering voice replied; Naught of the herdsman could we see O'er all the Plains of Laramie. A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE. Twilight steals over the plain, as the mountain's lengthening shadow- Creeps o'er the golden grass and the hills that still glow to the eastward, Changing their purple to gray, while cloud- woven curtains of crimson Trail their resplendent folds o'er the radiant por- tals of sunset. Silence, from starry realms of infinite space descending, Folds all the earth to rest in the shade of her slumberous pinions. A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE Now, from the willowy bank of the streamlet that flows through the valley, Sudden a light flashes up, a life-throb, from out the void darkness. Thistle-shaped sabres of flame beat back the beleaguering shadows, Volleys of swift-flying sparks shoot upward their fiery arrows, While, to and fro in the light, a herdsman wearily passes, Preparing his lonely repast, and arranging his shelterless bivouac. Picketed near him, his steed, as he feeds on the dry, withered herbage, Casts o'er the dim-lighted plain, weird shadows, distorted, gigantic; While, with his blanket outspread, and with high- posted saddle for pillow, A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE The rider reclines by the fire, and watches the red-glowing embers. Shimmering fitful and faint, like the shifting mirage of the desert, Visions and scenes of the past in the bright coals are dreamily pictured. The home of his boyhood he sees, and the family group by the fireside, Looks on his father's kind face, and the love-beam- ing eyes of his mother, Brothers and sisters so dear as they played round the hearthstone together. Eyes that are lovelier yet, now beam on his, out of the embers, Dancing and gleaming with mirth, teasing, capricious, yet tender, Now flashing in swift repulse, now downcast with love's sweet consenting. A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE Sudden the embers grow black, but soon, flaring up in the night-wind, Glow, and then smoulder with hate, like the scornful eyes of his rival. Now a swift flash, as of steel, and the embers are flooded with crimson. Doors open wide on the night, and a form rushes forth into darkness — Shuddering, he turns from the sight of a pitiful face, white with anguish, Eyes that are sad with reproach, and lips, pale and trembling at parting. Headlights of swift trains he sees, that glare like the eye of the Cyclops, Searching the glistening rails, encompassed by walls of black midnight, Towers that shine out to sea, and the red and green lights of the shipping, 8 A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE The vessel's pale, phosphorent wake, as with myriad eyes still pursuing, Cities, with strange, homesick streets, and win- dows of love-lighted firesides, Such as will ne'er shine for him, an outcast, who skulks in the darkness. Now, on the far western plains, with the wagons and herds of the round-up, Sleepless he lies by the fire, 'mid the slumbering forms of the herdsmen; Now, 'neath the fierce glare of noon, over deso- late sand-wastes he journeys, Fevered and fainting with thirst, and lost in the limitless desert; Or follows the famishing herd, as, at midnight, they aimlessly wander Over the pitiless snows that gleam pale and blue in the starlight. A COLORADO CAMP-FIRE Restless, he starts from his bed, and gazes above and around him, On the dim sky-line of gray, o'er the black silhou- ette of the mountain, Sees, round the slow-dying fire, advancing, then swiftly retreating, Flickering shadows that dance, like spirits of evil triumphant, Till, as with smouldering crash, the last crum- bling brand falls in ashes, Over all sweeps the black night — and the pic- ture is lost to my vision. 10 BY KETTLE RIVER. In Minnesota's pine-lands drear, I wandered far that day, Through the forest dim, in search of the deer. By silent stream and lonely mere, In the land of the Chippeway. At length I came to an open glade Where an Indian wigwam stood; The smoke its smouldering camp-fire made, Rose faint and thin, like a phantom shade, To fade in the darksome wood. I paused, by some vague sense impelled Their savage life to scan; How strange the scene that I beheld ! ii BY KETTLE RIVER A chapter from the Book of Eld, Ere yet the race was Man. The dingy tent of smoke-tanned hide Was hung with trappings rude, And robes of skins, from game the wide, Uncertain forest that supplied T3ieir scanty store of food. Stretched on a gaunt wolf's shaggy fell, A painted savage lay, Whose cruel face a tale could tell Of passions fierce, and deeds that well Might shun the light of day. His squaw, with unkempt, matted hair, Ne'er from my face would take Her glittering, beadlike eyes, as where Amid the thicket coiled, doth glare The dreaded rattlesnake. 12 BY KETTLE RIVER Squalid and vile, from each dull face No ray of feeling shone: Can beings bred in such a place, Of such a low and barbarous race, Be kindred to our own? Turning to cross the rising ground, 'Mid tangled grasses wild, By the dark forest circled round, In silent solitude, I found The grave of a little child. Above it, built with loving care, A tiny house did stand, The child's poor playthings all were there, And shoes for her little feet to wear On her way to the Spirit Land. My heart was touched, the pride of race Vanished beside that lowly dust: 13 BY KETTLE RIVER No world-famed artist e'er could trace In sculptured marble's perfect grace A sweeter hope and trust. And when for man despondent grown Lest evil win the day, Take heart, and trust the promise shown By the little grave on the hillside lone, In the land of the Chippeway. 14 DOMINION. "And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth." Gen. ix. 2. Alone I stood upon the prairie wide, No home of man my farthest sight could trace, Yet all around me rose on every side, Mound after mound, by thousands multiplied, The habitations of another race. A prairie-dog town! never city more Of bustling life could show, or restless change ; Each busy inmate ran from door to door, Or curious, stood erect and eyed me o'er, Amazed at sight of such a being strange. 15 DOMINION A counterpart it seemed of human life, Save that all dwelt in harmony and peace, Free from the thousand ills, the bitter strife That darken all our days with sorrow rife And weary toil and cares that never cease. Here, where the pure Elysian breezes blow Straight from the gates of heaven, oh, might we Dwell on these verdant plains, beneath the glow Of westering suns, declining large and low, And all forget the life that used to be ! As musing thus, unconsciously mine ear Distinguished what their chattering speech ex- pressed, And soon was able to interpret clear The language of a gray old patriarch near, Who thus the younger of his tribe addressed. 16 DOMINION " This creature strange is Man, who claims the right All other beings to destroy or own, Because, forsooth, he once a book did write Which says that God in him took sole de- light And other creatures made for him alone." " So some he doth devour and some enslave, And others rob of all that they possess. Us he molests not, since he doth not crave Aught that we have, unless, in safety brave, He murder us in merest wantonness." " The light of reason he with none will share, He claims that soul is but to him conveyed ; And, in bold blasphemy, doth even dare, With vanity colossal, to declare That God is in his forked image made ! " 17 DOMINION At this loud laughter did mine ears assail, And then the warning voice I heard again, "Avoid him, he is evil." At this hail Each in derision shook his stumpy tail, And left me, wondering, on the darkening plain. 18 A POEM OF THE PLAINS. On wild Montana's wastes there shone Naught but the stars' pale light, Save where, from cabin window lone, A dull, red ray was faintly thrown Athwart the gloom of night. A frontier barroom, where, within, A herder of the plain Had staked his all, to lose or win, At that fell game the Prince of Sin Devised, men's souls to gain. Beside the cabin, tethered fast, His faithful horse was tied; With trembling limbs and head downcast, 19 A POEM OF THE PLAINS He cringed before the icy blast That swept the prairie wide. The marks of many an owner's brand, Inscribed in letters wide, Scars from the cruel Spaniard's hand, And road-marks of the Texan land, Were burnt upon his side. Dreary the night; no sounds reply To his faint, impatient neigh, Save the coyotes' complaining cry, And wintry winds, that seemed to sigh For joys now passed away. He dreams of the Mexic land again, Fair uplands bathed in sun, Of the gallop free across the plain, Untouched by spur, unchecked by rein, Ere youth's bright days were done. 20 A POEM OF THE PLAINS He sees, on the Texan drive, the band Of cattle, drifting slow; Their tossing horns o'ershade the land, Their worn hoofs furrow the shifting sand, As on to the north they go, O'er alkali deserts, where parched winds blow, And the fainting streams expire, Where the poison-weed and the cactus grow, And far-off mountains, crowned with snow, Gleam red in the sunset's fire. Again he sees the living tide Pour over the northern range; Primeval pastures, above whose wide Uncharted seas the cloud-ships ride, 'Mid silence wondrous strange. On the hilltop far his eyes descry A troop of wild horse, free, 21 A POEM OF THE PLAINS And stallion leader, with head on high, His broad mane flung against the sky, Their flag of liberty. Their life he envies, but his own His blood to madness stirs, The weary round-up, the night-herd lone, The spade-bit's torture, often known, The lash and the cruel spurs. Sudden the barroom door swings wide, And forth his owner reels. Cursing his losses, he leaps astride, And thrusts his spurs in his horse's side, Who, quick as the blow he feels, Maddened by pain and years of wrong, With one convulsive bound, Snaps short the banded cinch-girt strong, 22 A POEM OF THE PLAINS And the hated rider, endured so long, He headlong hurls to the ground. With one shrill neigh of wild delight, He is off, away and away, To the wild horse band he speeds his flight, As they wait for him on the hilltop bright With the light of a new-born day. 23 THE PRAIRIE FARMER. I've lived here now for thirty years, and, Stranger, I'll be bound There's not a better farm in all this Western country round; But now that spring has come again, like fever in the blood, A restless feeling o'er me steals that's hard to be withstood, I cannot work, I cannot sleep, but far away would roam To where the orchards are in bloom round my New England home. I've prospered well: these level fields, as far as you can see, 24 THE PRAIRIE FARMER They all are bought and paid for, and they all belong to me. I never could have done so well at home, you may be sure; I smile sometimes to think upon those farms so thin and poor. But as I sit behind my team and plough the deep black loam, I see the apple-trees in bloom round my New England home. Straight east I draw my furrows wide to meet the rising sun, Then turn and drive straight westward, and so till day is done; And then in autumn's glorious time, when days are calm and bright, Miles upon miles of ripening grain wave in the golden light. 25 THE PRAIRIE FARMER But when at night I seek my bed, in visions sweet I roam New England's bare and rugged hills around my childhood's home. My boys are grown to stalwart men, my girls are fair to see, They're proud of this free Western land, and wonder much at me ; But they have never stood upon the mountain's summit grand, Nor watched old ocean's crested waves break foaming on the strand, Nor ever known the sweet delight in forest wilds to roam, Nor seen the apple-trees in bloom round my New England home. The swallow seeks the grove where first it saw the sun's bright gleam, 26 THE PRAIRIE FARMER The salmon leaps the torrent's fall to reach its native stream, A thousand leagues the wild goose flies on tire- less wing o'erhead, Straight as an arrow to the bleak, bare North where it was bred. So in the spring my faithful heart, holding all else in scorn, Turns back to old New England, and the home where I was born. Though here I've cast my lot for life, and here I must remain, Till death shall plough me underneath like stub- ble on the plain, Make not my grave in this strange land, but place me, if you will, Within my fathers' burial-lot upon the wind- swept hill, 27 THE PRAIRIE FARMER Where I may watch the mountains glow and ocean break in foam, And see in spring the orchard bloom round my New England home. 28 THE BURIED FARM. Long years ago, in vagrant boyhood days, In light boat drifting with the idle breeze, I sailed around old Essex's pleasant bays, Rocked by their waves as on a mother's knees. Fair were those shores, but I remember most A little farm beside the sea-beat coast. A green oasis on the barren shore, By sand-hills sheltered from the salt sea spray, The dancing waves its bright reflection bore, A lane of verdure, mirrored o'er the bay. Across the tide I see it gleaming yet, An emerald gem in sands of silver set. 29 THE BURIED FARM A thrifty orchard by the waters grew, That blushed in beauty like a fair young bride With pale pink blossoms decked, that faintly threw Their dainty fragrance o'er the swelling tide. A low-roofed house hid 'neath the sand-hill's crest, Like some lone sea-bird brooding on its nest. Now all is changed, and nothing greets my sight But sand-dunes gray, with scanty grass o'erspread, Or barren wastes with sea-salt leprous white, And gray-winged clouds slow sailing overhead. No sound is heard save ocean's sullen roar, And sea-bird's cry along the lonely shore. Whelmed are the verdant fields beneath the swell Of billowy sands that topped the orchard's pride, And of the dwelling naught remains to tell How on the abandoned hearth the firelight died, 30 THE BURIED FARM And yielded up its last, faint, flickering breath, As o'er the threshold crept the drifting death. Now, wandering o'er the wind-blown wastes of sand, By idle curiosity impelled, One branch I see, like drowning swimmer's hand From out the depths imploringly upheld, Yet hopeful still, with budding blossoms fair, Brave to the last, unconscious of despair, Alas, how like to our poor human lives The orchard's fate! How little of the fair, Bright promise of our youthful days survives, Choked by the drifting sands of worldly care ; Yet oft some budding branch in age remains To show what might have been, and shame our sordid gains. 3i MOOSEHEAD LAKE. Queen of the northern waters ! yet once more I rest upon thy bosom, and mine eyes Gaze on thy wooded isles and sunlit shore, Fair as when first I felt their sweet surprise. 'Tis years since last I saw thee, and of all My youthful world how little doth remain ! Dear ones are gone, friends lost, youth past recall, Yet thou unchanging beauty dost retain. Thy old-time witchery steals o'er my heart, And with its spell bright youth returns again, Thy winds of healing bid dull grief depart, Thy waves' low crooning soothes my wearied brain. 32 MOOSEHEAD LAKE Not thine, old Ocean's hoarse and sullen roar, Where by worn cliff and sandy level free, Foam-crested billows charge upon the shore In all the pomp of plumed chivalry. But with a quiet welcome, all thine own, Thou greetest me in tones the heart to reach, Lisped by thy wavelets' tender monotone, In rhythmic cadence on the shingly beach. Not to the hurrying throng who seek her shrine Doth Nature ope her sanctuary door; Though much they deign to praise in accents fine, And, condescending, view her beauties o'er. She knows them not, but o'er the feeble train Whirls her fierce blasts, and from her frowning skies Pours on their cowering heads the blinding rain, Scorning their feeble love and prying eyes. 33 MOOSEHEAD LAKE But unto those who seek in humble mood, And watch and woo her with a lover's eye, With patient vigil long, through ill and good, She grants her favours all unceasingly. O'er them she spreads her canopy of leaves, With glimpses of the azure heaven between, On the far hills a cloud-traced pattern weaves, Of verdant damask cut with darker green. And, as the lingering sunset fainter gleams, Soft, woodland voices call them to their rest, Mingling her waves' low music with their dreams, She folds them close to her maternal breast. Here might I ever rest in sweet content, No more to roam the world's rough pathway o'er, And when life's last, faint, twilight beam is spent, Find peaceful rest beside this tranquil shore. 34 THE TRAPPER. All day adown Penobscot's rushing tide Our light canoe o'er foaming rapids sped, Or tossed on eddying depths of gloom, beside The o'erarching forest, endless, pathless, dread. Northward, scarred deep by many a landslide's fall, Rose huge Katahdin's mighty mountain wall. As the soft calm that ushered in the night Fell on the wearied waters, forth we came Upon a lovely lake, reflecting bright The sunset skies with Tyrian dyes aflame. Girdling the waters with resplendent zone, Crimson and gold the autumnal forest shone. 35 THE TRAPPER We sought a little inlet of the lake, Whose cool, dark surface lay in tranquil rest, Save where the muskrat trailed his dusky wake, Or plash of wild duck stirred its glassy breast ; And as the dim, uncertain shore we neared, From out the wood a lonely man appeared. Few were his words of greeting, as he led Amid the forest aisles, our silent way To his low hut, by gloomy pines o'erspread, Where scarce could pierce the twilight's fading ray. Within, a smouldering camp-fire, 'mid the gloom, With flickering blaze lit up the dingy room. Here lay his couch, of verdant spruce-boughs made; On rafters stored, or in each log's rough chink A hunter's traps and scanty stores were laid, With half-dried skins of black-cat and of mink. 36 THE TRAPPER And here he dwelt, self-banished from his race, Nor sought the welcome of a human face. Yet kindly was his heart to all the shy, Wild dwellers of the forest solitude ; The squirrel crossed his threshold, and, near by, TJie partridge, fearless, reared her timorous brood. All were his friends, save his own kind alone, Since she he loved had scorned that love to own. In his frail birch upon the lonely lake Through the long summer idly would he rove, Or 'mid the trackless wilds his pathway make O'er rugged mount, dark swamp, and tangled grove, Where the fierce hurricane's resistless track Had piled the giants of the wood awrack. 37 THE TRAPPER Amid the snows of winter, lonelier yet, By the faint scars upon the tree-trunks led, He sought the coverts where his traps were set By frozen bog and streamlet's icy bed, Or watched through dreary midnight's bitter cold The Boreal fires their ghostly dances hold. In the deep wood, and by the lonely shore, What sighs were wafted on the silent air, How oft the night-winds, pausing at his door, Heard the low mutterings of his despair, The pines, his dark confessors, ne'er will tell, His well-loved forest keeps his secret well. " Poor simpleton," methinks I hear you say, Dear lady reader, as this tale I tell, " For one weak girl to throw his life away When many another would have done as well." Perhaps, but ere to judge him we aspire, What thinks your husband, silent by the fire? 38 ILLUSION. 'Twas in the town of Marblehead I roamed one day in pleasant weather, - From fort to beach of Riverhead, Where sea and bay come close together. Along each narrow, winding street The quaint old houses thickly cluster, Some in, some out, like untrained feet Of raw recruits in old-time muster. For every man built as he would, Each his own law and legislature; It made my very heart feel good, They showed so much of human nature. 39 ILLUSION Old gambrel roofs, all weather stains, Doors where brass knockers still persisted, And windows set with narrow panes Of ancient glass, all warped and twisted. An old friend I inquired for, One who had faced, 'mid storms terrific, The wintry gales off Labrador, And sailed in peace the broad Pacific. Rough-visaged, stern in word and deed, In action bold, in danger steady, Yet, were a human soul in need, His purse, his life, would aye be ready. With greeting warm as one of kin, And cordial smile, he came to meet me, With hearty welcome led me in, And at the window-side did seat me. 40 ILLUSION " How fine a view you have," I said. The harbour now, in sunset glowing, Shone like a rock-cut chalice, red With waves of crimson wine o'erflowing. The fort, a tawny lion, lay Crouched on the headland, grim, defy- ing, And white sails gleamed adown the bay, Like doves at sunset homeward flying. The lighthouse crowned the outer ledge O'er which the ocean waves were rolling, Along the tranquil harbour's edge Some visitors were idly strolling. ' 'Tis a fine port," my host replied, " And safe and snug, with splendid mooring, But these fine folks I can't abide, They put on airs past all enduring.'* 4i ILLUSION " Here comes one now ; see how he twists His face about in scornful sneering, And first to port, then starboard, lists, — An empty craft is always veering." Surprised, I recognized the face Of one of Boston's noted preachers, Yet, as he walked, a strange grimace At every step came o'er his features. In haste the sash I lifted high, When gone were all those looks amazing: 'Twas not his face that was awry, But the old glass, where we were gazing. As homeward turned, I pondered long And thought that oft, if we but knew it, 'Tis not the thing we see that's wrong, But the mind's glass through which we view it. 42 DUNGEON ROCK. Back from the sea, in Lynn's wild forest land, Fringed with dark pines, a towering rock doth stand ; Its bald crown cleft, as though the scimetar Of the red lightning had descended there, And, whelmed beneath, 'tis said there lies a cave That holds a pirate's treasure and his grave. On the bare upland, lone and desolate, Behold the grave of one who strove, 'gainst fate, From out the unrelenting rock to wrest The buried treasure. Now, above his breast The snows of winter drift, and, sorrowing vain, O'er him doth weep the unregarded rain. 43 DUNGEON ROCK A simple, trustful soul, who counsel sought From the departed; by their guidance wrought, Peopling with spirits the dim woods and caves, The willing dupe of crafty, scheming knaves, Those false ghost-brokers, who with wicked art, Trade on the tenderest feelings of the heart. Descend with me adown yon cavern deep, Hewn in the living rock, a pathway steep With tortuous windings. From the jagged wall Of the rent rock, chill drops of anguish fall. Down gloomy depths profound we grope our way, Lost to the world and the sweet light of day. And here for years he toiled, of summer's heat And winter's cold unconscious, while the beat Of his lone hammer throbbed with muffled sound, As though the rock a living heart had found. 44 DUNGEON ROCK Then faint and fainter grew till all was still, And silence brooded on the lonely hill. Smile not at his delusion; may not we, In our beliefs, be credulous as he? Who shapes our creeds ? In what dream-haunted brain Were wrought the phrases that our hopes sustain ? May not the future man, with sight more clear, Smile at the childish faith we hold so dear? Then, rather let us seek to emulate His sterling virtues, buoyant hope elate, And steadfast faith that no defeat could chill. May we, with like indomitable will, The deep recesses of the soul explore, And treasure bring to light unknown before. 45 DANIEL PRATT. The lives of those whom we have known for years Become a part of ours for good or ill, And when in death the humblest disappears, Something is lost the new can never fill. Such was the feeling, when, by chance, I read In sentence brief, " Poor Daniel Pratt is dead." A sudden moisture dimmed my pitying eyes, Tribute denied to many a greater name, Yet given to him, old, feeble, and unwise, Wandering from town to town, with witless aim, The rabble's jest, forlorn and needy, save The few small coins the gentle-hearted gave. 46 DANIEL PRATT Again I see him, with sad, earnest face, Like some old Roman, worn by wars and years, The crowd haranguing in the market-place That echoes with their loud, derisive cheers. For vulgar souls ignoble pleasure find In the abasement of a greater mind. Tireless, he pours a flood of eloquence With sounding phrases and impressive tone, But empty, vain, and all devoid of sense. Yet famous authors this sad world has known, Whose pages show no clearer light within. Alas, poor Daniel, thou hast many kin! For much of what we wisdom call is naught But speculation, profitless and vain, And great philosophers bewilder thought With explanations that do not explain. Genius is oft one gift, so overgrown That all the mental balance is o'erthrown. 47 DANIEL PRATT And many a proud religion has been built On the wild ravings of a fevered brain, The blood of countless thousands has been spilt The dreams of some fanatic to attain; What we declare the eternal truth to-day, Another generation casts away. And, to a being of supernal powers, Our loftiest thoughts must childishness appear. What strange delusions rule these lives of ours! What foolish fancies ! Haply, could we hear Ourselves as we heard Daniel, there might be More of resemblance than we care to see. 48 THE SALVATIONIST. He stands amid the city's curious throng, Exhorting volubly with fervid heat, And leads his followers in strident song 'Mid cymbal's clash and drum's discordant beat. The passing traveller upon the street He calls to prayer, and warns him to disown The sins that hellward lead his thoughtless feet, With phrases set and sacerdotal tone In travesty most sad upon religion's own. Yet, for all this, a true successor he Of Hebrew bards inspired and prophets all ; The same in kind though lesser in degree Than they whom pious duty urged to call Lost Israel to repentance, and extol 49 THE SALVATIONIST The glory and the majesty of God. The thought that holds this earnest soul in thrall Is one with theirs who danger's pathway trod Through barbarous lands to spread their Saviour's name abroad. For this he seeks the homes devoid of light Where poverty abides amid temptations vile. Where reels the drunkard and crime prowls by night, And she, the nameless, lures with haggard smile. From out the toils of sin he would beguile The feet that wandered and the souls that fell, Consoling all with trusting hope the while, A noble duty, as his deeds will tell. We who in judgment sit, do we do ours as well? 5o RETROSPECTION. On the hillside an orchard standeth, Fenced in by walls of stone, With golden fruit downladen The burdened branches groan. Swept by the dust of the roadside, Gnarled and scarred and gray, Its knotted arms outstraining To the meadows, far away, Where, by the winding river, The stately elm-trees stand, Fair as the cup of the lily Held in a maiden's hand. 5i RETROS PECTIO N To their branches, idly swaying, No burden of fruit doth cling, But 'mid the dancing leaflets Flashes the oriole's wing. And the toil-wearied hearts on the hillside Ever long for the joys of the plain, — Which now would we choose, O my brother, Could we live our lives over again? 52 FALSE PROMISE. " Paint thou the infant Christ," the abbot said, And to the youthful artist forth they brought A lovely child, angels a fairer head 'Mid heavenly cherubim had vainly sought. Ere long, immortal, on the canvas bright Shone that sweet face of innocent delight. From his pure brow celestial radiance beamed, Beneath his eyes the sinful heart grew dumb; Such loving, tender eyes, that ever seemed Wondering, yet prescient of the grief to come ; Within whose thoughtful depths one yet might trace The promise of the healing of the race. 53 FALSE PROMISE Long years had passed ; the artist, famous grown, With deeper knowledge, had expressed the wish To paint that last, sad supper, where is shown The fell betrayer's fingers in the dish. As one the Judas fit to represent, A murderer, chained, was from the galleys sent. Sullen he stood, while from his furtive eye Gleamed all the evil passions of the soul; Shuddering, the painter wrought ; regretfully, Thoughts of that earlier labour o'er him stole, When, as the sin-seamed features he would trace, Aghast, he saw it was the selfsame face! A child to you is born ; before life's mystery Pause and be dumb! Ye know not what may be. 54 THE WHIPPOORWILL. The moon in heaven is shining With soft and misty light, While sleeps the earth, reclining Upon the breast of night. In golden splendours glisten Valley and stream and hill, As lone I sit and listen To the song of the whippoorwill. " Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will, O'er slumbering hill and plain. " Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will,' Resounds the sad refrain. Deep shadows veil the thicket; The cedars, tall and still, 55 THE WHIPPOORWILL Like sentries grimly picket The sky-line o'er the hill; The fireflies flash o'er the meadow Where spectres of white mist float — From out the pine's dark shadow Flutters the plaintive note, " Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will," Like the cry of a soul in pain, " Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will," Resounds the sad refrain. The moon sinks low in heaven, The song new meaning takes, To errors unforgiven, Life's failures and mistakes, Youth's high resolves, forsaken, Proud hopes, forgotten long, Stern conscience doth awaken And makes her own the song, 5t THE WHIPPOORWILL " Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will, For all life gave to thee, Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will, What hast thou brought to me?" 57 ON A VIOLIN SOLO. He touched the chords : far off and lone In forest glades, a wild bird warbles sweet, Anon a brooklet's rippling murmurs greet The listening ear in plaintive monotone. Faintly, on memory's fitful breezes blown, Forgotten songs of childhood float to meet The dreaming sense, again our pulses beat At sound of that loved voice the heart hath known. Now eager manhood's conquering march we tread And hear the bugles calling to the strife, The wail of anguish o'er the fallen dead, And the calm movement of our later life, Till his enchanter's wand, with magic rife, Our disembodied souls to heaven has led. 58 THE CLAN-NA-GAEL. The supper he scarcely tasted, And when it was cleared away, Thoughtful he sat by the fireside, With never a word to say, And his lighted pipe, neglected, Died out into ashes gray. Then Norah, his wife, was troubled, For women are quick to see When aught goes wrong with the loved one, And she said, " Now, Denny, macree, You'll not go out the night, dear, But stay with the baby and me." 59 THE CLAN-NA-GAEL '* I must do my duty, Mavourneen, By my oath I dare not fail," But she clung to his bosom in terror, And her cheek grew ghastly pale As she caught the sight of a letter . . With the seal of the Clan-na-gael. " O, darling, I fear me 'tis murder- You are risking your life to obey, And think you to stand up in heaven At the terrible Judgment Day, When even the Mother of Jesus Would turn from your sin away ? " " Fear not, I am right, Acushla, 'Tis the judgment of the Clan, And before that I ever was christened I was born an Irishman, And I'll die for dear old Ireland To free her if I can." 60 THE CLAN-NA-GAEL Then she said, " Think not I've forgotten The land from whence we have sprung, Her love is as firm in my bosom As her accents that dwell on my tongue, But this is our home and our country, The noblest all nations among. " It has given us refuge and shelter When the old land could not spare us bread, It has taken the stoop from our shoulders, It has lifted the down-trodden head And no one need here stand uncovered Nor cringe to another in dread." Then she took the babe up from the cradle And set it upon his knee ; " Although we are Irish for ever, American born is he, And this is the land he will cherish When he is a man," said she. 61 THE CLAN-NA-GAEL " So stand by your home, my darling, Let your better heart prevail." He gazed from one to the other, Kissed the cheek of his wife so pale, And lighted his pipe with the letter That was signed by the Clan-na-Gael. 62 THE FIREMAN. 'Twas in the great revival year; To church all flocked from far and near, The tides of faith ran high ; Waiting the burning of the globe, The Millerites, in ascension robe, From barns essayed to fly. Within the crowded church that day, Before the anxious-seat to pray, Knelt many a penitent. The preacher called with fervid zeal On all to heed his last appeal And of their sins repent. 6 3 THE FIREMAN " Seek ye the Lord, ere 'tis too late ! Think of the sinner's awful fate To hell's fierce flames compelled, Where seething fires for ever rise; A sight so dreadful, mortal eyes Have never yet beheld." " I've seen it, Parson," called aloud A voice from out the startled crowd, Who turned the man to see, All knew him well, 'twas Fireman Mose, The stalwart foreman of the hose That ran with Fountain Three. " 'Twas when the brick block went," he cried " The roof, with four men from my side, Fell in the flames below. A horrid pause, then, swelling higher, Up swept the surging sea of fire, — Hell nothing worse can show." 64 THE FIREMAN " And you," the preacher made reply, "Saw this, yet still your Lord deny And trifle with your fate? Torments seven fold, yea, seven times seven, Await the soul that seeks not heaven; Kneel ere you be too late! " Trembling, the awestruck fireman stood, Who ne'er before of man or God Had felt the touch of fear. Vanquished, he knelt beside the rest And humbly there his sins confessed Aloud, that all might hear. " I've led a wild, hard life," said he, " Set many a blaze, that Fountain Three Might first the flames oppose; At the big fire, when Tiger Four To wash our tub had pressed us sore, 'Twas I who cut the hose. 65 THE FIREMAN " I've fought, and drunk, and gambled, too, And as for women, — well, I'm through With all such foolishness, I'll quit the force this very day, Pray Christ to wash my sins away And heal my soul's distress." Scarce had he knelt to raise in prayer His faltering voice, when, on the air, Sudden the fire-bells rang. With gong, loud clanging, past the door The hose swept by, — he could no more, But to the portal sprang, And, gazing up the street, could see His dear old engine, Fountain Three, Her slack ropes thinly lined, While, drawn by half the men in town, The Tiger Four came thundering down Not forty rods behind. 66 THE FIREMAN As now the panting crew toiled past, With ringing call of trumpet-blast, He heard his captain yell, "Quick, man the rope!" Above the noise His answer came, " Hang to her, boys, I'm with you, heaven or hell! " — That night, 'mid smouldering ruins sought, Two flame-charred bodies forth they brought ' And laid them side by side. 'Twas Fireman Mose, and one poor wight He died to rescue — at the sight Strong men broke down and cried. And as the preacher o'er them bent, A silent prayer to heaven he sent, Then sadly shook his head, " Not all our prayers," said he, " can plead So well for man as one good deed, When God doth judge His dead." 6? CHICAGO, A. D. 1903. Footsore, haggard, starving, To the city's gate it came, Trailing its weakened body And famine-wasted frame From Europe's dank morasses And lairs of death and shame. " Feed me," it cried, " O Masters, I die with hunger's pain, My mate's dry breasts are shrivelled, Her starved cubs nurse in vain; Most faithful will I serve you, And ask but food again." 68 CHICAGO, A. D. I9O3 Abject, servile, dumbly It toiled for the meed they paid, Accepted the humblest service, And never a murmur made, Till, waxing strong with plenty, It felt no more afraid. Swift then its claws unsheathing, It claimed a larger share, Made its own price for its labour And laid its sharp teeth bare, While its stealthy eyes, remorseless, Shone with a sullen glare. Bolder and ever bolder, In the city's mart it lay. Ordered that none should serve there Except as it might say, Or its ruthless jaws would strangle All who denied its sway. 69 CHICAGO, A. D. I9O3 Arrogant, cruel, lawless, " Obey my will," it said, " Build naught, make naught, without me, You must come to me for bread, And, save you pay me tribute, You shall not bury your dead." Meekly the once proud city Obeys the foul behest. Freedom, struck down, lies prostrate, By deadly fear oppressed, While the beast gloats o'er her body With its blood-stained paw on her breast. 70 THE OLD GENERAL AT MUSTER. You wonder that this mimicry of war is aught to me, What I, an old campaigner, can find in this to see. How one who led his thinned brigade by death- swept field and wood, And in the bloody Wilderness the rebel host with- stood, Knowing what veteran soldiers are, can see aught to admire In these half-trained militiamen in holiday attire. Yes, 'tis a trifle ludicrous, at least to one of us, To see the new-fledged captains strut round with fret and fuss, 7i THE OLD GENERAL AT MUSTER And hear the young lieutenants, scarce from their mothers' knee, Tell how " We do it different, now," as if I could not see. The brigade-general is more wise, at least he holds his tongue, Thinking, perhaps, what he would do, should war's alarm be rung. And yet, I well remember, when, with striplings such as these, We met Old Stonewall's veterans who strove our line to seize, Against their belching batteries stood, and not an inch would yield, Then with one wild and desperate charge swept them from off the field. For men are men, it matters not how few their years may be ; 72 THE OLD GENERAL AT MUSTER If the true steel be in the blade it is enough for me. Though in these peaceful days there now is little to recall The battle-field, where from our side we saw our comrades fall, The weary march through hostile woods, alive with hidden foes, The midnight guard, the fevered tent with all its nameless woes, And that dread picture, which will ne'er from memory's tablets fade, The starving prisoners, waiting death, within the black stockade. Yet there is something stirs within, as, at the quick command, I see the bayonets' gleaming ranks in ready order stand, 73 THE OLD GENERAL AT MUSTER Then, like some ancient battle-steed, my soul wheels into line As, at the stirring bugle-call, the flashing sabres shine. And still my heart will greet with joy the can- non's welcome roar, Till Death shall sound the taps, " lights out," and life's campaign is o'er. 74 MATING-TIME. It was a pleasant day in spring, The orchard was a-blossoming ; My window I had opened wide To catch the perfume-laden tide, And heard amid the hum of bees, A bird's song, wafted on the breeze, " Tu weet, tu wee, come love to me." The robin sang from the apple-tree. " In vain," I cried, " O foolish bird, My heart no more with love is stirred." But still he carolled loud and long, And forth I strolled to hear his song. When lo! beside the garden gate, Stood bashful Pat and blushing Kate. 75 M ATI N G - TI ME " 'Tis time to woo, I love but you," The robin sang with loud ado. Past me, adown the shaded street, A couple strolled with loitering feet. The youth, with soft and languid air, Smiled on the pert and giggling fair. I paused not, but with careless eye And smile superior, passed them by. Still from his tree, my bird sang free, " Oh come, my love, and live with me." Beneath the orchard branches gay Another youth and maiden stray, With true and tender love he pleads, And in her eyes her answer reads. Soft eyes! sweet lips! that seem to say, " To-morrow is our wedding-day." " Come, build our nest, here will I rest," The robin s mate her love confessed. 76 MATING-TIME Yes, it was here, this very spot — Ah, can it be that I forgot That look and those, her mother's eyes, Now veiled from me in Paradise? I turned, and on a withered tree, An empty nest confronted me, — Bird, I implore, your song give o'er, My heart can build again no more." 77 THE WATER-LILY. As in the city's dust and heat I walked with footsteps sad, I chanced to see, upon the street, Close to the throng of hurrying feet, A little country-lad. The freedom of the mountain air Shone from his sun-lit eye ; His slender hands held, fresh and fair, A bunch of water-lilies rare, To tempt the passer-by. 'Twas but a glance, yet strangely sweet, Its spell my heart beguiled; I saw no more the crowded street, Heard not the tread of hurrying feet, I was again a child, 78 THE WATER-LILY Roaming the wild woods, glad and free, Haunting the mountain stream, I heard the birds' sweet melody, And through the screen of leaf and tree I caught the river's gleam. The dreamy nook where lilies grew I sought by pathways lone, And where the alder thicket threw Its tangled shade of dusky hue, The snow-white blossoms shone. And she, that o'er my heart bore rule, My sweetheart, scarcely ten, For whose dear sake I stole from school To pluck the lilies from the pool, I saw her once again, As when, upon her desk, my prize All sweetly fragrant lay, 79 THE WATER-LILY The blush that told her glad surprise, The love-lift of those tender eyes Is in my heart to-day. O Lily fair, with heart of gold! Where may thy presence be? Full many a weary year has rolled Since, on life's ocean dark and cold, I drifted far from thee — Perchance, with aging step and slow, A staid and sober dame, She walks this very street. Ah, no, My fond heart will not have it so, She is to me the same. And oft, when sleep unseals my eyes, With hand in hand again, We roam beneath unclouded skies And pluck the flowers of Paradise, A boy and girl of ten. 80 THE BAYBERRY LEAF. Again I stand beside the shore And hear the solemn chant Of waves that break for evermore Round thy wild rocks, Nahant. The white ships cleave their foamy track, The salt sea-breezes blow, And to my lonely heart bring back The days of long ago. Soft gray-winged gulls in airy flocks Wheel 'twixt the sea and sky, The sand-birds flitting 'mid the rocks Send up their plaintive cry. 81 THE BAYBERRY LEAF Watching the surge in sullen wrath Break o'er the whitening reef, Idly I pluck beside the path A bayberry's waxen leaf. When, with its fragrance sweet, a tide Of memories like the sea, Through Time's dark flood-gates bursting wide, Comes rushing back to me. Like this, the day was bright and fair, The same sweet breezes blew, The rocks, the very waves were there, The same deep sky of blue. And one dear form walked by my side Along this selfsame way, Who gave to me with maiden pride A leaflet of the bay. 82 THE BAYBERRY LEAF O happy leaf, than I more blest, O sweet leaves of the bay! Ye lay upon her pallid breast When she was borne away. The long years come, the long years go, But never more with me Her gentle footsteps, soft and slow, Will wander by the sea. And so, to-day, I walk apart And watch the sea alone, But, like these bruised leaves, my heart To sweeter life has grown, And, trusting, holds the fond belief That, mindful still of me, She plucks the bayberry's fadeless leaf Beside the Eternal Sea. 83 THE FACE ABOVE THE ROSE. A young man sits at the window, Before him a garden lies, Gay with resplendent flowers Tinged with a thousand dyes, But, heeding not the beauty Their radiant ranks disclose, He only sees a girlish face Bending above a rose. An old man sits by the window, And thinks of the vanished years; Like the wind-swept sands of the desert The path of his life appears, Save where, like a green oasis, His memory fondly shows 84 THE FACE ABOVE THE ROSE A quaint old garden filled with flowers, And a face above a rose. And oft he dreams by the window Of another life than this, Where he would win his heart's desire And heaven's eternal bliss Not with the wealth, and fame, and power His blinded manhood chose, Only a garden filled with flowers, And her face above the rose. 85 THE LAND OF MY DREAMS. In the days of my youth, ere the world's stern hand Had fettered my footsteps free, I dwelt in a wondrous and beautiful land, In a realm of enchantment, a faery strand, By the sunset-tinted sea. Oh, fair were its plains with their emerald sheen, And its mountain peaks, towering grand, And the calm, restful valleys that slumbered be- tween, Where the birds carolled sweetly 'mid bowers of green, In that dreamy and mystical land. All the bravest and noblest of earth were there, And sweet was their welcome to me, 86 THE LAND OF MY DREAMS As I roamed by the side of my love so fair, With her amorous tresses of sun-kissed hair, By the shores of the pulsing sea. But I turned from the beautiful land of my dreams, And my footprints were lost on its shore; The paths that once led by its valleys and streams, O'ergrown and untrodden, now strange to me seems, I shall tread their wild mazes no more. Yet oft, when the fire burns dimly and low, And I sit with my soul all alone, I can hear the far waters that murmuring flow And list to the songs that my heart used to know In the sweet summer-days that have flown. 87 THE LAND OF MY DREAMS When my life's sun shall set on death's desolate shore, And the dark waves reflect his last beams, I will bid the grim ferryman carry me o'er With my loved and my lost ones to dwell ever- more In the beautiful land of my dreams. 88 THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGH- TER. At the old stone wharf lay the Mary Jane, A brand-new craft, without spot or stain, And proudly her youthful skipper cried, " Cast off, my lads, with this breeze and tide We soon on the Georges' Banks will ride." Ere the swelling sails could fill away, Down the wharf limped a beldame, old and gray, " Hold," to the skipper she sternly said, " At home my daughter lies cold and dead, By your false tongue was she misled." His bronze cheek blanched 'neath her angry eye, But, forcing a smile, he made reply, 89 THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER " Your daughter was wild and bold and free, I sought her not, she followed me, On her alone the blame should be." " Dark was the path my daughter trod, Her erring soul is now with God, But what of the child?" With a frown, said he, " Her little brat is naught to me." And he loosed the sheet to the east wind free. Then, lifting her withered arms on high, She shrieked o'er the waters in fierce reply, " Accursed be yon vessel here, 111 luck go with her, foul or fair, Woe and disaster everywhere!" As backward struck by a sudden flaw, The ship's sails slacken and fail to draw; Then slow she bends to her course, but see! 90 THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER Up into the wind why swingeth she, While her fluttering sails flap loose and free? Round the captain gather the awe-struck crew. They fear no storm that ever blew, Nor the fiercest wrath of sea or sky; But that dread curse and evil eye Not even the bravest dare defy. " Be off, ye cowards, every one! The wind holds fair ; with my sister's son I can yet work up to Boston town, And find me a crew who fear not the frown Of a foolish woman, lest they should drown." The sun set fair at close of day As his anchor dropped in Boston bay; But the boy to his sister's heart so dear Was swept from the deck to a watery bier, With the words of the curse in his drowning ear. 9i THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER With a motley crew he put to sea, Negro, Kanaka, and Portugee', And long did they cruise, but small was the fare Brought home for the wearied crew to share. Misfortune followed them everywhere. But the skipper was young and stubborn and bold, And firm to her course did his vessel hold, Till, three years past, one Sabbath day, At the old wharf's side his schooner lay, And he watched the minnows about her play. When down the wharf tripped a little girl, Her fair locks tossing in many a curl ; And the captain called her, and gently said, As his rough, brown hand with her ringlets played, " Who is your father, my little maid ? " 92 THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER " My father's at sea, and mother is dead And I live with Granny," she shook her head, " She's the crossest thing you ever knew, And she whips me dreadful. Now who be you ? " And she gazed in his face with her eyes of blue. A certain something, the words she said, The airy toss of her wilful head — Her mother's voice and gesture free — Spoke to his heart. At length said he, "lam your father, come with me." Together they passed up the silent street, His long stride timed to her tripping feet, And the idlers, lounging in doorways brown, Gazed at the couple with silent frown, For well were they known in that little town. A lowly church they reached at last, And down the broad aisle slowly passed, 93 THE FISHERMAN S DAUGHTER By her little hand the child he led, And, kneeling down, with humbled head, " Pray for us both," he hoarsely said. " Pray for the child, that she may win In her coming struggle with pride and sin. And pray ye that I no more may run My course by sin's false chart, nor shun The father's duty I left undone." Out into the sunshine free they passed, And the women with tears the child held fast, While friends, long estranged, took his hand again, And the curse that was laid on the Mary Jane Pursued her no more o'er the stormy main. 94 THE ORIGIN OF THE VARIE- GATED ROSE. Down the garden path, where the pale moonlight Like the ghost of the day reposes, Why cometh my Lady of York to-night To her bower all white with roses? No red rose of Lancaster blossometh there Save one that her lover hath twined in her hair, In the joy of her presence he little doth care That a ruthless foe opposes. On a slumberous couch of fleecy cloud The moon in the west is dying, O'er her wan face drawing its mist-woven shroud While the night winds are mournfully sighing. 95 VARIEGATED ROSE The white pallid roses stand out in the gloom And fill all the air with their heavy perfume, Like the faint, stifled breath of a funeral room Where the silent dead are lying. They stand 'neath the bower and fondly he pleads That she grant of her love a token, In her cheeks' sweet confusion her answer he reads Ere yet the words she has spoken. She twines with the red rose a floweret white As a pledge that for ever, in war's despite, The white rose and red will together unite In ties that shall never be broken. The yew-trees nod softly, like mourners asleep, And the moonbeams are fainter waning; He sees not the shadows that stealthily creep, Near and yet nearer gaining. 9 6 VARIEGATED ROSE Ha! what is that flash in the glimmering light? 'Tis the quick deadly thrust of a rapier bright, And he falls in death by the roses white, His life's blood their petals staining. And the lady died, so the story goes, Ere that doleful night had ended, But still to this day, in the fateful rose, The crimson and white are blended. And the dewdrops upon it at morn, 'tis said. Are the tears that her sorrowing eyes have shed, When, to wash from the blossoms the blood-stains red, Her spirit to earth has descended. 97 CARMENCITA. Slow rises the glittering curtain, Alhambra's white walls gleam afar, In dreamy notes, soft and uncertain, Faintly tinkles the lover's guitar. From the shadowy arches out-darting, Like a fawn springing forth on the plain, Or a sunburst when storm-clouds are parting, She comes, the bright daughter of Spain ! A vision of tropics and twilight, Lips ardent, yet languorous fair, And eyes like twin stars 'neath the midnight That sleeps in her beautiful hair. 98 CARMENCITA Poised a moment with tremulous quiver, Like an arrow full drawn on the string, Or a panther, by some Indian river, As it gathers itself for a spring. Then away through the dance's swift mazes, Each eye follows on with delight, As a child's that in wonderment gazes On the swift-darting swallows in flight. She moves like the breeze o'er the sedges Or the wave that the rivulet frets, Like the deer's startled hoofs on the ledges Sounds the click of her sharp castanets. A sweep of the sea-gull's soft pinions, A whirl, a swift pause in her flight, A smile, worth a sultan's dominions, A kiss of the hand and, — " Good-night." L.«fC 99 A CLASSIC IDYL. As through New York by train we came, In tones quite oratorical, Our brakeman called each station's name, All classic or historical. Palmyra, Utica and Troy, With Memphis, Tyre and Macedon, Fair Ilion, free from war's annoy, Old Nineveh and Babylon. Through Athens' groves our train did pass, Where blooms the shy hepatica, To Syracuse, whose salt, alas, Is not the salt of Attica! ioo CLASSIC IDYL A little maid, more fair and bright Than fabled nymphs or goddesses, Came in just then and put to flight My Iliads and Odysseys. Her dark brown eyes with timid look Glanced up, my day-dreams banishing, Like troutlets in a shaded brook, One flashing gleam, then vanishing. " Where are you going, little maid ? " I asked, with much temerity. " From Carthage up to Rome," she said, With childlike sweet sincerity. " Another Hannibal afield ? O dark-eyed Carthaginian, This time the Roman youth must yield, And all the shores Lavinian." IOI CLASSIC IDYL Not shields of brass, nor triple mail, Moat-guarded towers and ravelins, Nor Fabian arts can aught avail Against those eyes' swift javelins! If I but were an errant knight, O maid, with eyes so glorious, For thee I'd brave the fiercest fight, O'er every foe victorious. Farewell, dear girl of rarest charm, And tender grace virginian, May angels keep thee safe from harm, My little Carthaginian. 1 02 MEMORIES. " Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit." Deserted now are the halls, where, as schoolmates, we daily assembled, Silent the tenantless rooms, once filled with the sound of our voices, Over the stairways, worn deep by the footsteps of two generations, Echo no more the feet that will pass there no longer for ever. Yet often in memory I sit and repeople the deso- late benches With visions and scenes of the past, and days that have long since departed. 103 MEMORIES Once more in fancy I hear the drone of the long recitation, " Arma virumque cano," O shade of long suf- fering Virgil! Homer's sonorous lines; the Ten-Thousand's "Thalatta! Thalatta! " Guttural German, narrating how Tell bade the tyrant defiance, Stammering accents in French, concerning the coat of my uncle, Sines and cosines and roots and words of un- known derivation. Then, best remembered of all, the day of the Class Graduation. Parents and friends are all there, each watching the face of some loved one, Committee-men, solemn and grave, and teachers, important, yet anxious. 104 MEMORIES Again I behold the proud youth, the rostrum slowly ascending, With voice 'twixt a squeak and a croak, pouring forth the high-flown declamation, " The Commons of France have resolved," or " The Union, now and for ever." Now a soft rustling I hear as the girls, decked with ribbons and laces, Fluttering forth like white doves, read faintly their sweet compositions, " A Vision," or " Shells of the Sea," or " What is the True Sphere of Woman ? " Seen through the vista of years, how clearly be- held is the picture, How fair shines each face even now, in memory's sight ever youthful, Though the sweet eyelids of some are lifted now only in heaven. 105 ME M O R I E S Ah, never more will the skies seem as bright as were those of our school-days ; Though the full noontide be fair, and beauteous the glories of sunset, Fairest of all is the glow that shines on the wings of the morning, Sweetest the memories that cling around the old High-school for ever. 1 06 NATURE'S LAW. Before my window, in the sun-flecked shade Of an old elm, with sudden, downward flight, A flock of English sparrows, naught afraid, Flutter to earth to quarrel, scold and fight. Ruthless invaders ! from their native bowers Spring's lovely bluebird and the oriole gay, With all the gentle, sweet-voiced friends of ours, They drive relentless to the wilds away. And if, perchance, some mother-bird alight, To build and rear her young where she was bred, The noisy crew suspend their household fight, And strike the poor, home-loving wanderer dead. 107 NATURE S LAW But who are we, that would of them complain ? Born of that ruthless and all-conquering race, Whose teeming loins and sturdier arms and brain Must from the earth all other tribes efface. Even as the wandering red-man's feebler bands Were by our cruel ancestors oppressed, By pious craft despoiled of all their lands, Then slain or banished to the far-off west. So goes the world ; thus ever by the strong The weak are dispossessed, they, in their course, To fall before the mightier, right or wrong, Nature cares not, her only law is force. Her rule is cruel, stern and merciless, " Conquer or die," there is no other way, The higher must supplant the low, if less The world were lost in ruin and decay. 1 08 NATURE S LAW Then fight, ye birds, 'tis the decree of Heaven, But unto us a message from above, To temper and assuage its woe, is given, A higher law, Christ's golden rule of love. 109 I MET A FRIEND. I saw a friend's face on the street, And, as toward me he came, I reached my hand out his to meet, And called him by his name, But he passed on and answered not, Nor turned aside his head, And then I knew I had forgot That he, my friend, was dead. no DOMESTIC AND OCCASIONAL in TO MY WIFE. As one who late has trod some cavern deep, Far-winding, voiceless, with no ray of light Save the faint torch that makes more dim the night Where the dead hours eternal silence keep, And, coming forth as from some fearful sleep, Sees the fair world burst on his raptured sight, Scents the warm earth and feels with new delight, Through Nature's frame the pulsing life-throbs leap — So I, who long have kept my lonely way, Cheered but by friendship's faint and pallid gleam, 113 TO MY WIFE Now come into the sunshine of thy life, The past but caverned night appears, and day, New dawning, fills my soul with joy supreme, Since I have called thee by the name of wife. 114 ALBUM VERSES. FREDERICK. May what thy father hoped to be Be realized, my son, in thee; With stronger body, keener brain, All that I miss may'st thou attain, So, though I die, there yet may be In thee, my immortality. THEODORE. Thy life, dear son, is like a spotless page On which thine own hand must its record trace. US ALBUM VERSES Then make that record clear, and ne'er engage In aught thou would'st not on its surface place. Let thy pride be a good name, fairly won, Mine, that I have in thee, a noble son. EUGENE. My little son, whose blue eyes shyly peep From out the shelter of my easy-chair, Into the covert of my heart you creep, And feel secure, if you can nestle there. In years to come, when I am old and worn, And the world's burdens can no longer bear, Shall I, the child, to you, the man, then turn And refuge find beneath your loving care? 116 TO MY CHILDREN. O sons of mine, few are the years, at best, That you abide within the parent nest; Soon, ah, too soon, as from some forest tree The winged seeds are blown, you part from me. May your lot fall where no misfortune's flood, Or passion's heat or sorrow's raven brood Mar your young growth; may every grace increase, Your days with joy be filled, and all your nights with peace. Could any thought or care of mine avail To keep you safe when life's fierce storms assail, 117 TO MY CHILDREN How gladly would I toil, all rest forego; Vain wish, true manhood is not nurtured so. As stands the sapling 'gainst the north-wind's blast, So must you strive, till, gathering strength at last, You tower aloft in native worth arrayed, And see your loved ones rest 'neath your protect- ing shade. And should it not be granted you to know The mountain heights where Fame's bright laurels grow, Yet there are lowlier summits, no less fair, That you may reach and build your watch- towers there. Aspire to something, use your gifts aright, Be not content with lives of mean delight. Of all a father's sorrows, spare me one, That saddest, bitterest grief, a base, degenerate son. 118 TO MY CHILDREN O hearts untried! may it be granted me Your little fleet to launch on manhood's sea. Youth's whelming surf, the treacherous undertow Of vice, safe passed, and the sharp reefs of woe, Then blow, ye winds of Heaven ! whate'er betide, No further may the hand of man provide. By unseen currents borne, and strange winds blown To shores, by all unknown, ye sail by faith alone. 119 IN THE NURSERY. When the night wears late and the household lie All hushed in slumbers deep, We turn, ere we rest, my wife and I, To the room where the children sleep. There are two little bodies curled up on the bed, And one in the crib below, And the sight of each innocent, slumbering head Is the fairest that earth can show. The mother bends o'er them, and lovingly tries To smooth out each little form straight, Then looks up to me with a light in her eyes That words were not made to translate. 1 20 IN THE NURSERY Oh, could we but know that to them future years Would ever bring slumbers as deep, With that sweet assurance to banish our fears, We, too, would as peacefully sleep. 121 ON THE BIRTH OF TWINS. 'Neath the dark pines that shade its bed The twin-flower lifts its dainty head ; Two blossoms on one stem upborne, Tinged with the blushes of the morn, Blooming with fragrance rare, to bless The lone and dusky wilderness. 'Neath your roof-tree, dear friends of mine, Two little nodding heads recline, Two human blossoms, sweeter far Than all the flowers of nature are, Together sent, companions dear, The clouded paths of life to cheer. Love's Philopena! favouring Heaven No kindlier boon to man has given. ON THE BIRTH OF TWINS Soon will their little prattling ways Brighten with joy life's weary days, And magic touch of childhood's hand Make of your home a fairy-land. 123 TWO PICTURES. A slender, childish form, that gently sways To the slow ambling of his pony's stride, With all a father's love I proudly gaze To see my little son so bravely ride, Nor turn mine eyes till down the avenue His graceful figure fades from out my view. Another picture rises on my sight, — A charging cavalier on battle plain, Borne headlong to the war-cloud's thickest night, Where the red batteries belch their deadly rain. And now I see him in his saddle reel, While his lax hand lets fall the useless steel. Gone is the vision, terrible and grim, Will its dread horror ever come to him? 124 TO M. A. B. Dear friend, so long the prisoner of pain, Denied the world's large freedom, light and bloom, Chained to thy bedside and the narrow room, While summers came, to fade and come again For twice ten weary years. But yet no stain Of sadness rests upon thee, nor of gloom, Thou sweet, wan rose, still giving forth per- fume, With cheerful heart, too noble to complain. Though thou dost live secluded evermore, Think not thou art forgotten: many a heart 125 TO M. A. B. Doth call to mind, amid life's trials sore, Thy gentle patience; and such thoughts im- part New courage, and with strength our souls restore, Till, all ashamed, our lesser griefs depart. 126 TO MY FATHER'S MEMORY. He comes no more, — In homeward ways or on the crowded street, We never more his welcome step shall greet, And o'er the threshold of the opening door, He comes no more. He is not there, — When, half-forgetful of our bitter pain, To seek his sweet, approving smile again, We turn us toward the old familiar chair, He is not there. He answers not, — When doth arise some thought or feeling rare, 127 TO MY FATHER S MEMORY Our hearts would fondly wish that his might share, We speak the name our lips have ne'er forgot, He answers not. He is not dead, — Our love will hold his image cherished long, And many a heart shall thrill beneath his song, Where'er his earnest, lofty thoughts are said, He is not dead. He showed the way, — When the dull crowd 'mid Superstition's night, Plunged blindly on, he called, " This way is Light." On Truth's fair heights they yet will stand and say, " He showed the way." 128 TO MY FATHER S MEMORY There may I go, — Where'er in realms unknown his spirit strays, My soul doth long to pass the eternal days ; Whatever way his onward footsteps know, There may I go. 129 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEM ORY OF MASTER KING. {Read at a reunion of his former pupils.) Friends of the olden time, Once schoolmates all, Unworthy is the rhyme My lips let fall; No words can fitly limn, What time has failed to dim, The memory of him, Our hearts recall. The summer breezes blow, The flowerets wave In benediction low, Above his grave; 130 TRIBUTE TO MASTER KING Yet still his spirit bright Is with us here to-night, And grateful hearts requite The love he gave. When we our youth review, He comes again, The master, kind and true, Who taught us then; The long years fade away, Again we own his sway, Though we who meet to-day Are gray-haired men. Why this unchanging trust, These ready tears, For one who has been dust For thirty years? His was the magic art, Instruction to impart 131 TRIBUTE TO MASTER KING With love that won the heart, And still endears. What majesty he lent To that bare hall! No priest at sacrament Felt loftier call; A king in name and deed, He knew nor caste nor creed, But gave an equal meed Alike to all. What though foul slander's breath And hatred strong, Pursued him to his death, Nor waited long; We, who his nature knew, Fearless, upright and true, Here give him justice due, And right his wrong. 132 TRIBUTE TO MASTER KING How many griefs have passed That, since he died, Time has o'erwhelmed at last, In Lethe's tide; But neither time nor space Has dimmed his radiant face, What memory cannot trace, Love has supplied. Dear shade, if thou may'st still Be hovering near, As we our glasses fill, Hear us, oh, hear! This pledge we drink to thee, That evermore shall we Thy cherished memory Love and revere. 133 AT THE PALMER HOUSE, CHICAGO. (In response to a challenge to write upon the opening scene.) " Clam stew for one," — and speedily aloft The grinning Ethiop, o'er his bullet head, Brings in the wished-for dish. — What savoury steam salutes my nostrils keen, The salty odour of the far-off sea! To me it doth recall my boyhood's home, The wave-washed rocks, with slippery seaweed decked, The level sands, wet-gleaming in the sun, The tide, low-lapsing from the wave-worn beach ; And, far beyond, the gleam of snow-white sails, 134 AT THE PALMER HOUSE Like angel's wings for some far journey spread, And all the glow and glamour of the sea. As from some witch's caldron faintly rise The vapours dim, and in their misty veil Full many a scene of humble life I view. Not like to those in which its cousin proud, The soft, voluptuous oyster, oft is found, The rich abodes of luxury and ease, Where the bejewelled guests recline in state, With pampered appetites that loathe their food; Or where, in filthy barrooms, smelling foul, The beer-soaked ruffian treats his comrades vile, Bull-necked and brutish, and doth shame the night, With oath profane, and ribald jest obscene. For thou, O clam, art all for wholesome use, Serving the poor man's need, and eking out His meagre living; often have I seen i35 AT THE PALMER HOUSE The sad-eyed widow, clothed in rusty black, Her scanty wages, earned by ceaseless toil, Exchange for thee, since thou art cheaply bought, To feed her orphaned brood. She bears thee home, And serves their frugal meal, partaking naught Till the full measure of their need is filled ; Then, wrapping round her thin and wasted form Her threadbare shawl, she lays her down to rest, And smiles to think her little ones are fed. Such food as this the hardy seamen love, After their stormy vigils on the deep. I see them now, a bronzed, wind-beaten crew, Thick-set and stalwart-built, with brawny arms And hairy bosoms open to the sea. Of such as these the daring Genoese, Who brought strange terrors to the Carib shores ; Or the piratic Norsemen, cruising round The Vineyard coast, of plunder in pursuit, 136 AT THE PALMER HOUSE Wild, fierce, ungovernable, as their northern seas. For they, who by the ocean dwell, do grow Into a certain likeness to her; free, Far-wandering, full of ever restless life And longings, all unknown to inland men. In boyhood years I felt the keen desire To wander all her shores and borders o'er. Oh, halcyon days ! when, fired by bright romance, I roamed in dreams of wild adventure free Among the far Pacific's palm-fringed isles, Chased Buccaneers along the Spanish Main, Or shared lone Crusoe's solitary isle. Oft in the sultry summer-time, I sought The grove of stunted pines that stubborn grew Far out upon the breezy headland's verge, And there, reclining on the golden sands, Beneath the wind-worn pines, would gaze afar To where the dim horizon met the sea, i37 AT THE PALMER HOUSE And build fair visions on those unknown shores, My feet would tread in future manhood's years. Ah, me! no more, not ever, any more, Will come to me again those visions bright; The future now is no unbounded sea, But hemmed with rocks and shoals of circum- stance, Through which I thread, with care and soundings oft, The narrowing channel of my destiny. Then, with youth's rising tide, 'neath radiant skies, The hours passed quickly, free from anxious care, But now the waters ebb, and o'er the sands The sombre crows fly, seeking for their prey; So, round me now, dark-hovering, near or far, I hear the rustling of the wings of Death. 138 THE PARADE. " Oh, father ! I can hear the band, Look, there the soldiers come!" — I saw a gallant troop march past To sound of trump and drum. A bannered host, with tossing plumes, And drawn swords gleaming bright, In broad platoons swept down the street. It was a goodly sight. " Father, who are those handsome men That march so grand to see?" " They are the Templar Knights, my son, A noble company." 139 THE PARADE "What is a knight? Oh, father, say, What have they ever done?" " They are the Soldiers of the Lord, And years ago, my son, " They fought the wicked Saracens, His sepulchre to gain. Their bleaching bones by thousands lie On Syria's desert plain." " And would these knights a-fighting go, Just as the others went?" " Alas, my child, I fear me, no, They are too corpulent." " Oh, see the one that goes ahead, With steps so grand and free, And shows the band just how to play, That must their captain be ? " 140 THE PARADE " My son, 'tis not the ablest man That makes the most display, The one that walks so pompously Is hired by the day." " Oh, see, what pretty hats and plumes, Big gloves and sashes! Say, I think that when they go to war They'd find them in the way." " Such things you cannot understand, They're full of mystery. These knights die not in battle now, But live for charity." "If they don't fight, I can't see why They dress up so, do you? And march about with swords and things, As truly soldiers do?" 141 THE PARADE " My son, there was a learned man, Charles Darwin was his name, Who held that all the human race From apes or monkeys came, " And all these tricks of dress and show, According to his plan, Are only the surviving traits Of the monkey left in man." 142 ON THE SEVENTY-FIFTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY. Great are the men of mighty thought, Their triumphs never cease; Godlike are they who, just alway, Walk in the paths of peace. But when the hour of danger comes, Goodness saves not from harm, The subtle brain is all in vain, We need the strong right arm. When, five and seventy years ago, Columbia, young and brave, Dared Britain's might, in desperate fight, Her sailor sons to save, 143 THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY When down our coast the Shannon's guns Victorious swept the strand, From hill to sea, Our Company- Sprang forth to guard the land. Till, foiled on land and sea, the foe Withdrew his fierce array; Then, every year, they mustered here As we do now to-day. And when the weaknesses of age Forbade them more to go, Each took his gun and showed his son The way to meet the foe. Now, o'er the land, long years of peace Passed like a happy dream, As though no more, by sea or shore, Would war's red ensign gleam; But still our little band maintained, Through scorn, neglect, and wrong, 144 THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY With clearer sight, 'gainst all despite, Their martial spirit strong. Up from the Southland, sudden war Swept like a forest fire, In mortal strife the nation's life Seemed fated to expire; Then to her sons the Motherland For help and succour cried. Our heroes heard, and, at the word, Swift hastened to her side. Though few their ranks, they fearless faced The swelling tide of hate; Safe, 'gainst the world round her they furled The standards of our State. From the opposing heights, the foe Beheld their gathering might; Balked of his prey, he turned away, Nor dared to tempt the fight. US THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY Lone Carolina's forest pines Beheld our little band, Their footsteps trod the blood-stained sod Of proud Virginia's land; Fair Maryland's invaded fields To guard they swiftly flew, Sullen and slow, the baffled foe, In forced retreat withdrew. Needless the task, of all their deeds The story to pursue; Wherever sent, they fearless went, To flag and country true. Nor yet the men that foremost stood Behoves it us to name, Where each one, brave, his utmost gave, None may precedence claim. Who may attempt to measure forth Their service to the State? 146 THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY A handful cast in the balance vast That weighed a nation's fate! Perchance to turn the trembling beam, As wavering it stood, — We only know to them we owe Our utmost gratitude. Oh, justly may our native land Point to her sons with pride, Thronging her mills, tilling her hills, Sailing the ocean wide. But dearest to her heart are those, Who, in the battle's fray, Dared the red grave, her life to save, Her yeoman soldiery. Trusting in them, our State beloved Shall perfect safety win, And put to rout foes from without, Or fiercer foes within. 147 THE LYNN LIGHT INFANTRY Heeding the motto on her shield, 1 May she, till wars shall cease, True to her word, win by the sword Freedom and tranquil peace. 1 " Ens e petit placidam sub libertate quietem" 148 LOVE'S MAELSTROM. "Again? young friend, why, I declare, Twice have you passed this way, Why do you walk around the square So many times to-day? " Think you I know not why you roam ? At ten o'clock last night, You saw my neighbour's daughter home, Beneath the soft moonlight. " Beware, young man, of love beware; There lies in beauty's eye, For youthful hearts full many a snare, Heed my advice, Good-bye." 149 LOVE S MAELSTROM There is a whirlpool in the north, Where Norway's storm-clouds lower, From whose embrace no ship sails forth When once within its power; Moving, at first, in circles wide, Then near and nearer drawn, Till soon within the whelming tide It plunges, and is gone! And such is love, at least with men, They venture and are drowned, — Ah, here my young friend comes again, A third time circling round! 150 ODE ON THE DEDICATION OF THE LYNN HIGH- SCHOOLHOUSE. As when the happy bridegroom waits His coming bride, Whose presence, promised long, the Fates Till then denied, And, standing by her side, Hears her sweet voice repeat the vow That makes them one, — So we, at last beholding now This great work done, Give praise and thanks for all the waiting years have won. DEDICATION ODE Never so fair to our eyes Will temple or palace seem, Fortress towers that rise, By the Rhine's enchanted stream, Alhambra's vaulted walls, Mosque of Arab and Moor, Or where the sun of the Orient falls On the white pagoda's floor. Castles in dreamy Spain, Gardens of far Cathay, Pillared temple and classic fane, By the blue Corinthian bay, Will never to the heart Such thrilling joy impart As this majestic pile we dedicate to-day. For not in guilt were its foundations laid, Stern war stood not as sponsor at its birth, No priest of falsehood in its cloistered shade Linked hands with power to oppress the earth ; 152 DE DIC ATI ON ODE Not built with blood and tears, And the forced toil of years, But the free people's freest gift, In bounteous love bestowed to lift The race to loftier heights than those they trod. We praise, but their reward is in their hearts — and God. II. How blest are they whose happy fate Is here to find Communion with the wise and great Of all mankind; Life's loftiest paths to tread with those Who wisdom sought, Great souls who 'mid the ages rose The kings of thought. 153 DEDICATION ODE How sweet, through knowledge to attain Entrance upon a higher plane, A broader mental growth to make, Another upward step to take On the bright ladder that the patriarch trod, By which man rises upward from the clod, Nearer to God. Toilers by sea and shore Vanish and are no more; The preacher's burning words, Songs, like song of birds, Live but a day. The orator's clarion tones Shaking the tottering thrones, Soon fade away; The conqueror's iron sway No fame assures, They pass, but still, through all, the written word endures. 154 DE D I C ATIO N ODE Then seek fair Learning's shrine In youth's bright spring, She offers joys divine Naught else can bring; Delight for childhood hours And counsel sage, For manhood, larger powers, Solace for age. And when life's sweet desires With years depart, And grief's inburning fires Leave bare the heart, Though all friends else forsake, She will abide, And life a blessing make, Whate'er betide; To those who wisely seek, her peace is ne'er denied. 155 DEDICATION ODE III. Bid now the past farewell; Adieu, ye ancient halls, And memories sweet that dwell Within your cherished walls. What well-loved forms arise From the unforgotten past, Schoolmates, and friends we prize, With those whose lot is cast In the shadowy realms of death ; Round us they throng and press; They draw the vital breath — Thus, after death's recess, Teachers, classmates, and all Will meet at the Master's call. Will ever visions such as these Haunt these lofty galleries? Will the new become as the old, 156 DEDICATION ODE Laden with memories manifold? Will other hearts these halls in such sweet rever- ence hold? Yes, for the human mind, Broadening, is still the same, Though farther realms they find, 'Tis by the path we came; The way we trod, they tread, The books they search, we read, And even the thoughts they claim We, too, have said. The lofty aim, the fond desire That now their youthful hearts inspire, Were ours and will be theirs Whom Heaven prepares, Alike as waves upon the ocean's beach, Save that each rising tide, a higher mark will reach. 157 DEDICATION ODE Now, through these portals wide Will ceaseless pour The living, human tide For evermore. With eyes that pierce the future dim, I see the long procession come, Maidens whose gentle hands will trim The lamp of love in many a home, Youths, bold and free, With hearts elate, Makers of destiny, Builders of fate, And rulers of the world that is to be. Room for the victors, room! Make way for those to whom The past is but the prelude of the play. So when unto the tomb We pass away, A grander world shall rise than all we now survey. 158 MY SHIR " Build me a ship, a gallant boat," My soul did ask of me, " My freight of ripened grain to float To distant lands and times remote Across Oblivion's sea." I built my boat with toil and care, And she was fair to see; Her towering topmasts cut the air, In many a port her pennon fair Flew on the breezes free. And many praised the ship I wrought, And watched her white sails gleam ; But yet, for all my care and thought, My soul was sad, for it was not The vessel of her dream, 159 JUL Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111