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 •\K: 
 
MY HOUSE 
 
 CHIPS THE BUILDEK THEEW AWAY 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD A. BRACKETT 
 
 AUTHOB OF "materialized APPARITIONS," "THE WORLD 
 WE LIVE IN," ETC. 
 
 " Rales in art are to be departed from rather than 
 to be adhered to." — Washington Allston 
 
 BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER 
 1904 
 
Copyright 1904 by E. A. Bhackett 
 All rights reserved 
 
 LlIJRAKYof CONGRESS 
 Two Copies ReceivtiO 
 
 NOV 7 I9U4 
 
 Oopynofu triiry 
 
 ' CLASS Ol XXc. No; 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 PRINTED AT 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
 BOSTON, U, 8. A. 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 TO MY WIFE, MY CHILDREN, TO ALL, PAST AND 
 
 PRESENT, WHO HAVE ENRICHED MY LIFE WITH THEIR 
 
 AFFECTION. THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 
PREFACE 
 
 In 1845 I published a little volume of poems, 
 written while engaged in my profession of 
 Sculpture. Since then, until the past year or 
 two, the struggle for material existence left lit- 
 tle time or strength for literary work. 
 
 The main part of this book has been written 
 during the past year, the recreation of my 
 leisure hours. The poems are what an artist 
 might call sketches, containing many lines 
 which, in a more serious effort, would have been 
 left out. Such pruning would, however, have 
 destroyed the spontaneity of feeling under which 
 they were written. The reader must, therefore, 
 accept or reject them mainly for the ideas or 
 sentiments which they imperfectly express. 
 
 They owe their position here to the partial- 
 ity of friends who saw, or thought they saw, in 
 them something of that individuality that at- 
 tracted them to me. 
 
 It is enough for me that they were interested 
 and that I have been able to place in their hands 
 a reminder of that affection which alone makes 
 life desirable. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 EARLY POEMS 
 
 Page 
 
 The Group 13 
 
 Lines Suggested on Finishing a Bust of 
 
 Allston 35 
 
 The Water Lily 37 
 
 later poems 
 
 My House 41 
 
 Onward 42 
 
 The Brook 44 
 
 Impromptu 48 
 
 Always Present 50 
 
 Ere Thou Art Old . . . . .54 
 
 Love Knows Its Own .... 56 
 
 7 
 
Passed Away 
 
 Page 
 
 . 60 
 
 Upward 
 
 . 62 
 
 Eeminiscence 
 
 65 
 
 Springtime 
 
 . 68 
 
 The Wreck 
 
 71 
 
 Stray Thoughts .... 
 
 74 
 
 Listening 
 
 . 78 
 
 To My Friend Charles Hallock . 
 
 80 
 
 Today . . . . 
 
 81 
 
 The Cottage by the Sea . . . , 
 
 83 
 
 The Passing Years 
 
 90 
 
 Who Knows the End 
 
 92 
 
 There Is No Past . . . . 
 
 93 
 
 Fear Not 
 
 94 
 
 Love Eules Supreme . . . . 
 
 95 
 
Page 
 
 The Last Leaf 99 
 
 The Last Leaf 92 
 
 PSEUDO science 
 
 Pseudo Science 103 
 
 The Voyagers 123 
 
 The Advance 129 
 
 The Retreat 134 
 
 Notes 145 
 
EARLY POEMS 
 1844-5 
 
THE GEOUP 
 
 A CHRISTMAS BALLAD 
 
 The parlor hall was quaint and old, 
 With curious carvings wrought; 
 
 The walls were hung with bas-relief 
 Expressive of the artist's thought. 
 
 Above the mantel was a clock, 
 
 And from the pendulum there hung 
 
 An angel with her silver wings. 
 That back and forward swung. 
 Counting seconds one by one. 
 
 On the oaken sideboard stood 
 
 The artist's silver cup, 
 And Isabelle with sparkling wine 
 
 Had filled the goblet up. 
 And now, beside the cheerful hearth 
 
 Where gleams the evening fire, 
 Half leaning sits the gentle maid 
 
 Beside her aged sire. 
 
 13 
 
His stately form, erect and tall, 
 
 Owns not the weight of years. 
 Though on his high and placid brow 
 
 Are traces of his ho^es and fears ; 
 And, like a snow-white veil that floats 
 
 On every breath of air, 
 Adown his manly shoulders fall 
 
 His wavy locks of hair. 
 His quiet face, whene'er he spoke. 
 
 Was radiant with truth, 
 For beauty mingled with old age 
 
 The freshness of his youth. 
 
 In early days, by nature taught 
 
 The love her works impart. 
 He had from dreamy musings woke 
 
 To woo the plastic art. 
 With wondrous skill, life's varied forms 
 
 Grew fair beneath his hand, 
 And he had lived with joy to see 
 
 Their beauty fill the land. 
 
 14 
 
Yet well he loved domestic life, 
 
 And every Christmas night 
 His family were gathered round 
 
 That hearthstone's cheerful light. 
 And now appeared a stranger youth 
 
 Who sought the sculptor's art, 
 And Isabelle perceived with joy 
 
 The love that filled his heart. 
 She begged her father would relate 
 
 The tale that he was wont to tell, 
 And all drew round the good old man. 
 
 The aged sire of Isabelle. 
 
 The old man gazed upon the clock. 
 Where to and fro the angel swung 
 
 Beneath the picture of the sun 
 That o'er a painted ocean hung, 
 
 And with a strange, mysterious calm, 
 
 As one who chants a solemn psalm. 
 With upturned face, he thus began : 
 
 15 
 
" The light came through a Gothic arch 
 
 Above the oaken door ; 
 The slanting ray fell on the clay, 
 
 Throwing shadows on the floor, 
 The stand was placed below the light. 
 
 The clay was on the stand, 
 The plastic clay that lifelike grew 
 
 Beneath the artist's hand. 
 
 " Entranced from morn till dewy eve. 
 
 Spell-bound within that room, 
 I shuddered when the coming night 
 
 Threw round its heavy gloom. 
 The chained lamp swung to and fro. 
 
 Sliding the shadows on the floor. 
 And oft I heard with muffled sound 
 
 The gusty wind twirl at the door. 
 Yet still I wrought, with earnest thought; 
 
 Each touch betrayed the skill 
 By which I formed from lifeless clay 
 
 A creature of my will. 
 
 16 
 
^' I backward drew that I might view 
 
 The shaping of the whole, 
 And closed mj ejes that I might see 
 
 The image in my soul — 
 That soul to simple truth once wed, 
 
 How wild, discordant now ! 
 'No lovely vision therein dwelt, 
 
 No calmness on my brow; 
 But like a crowd of evil forms 
 
 That one by one depart. 
 The rushing pulses upward leapt 
 
 From chambers of my heart. 
 
 '^ Where from the clay the shadow lay 
 
 Beneath the dusky light, 
 A something stirred ; a changing shape ; 
 
 It turned, and rose upright. 
 So dim the shape, I scarce had turned 
 
 To note what it might be, 
 When o'er my frame a chillness came, — 
 
 I trembled fearfully. 
 
 17 
 
All, well I knew the work to do : 
 The form that chained my heart 
 
 In plastic earth must needs have birth ; 
 It would not else depart. 
 
 I well remember, in my brain 
 
 There was a burning heat ; 
 With heavy bound, within my breast 
 
 My heart convulsive beat. 
 A whirling sound was in my ears. 
 
 My head seemed larger grown, 
 My eyes were red, though free from tears. 
 
 My hands seemed not my own. 
 So changed was everything to me 
 
 Within that dim-lit hall, 
 That in my fancy oft I saw 
 
 Strange shadows on the wall. 
 A marble Cupid on the shelf, 
 
 A pretty little thing. 
 With full round face and roguish eyes 
 
 Half hid beneath its wing, 
 Had thrilled my breast with strange delight, 
 
 18 
 
But now it looked a sprite ! 
 A wicked sprite that flapped its wings 
 And danced amid the light. 
 
 " The specter changed, its form grew dim 
 
 And slid into the claj, 
 The deep red clay that on the stand 
 
 A moulded statue lay. 
 The statue moved, and writhed, and turned ; 
 
 It grew to wondrous size ; 
 Cheeks lank and thin, with fiendish grin ; 
 
 Fierce gleamed those sculptured eyes. 
 
 " The chisel dropped, my arm dropped down. 
 
 All senseless hung my hand. 
 My knees seemed fast together bound, 
 
 I scarce had power to stand. 
 That ghastly form convulsed with pain. 
 
 The look of that accursed head. 
 As 't were hot rain fell on my brain, — 
 
 I shrank with utter dread. 
 As one who dreams a horrid dream. 
 
 19 
 
Yet hath no power to call, 
 I grasped mj throat and tried to scream 
 And reeled against the wall. 
 
 '' I^aj, shrink not thus, — no human blood 
 This hand hath ever shed ; 
 For me no ghost in spectral shroud 
 Hath left the quiet dead. 
 
 ^^ The blood had curdled in my veins, 
 
 I^igh unto death I lay ; 
 That night the fiend had power o'er me 
 
 E^or left me with the day. 
 Within my mind there was a blank, 
 
 A dreary dismal cloud. 
 Through which no ray of light appeared, 
 
 'Twas round me like a shroud. 
 I only knew, at times, a sense 
 
 Of better feeling came. 
 And once I thought I heard a voice, 
 
 Sweet voice that breathed my name, 
 
 20 
 
And dimly saw in clouds of light, 
 Her hands upon her breast, — 
 
 An angel form, with drooping eyes. 
 That seemed with grief oppressed. 
 
 '' The hour I left that dismal room 
 
 Is still unknown to me. 
 I found myself a league away 
 
 Mid rocks that skirt the sea. 
 The dew distilled upon my cheek, 
 
 Where, stretched upon the ground, 
 I lay beneath a stormy sky. 
 
 The ocean's moaning sound 
 Fell heavy on my ear and seemed 
 
 To shake the cliffs around. 
 
 " I rose and staggered to the beach : 
 The spray dashed in my face. 
 
 The sand lay stretched along the reach 
 Far as the eye could trace. 
 
 A boat was riding near the shore, 
 The sail across it flung. 
 
 21 
 
And safe amid the ocean's roar 
 Upon the waves it swung. 
 
 " Scarce knowing what I did, save that 
 
 I fled with trembling fear 
 From some strange fiend, all shadow-like, 
 
 Who followed me so near 
 That, with hot breath and hissing sound 
 
 He whispered in my ear. 
 
 " I loosed the sail ; the boat moved on 
 
 Before the rushing wind. 
 The white foam wreathed the vesseFs prow. 
 
 The eddies whirled behind. 
 Low bent the mast as bends a reed 
 
 When tempests sweep the vale ; 
 Deep lay the boat and gurgling danced 
 
 The surge upon her rail. 
 How swift we clove the yeasty wave ! 
 
 The white loon left her bed 
 And rushing, circling, through the air, 
 
 Screamed wildly overhead. 
 
 22 
 
A thousand spectral eyes gleamed up 
 
 From out the wat'ry track, 
 The fierce shark crossed the foam-lit prow 
 
 And turned upon his back. 
 
 " Still on my ear the whisper came, 
 
 Still came that fiendish form 
 Chasing the boat as though he were 
 
 A demon of the storm. 
 That night the moon, the full round moon, 
 
 Came up from out the sea. 
 Awhile upon the ocean's verge 
 
 It fiercely gazed on me. 
 It was a fearful sight I know. 
 
 That blood-red moon to see : 
 The lurid ray gleamed on the spray. 
 
 And with one mighty voice 
 A thousand leaping waves, beneath 
 
 Its light, seemed to rejoice. 
 
 " The wind went down ; the boat kept on 
 Drifting upon the sea. 
 
 23 
 
The dull red moon now brighter shone 
 
 And looked less angrily. 
 In the distance, dimly seen, 
 
 Like clouds along the sky, 
 A changing host of shadowy forms 
 
 Were fading from the eye ; 
 While up the east in robes of light 
 
 The rosy morn drew nigh. 
 Still drifting on, the heavy swell 
 
 Bore me onward toward the shore. 
 Great God ! it was a pleasant thing 
 
 To reach the land once more. 
 
 " As one recalls a pleasant dream, 
 
 So in my memory 
 There dwells a vision of a form, 
 
 A maiden watching me. 
 That gentle maid was young and fair, 
 
 A lovely minister ; 
 A holy feeling fills my heart 
 
 Whene'er I think of her. 
 
 24 
 
She sang to me the sweetest lay 
 
 That e'er to lute was sung ; 
 The music sank into my heart — 
 
 Oh, never flowed from mortal tongue 
 Such heavenly strains of melody 
 
 As through my chamber rung ! 
 
 " She laid her hand upon my brow, 
 
 My fevered brain grew calm ; 
 There was a magic in the touch 
 
 Of that gentle maiden's palm. 
 Still peering through the deepening gloom, 
 
 I saw that wicked fiend ; 
 The gentle maiden stood between, 
 
 As on my couch she leaned. 
 
 " Her dark blue eyes, all tenderly, 
 
 Beneath their fringes shone, 
 A diamond cross hung from a chain, 
 
 And diamonds clasped her zone. 
 Dear, heavenly maid, no artist's skill 
 
 Thy beauty can define; 
 
 25 
 
Thou didst look in upon my soul, 
 My soul looked in on thine. 
 
 ^' She stood between me and the light, 
 
 The first gray tints of dawn ; 
 Wide spreading from the cottage door 
 
 Lay stretched a sloping lawn. 
 She beckoned me and tremblingly 
 
 I rose. The morning air 
 Played with the curls upon her brow, 
 
 Bright curls of golden hair. 
 
 " * Thou who didst watch me through the night, 
 Now whither dost thou guide 
 My steps along this pleasant vale ? ' 
 The maiden thus replied : — 
 ^ Thou dost behold how, from the light. 
 The darkness steals away ; 
 Anon, up come the rosy tints, 
 The first faint blush of day.' 
 
 26 
 
" ' I see the light, but in the west 
 
 Black mist the sky hath screened ; 
 
 So standest thou before my face — 
 Behind, a shadowy fiend. 
 
 Oh, say ! shall aught of deed or thought 
 Make my sad spirit whole ? ' 
 
 " ' Look to the light, emblem of life ; 
 
 'Twill dawn upon thy soul. 
 'No virtuous act was ever lost, 
 
 Though all unknown the deed. 
 Good angels keep a record where 
 
 ^o mortal eye may read. 
 Oh, keep thy heart from wicked thoughts 
 
 That haunt the spirit so ; 
 They, like our shadows, follow us 
 
 Where'er we choose to go.' 
 
 " Still on we went through sloping vales, 
 Beneath the sun's warm beam. 
 Until we reached a shady nook 
 Beside a winding stream. 
 
 27 
 
The stream flowed near a pine-clad hill, 
 
 The hill that cast a shade 
 Whene'er the sun dipped to the west 
 
 Across that quiet glade. 
 
 " Stretched on a bed of moss I lay ; 
 
 A vine-wove canopy 
 Above me hung and while I slept 
 
 An angel looked on me. 
 I woke and trembling gazed around : 
 
 Once more I was alone, 
 But round my neck and waist were bound 
 
 The diamond cross and zone. 
 Above my head a milk-white dove 
 
 Sat on a leafless tree, 
 And ere I rose he fluttering came 
 
 And perched upon my knee. 
 
 " The sound of rills, the song of birds 
 Fell sweetly on my ear ; 
 My heart beat with unbounded love. 
 Pure love that knew no fear. 
 
 28 
 
Oh, happy honr ! 'No wicked fiend 
 
 My feeble steps to trace ! 
 There walks an angel by my side, 
 
 He looks me in the face. 
 
 " So shall the love of JSTatnre wake 
 The pleasant dreams of youth, 
 And by thy side, with gentle look. 
 Shall walk the angel Truth. 
 
 " The artist hath an inward power. 
 
 The visions of his mind 
 Will never let him rest until 
 
 Some outward shape they find. 
 Whate'er his varied groups express. 
 
 In all that he doth mould, 
 He sees the reflex of himself 
 
 In plastic beauty told. 
 The downward weight of evil thoughts 
 
 Hangs lead-like round his heart. 
 But like a bird, the soul upsprings 
 
 Whene'er these thoughts depart. 
 
 29 
 
" Again I sought that Gothic room^ 
 
 Gazed calmly on the clay, 
 The deep red clay, that on the stand 
 
 An evil statne lay. 
 There, day by day, all flood-like came 
 
 The light of inward thought. 
 And calm above that crouching shape 
 
 An angel form I wrought. 
 He bends above the prostrate foe. 
 
 In either hand a chain. 
 'No outward power hath touched that fiend, 
 
 Yet doth he writhe in pain. 
 
 " But, yonder is the massive door 
 That leadeth to the hall. 
 And thou shalt see the Group, that fills 
 The alcove in the wall." 
 
 Fair Isabelle, with maiden grace, 
 
 E^ow threads the corridor 
 And near her walks the stranger youth ; 
 
 The maiden glides before. 
 
 30 
 
Her lily hand the taper holds ; 
 
 Behind, the shadows fall 
 Like gloomy phantoms of the past 
 
 Upon the damp, cold wall. 
 
 But they have reached the vestibule 
 
 And, tremblingly, old Arthur Gray 
 Hath swung the massive door aside. 
 
 And lo, the hall before them lay — 
 The sculptor's hall ! Who shall describe 
 
 The beauty of that stately room ? 
 Where all seems life, yet silent as 
 
 The speechless tenants of the tomb. 
 
 On either side the open door 
 A lovely group of angels stood 
 
 With folded hands and drooping eyes 
 
 Beneath the mellow light that shed 
 The dusky shadows on the floor. 
 
 IN^ow breathless pass the visitors 
 
 Beneath the wings above them spread, 
 
 Under the high, o'er-arching dome 
 
 31 
 
With frescoed stars bedight, 
 And by the center cokimn pause. 
 
 Two winged cherubs, arm in arm, 
 Upon that marble column stand ; 
 
 Half leaning on a flowery vase 
 Each holds a taper in his hand. 
 
 And standing by the graceful plinth, 
 An ottoman, inlaid 
 
 With curious carvings, quaint and old. 
 Of dusky walnut made. 
 
 " Here rest awhile. Dear Isabelle, 
 
 The harp is at the angels' feet : 
 'T would please thy sire if, gently now. 
 
 Thou would' st thy evening hymn repeat. 
 She took the harp, the golden harp. 
 
 And never dewy twilight stole 
 With holier calm o'er folding flowers 
 
 Than that sw^eet music on the soul. 
 
 O, ye who love not simple art. 
 Deem not the old man weak 
 
 32 
 
If, listening to that Christmas hymn, 
 A tear stole down his cheek. 
 
 The trembling harp is laid aside, 
 
 The crimson curtain raised, 
 And silently upon that group 
 
 The youthful stranger gazed. 
 So much of life, of living truth. 
 
 Appears in every line. 
 It wakes a train of dreamy thoughts 
 
 That words may not define. 
 
 Who hath not stood Avhole hours to view 
 
 Some lovely Avork of art 
 And felt the A^ery stillness chide 
 
 The beating of his heart ? 
 E'o idle talk, no fulsome praise, 
 
 The truly full heart knoAvs, 
 But like a deep and hidden stream 
 
 The iuAvard feeling flows. 
 We pause, and lingering turn away 
 
 To mingle in the strife 
 
 33 
 
Of busy trade, the love of gain, 
 "And all that man calls life." 
 
 How strange do seem the pent-up streets ! 
 
 How rush the crowds on either side ! 
 And forms, familiar to the mind. 
 
 Like shadows o'er the pavement glide. 
 Long years may pass, yet back we turn 
 
 As to some dream of youth 
 And feel, for once, our hearts have been 
 
 In unison with Truth. 
 
 Note. — This ballad was written soon after 
 completing a life-size group* of the "Archangel 
 chaining Satan/' and was intended to express 
 something of that obsession which every artist or 
 actor feels while absorbed in his work. 
 
 It was subsequently read, by request, at the 
 anniversary of the Eurosophian Adelphi of Water- 
 ville College, August 12, 1845. 
 
 * As no one wanted the Devil chained, the group was broken up. 
 
 34 
 
LINES SUGGESTED OIST EINISHmG 
 A BUST OF ALLSTON 
 
 Upward unto the living light 
 
 Intensely thou dost gaze, 
 As if thy very soul would seek 
 
 In that far distant maze 
 Communion with those heavenly forms 
 
 That, lifting to the sight 
 Their golden wings and snoAvy robes, 
 
 Float on a sea of light. 
 
 Anon, far, far away they glide. 
 
 Shooting through realms of bliss. 
 Till from the spirit's eye they fade 
 
 In Heaven's o^vn bright abyss. 
 Such are the visions thou dost wake ; 
 
 Such are the thoughts that rise 
 In him who, 'neath thy upturned broAV, 
 
 Beholds thy searching eyes. 
 
 35 
 
There is no stain upon that brow 
 
 Where once the glow of life 
 With more than earthly beauty shone, — 
 
 Within, no wasting strife. 
 How strangely have the swift hours flown, 
 
 As o'er the shapeless pile 
 I poured the strength of my full soul. 
 
 Lost to all else the while. 
 
 When fell the last faint stroke which told 
 
 That thou and I should part. 
 That all of life that I could give 
 
 Was thine, how throbbed my heart ! 
 Yet to this head that I have formed 
 
 Should aught of praise belong, 
 'Not unto me the merit due. 
 
 But him w^ho made me strong; 
 
 86 
 
Who ever lent his fostering care 
 
 My wayward steps to guide 
 Through paths of flowers in beauty clothed, 
 
 Along life's sunny tide. 
 Thou who wast good and kind and great, 
 
 Thy task on earth is done ; 
 Of those who walked in beauty's light. 
 
 Thou wast the chosen one. 
 
 THE WATEK LILY 
 
 How bright upon the rippling tide 
 The snow-white lilies bloom ! 
 
 As, swaying there in stately pride. 
 They smile above the gloom. 
 
 See, like joyous things of life. 
 Their upturned faces glow, 
 
 Eegardless of the water's strife. 
 Its dark and sullen flow. 
 
 37 
 
As pure as snowilakes from the skies, 
 The buds, expanding wide. 
 
 Upon the surface gently rise 
 And sway above the tide. 
 
 Lo, Nature lifts her fairest flower 
 From out the dark steel wave, 
 
 The rainbow shines amid the shower. 
 The rose blooms o'er the grave. 
 
 Thus sweetly in the morn of life 
 Hope's fairest flow'rets bloom 
 
 Unmindful of the bitter strife 
 That shrouds the heart in gloom. 
 
 38 
 
LATER POEMS 
 
MY HOUSE 
 
 This moving bouse that you call me 
 
 Is growing old, and I can see 
 That it is weak, and here and there 
 
 I find some things beyond repair. 
 You err in thinking it is me, 
 
 For I am what you cannot see. 
 Within, I tread the well-worn floor, 
 
 Or stand beside my prison door 
 That outward swung in days of yore : 
 
 'Tis useless now, it swings no more. 
 Without my house, I see nor hear 
 
 Some things that once to me were dear, 
 And o'er my roof the chilly flow 
 
 Of winter piles its drifts of snow. 
 Yet all within is still aglow 
 
 With earnest life, and everything 
 Wears on its face the joy of spring. 
 
 41 
 
ONWAED 
 
 " Courage ! '^ she said, as with the oar 
 
 She pushed our frail bark from the shore. 
 
 Below, we heard the rush and roar 
 
 Of waves that dashed and flung their spray, 
 
 And drenched with mist the morning air. 
 
 The murky clouds rolled overhead. 
 In weird forms they shift and spread. 
 
 And filled us with a nameless dread. 
 The doubts and fears that lead astray 
 
 These soulless things are everywhere. 
 
 Who evil thinks shall evil know. 
 
 The poison through his veins will flow. 
 
 To what he feeds on he will grow. 
 
 And his whole life shall writhe and play 
 
 With fancied fraud — his daily fare. 
 
 Unchecked by wind or wave, we steer 
 Between these fiends of doubt and fear : 
 
 42 
 
At our approach they disappear, 
 
 As shrinks the night before the day. 
 They are the victims of despair. 
 
 The clouds no longer shift and play 
 Beneath the noonday's blinding ray. 
 
 With earnest hope we thread our way — 
 Whate'er may call we may not stay : 
 
 Who knows this life must feel its care. 
 
 All things must change. We hear no more 
 The angry waters lash the shore ; 
 
 We have no need of sail or oar ; 
 
 The setting sun with lessening ray 
 
 No longer blinds us with its glare. 
 
 Still floats our bark upon the tide, 
 The one dear friend still by my side. 
 
 Whatever else may shift or glide. 
 Love holds within its gentle sway 
 
 All things for which we hope or care. 
 
 43 
 
THE BROOK 
 
 From out the clefted rock there springs 
 A little brook that laughs and sings ; 
 
 A silver thread that curves and trails 
 
 'Tween mossy banks, through wooded vales. 
 
 And v^here its waters gently flow, 
 
 The cowslip and the lilies grow, 
 And 'neath the boulder, from his lair, 
 
 The spotted trout leaps in the air. 
 
 The whirling eddies softly press 
 The drooping fern, the water cress ; 
 
 And where the willow sways and swings, 
 The wild bird builds her nest and sings. 
 
 I backward turned when I was young ; 
 
 Thoughtlessly I laughed and sung, 
 And careless of the passing hours 
 
 I trod thy banks and gathered flowers 
 
 44 
 
With one who was more dear to me 
 Than all things else may ever be. 
 
 'Twas early mora, not eventide ; 
 
 Spring flowers bloomed on either side. 
 
 So wrapped in her, and she in me, 
 We did not think, — we did not see 
 
 That it was but the opening day, 
 
 xind like the stream would pass away. 
 
 The budding life so fresh and fair. 
 The dreamy eyes undimmed by care. 
 
 The graceful mien, the heaving breast 
 That rose and fell with love's unrest. 
 
 And like the water's rippling flow. 
 The voice was ever soft and low. 
 
 There is no curve or play of line 
 
 That beauty claims that was not thine. 
 
 As many a one has done before. 
 
 We missed our way, and never more 
 
 45 
 
Throiig'li all oiir lives tlie rich refrain 
 Of our young love came back again. 
 
 What changes come I Who has not seen 
 The shifting shadows slide between 
 
 Our cherished hopes, — what w^e were then, 
 What we are now, Avhat might have been ? 
 
 'Tis autumn now : the trees are bare, 
 
 A touch of winter in the air, 
 And wdiere the willows swayed and swung. 
 
 There are no birds to rear their young. 
 
 Leaves strew the ground, the flowers are dead. 
 And over all the scene are spread 
 
 The phantoms of a thousand things : 
 Only the brook still laughs and sings. 
 
 O laughing brook, thy song, thy gleam, 
 Is like a half-remembered dream. 
 
 In caverns deep beneath the earth. 
 
 Unseen, unknown, thou hadst thy birth. 
 
 46 
 
I wonder not at thy sweet voice, 
 
 That all unchecked thou dost rejoice ; 
 
 For thine the joy that freedom gains 
 In triumph o'er its broken chains. 
 
 47 
 
IMPHOMPTU 
 
 TO WALTER 
 
 Still we are here. The world may say 
 
 That you and I have had our day — 
 The strenuous life, the shifting play 
 
 Of youth, of manhood and decay. 
 Still gleams the memory of the days, 
 
 The buoyant days, when we were young, 
 And Hope and Fear alternate swung 
 
 The golden light, the dusky shade 
 Across the path where then we strayed. 
 
 And later still our growing needs 
 Of robust strength that always pleads 
 
 For manly thoughts and noble deeds ; 
 The burning noon that never flings 
 
 A shadow over earthly things. 
 But ah ! the changes 'twixt now and then, 
 
 When we were boys, — when we were men. 
 
 48 
 
The sun drops down ; the coming night 
 
 Is but the blinding of our sight, 
 And seeing not, through fear and doubt 
 
 We think our lives are fading out. 
 With earnest hope we pause and wait. 
 
 We may not say who first shall leave, 
 Or who remain to mourn and grieve; 
 
 We only know that love shall live. 
 That IS'ature still her web will weave 
 
 Of golden light o'er all we give. 
 For what we give, — with others share, — 
 
 Is all we have, is what we are. 
 These trembling limbs, this altered gait. 
 
 These battered forms so w^recked and worn, 
 Are but the shells Ave have outgrown, — 
 
 A prison house whose bars shall slide. 
 The caged bird, freed, with joyous pride 
 
 Shall cleave the air and sing outside. 
 
 49 
 
ALWAYS PRESENT 
 
 With a look I could not fathom, 
 With a light that was divine, 
 
 Tenderly she gazed upon me. 
 Laid her pallid face on mine. 
 
 Like the misty dews of evening 
 Her great eyes were full of tears, 
 
 Down her cheeks they flowed and trembled 
 As she tried to calm my fears. 
 
 ^^ Let no sorrow blind thy vision ; 
 Only bnt a little time 
 When the clouds shall part between us ; 
 Through all changes I am thine. 
 
 ^^ Let our errors be forgotten ; 
 
 They are weeds that we have sown. 
 Stalks on which no flowers blossom. 
 Love and Hope are all we own." 
 
 50 
 
Patiently she waited, lingered, 
 Talking with me day by day 
 
 Till the time came for the parting; 
 Lovingly she passed away. 
 
 There are times when all our feelings 
 Center in the dreary chill ; 
 
 That our friends who have departed 
 Leave a void that naught can fill. 
 
 Blindly over all things changing, 
 Passing to the great imknown, 
 
 In our ignorance we sorrow. 
 O'er the lifeless form we moan. 
 
 With our hopes and aspirations 
 Darker thoughts may intervene. 
 
 Still the world is full of beauty 
 Plowing from a life unseen. 
 
 51 
 
Ivianj things are only seeming; 
 
 'Not a sorrow shall remain 
 O'er the splendor of our being, 
 
 O'er the life we all can gain. 
 
 'Not the shadows but the sunlight 
 Fills us with the perfect day, 
 
 Leads us to the life immortal; 
 All things else shall pass away. 
 
 All around us forms are drifting, 
 Floating, gliding, always near; 
 
 Though our eyes may never see them 
 Still we know that they are here. 
 
 Often in my quiet study, 
 
 When the lamp is burning low. 
 There is one who sits beside me, 
 Parted from me long ago. 
 
 52 
 
'Not more certain flows life's current, 
 Or the things I touch and see, 
 
 Than the glory of her presence 
 With the love she brings to me. 
 
 53 
 
EEE THOU ART OLD 
 
 The dreams of youth, the cahn of age, 
 
 Are all recorded on life's page 
 With the things that first begam 
 
 When this planet rolled and swung 
 In its circle round the sun ; 
 
 When the blending atoms whirled 
 Building up this changing world, 
 
 Building up this little shell 
 Of a house wherein we dwell. 
 
 In the onward SAveep of time. 
 Bearing to some unknown clime, 
 
 Is this conscious self of thine. 
 
 'Not more sure the stars shall shine 
 
 Through the vast sidereal plain, 
 Than this conscious life of thine 
 
 All its fullness shall retain. 
 
 54 
 
Be thyself, for none can o^vn 
 
 Or claim the splendor of thy throne. 
 
 The elements may round thee rave, 
 Thou canst never be their slave, 
 
 ^or aught except what comes to thee 
 To make thy individuality. 
 
 Yet in thy life thou dost rehearse 
 
 All that makes the universe. 
 The myriad forms through space unrolled, 
 
 In their beauty manifold, 
 Shall come to thee ere thou art old. 
 
 Ere the shadows of decay 
 Warn thee of the passing day. 
 
 55 
 
LOVE KIs^OWS ITS OWN 
 
 This craggy penk on which I stand 
 
 Overlooks the far-off wooded land, 
 And through the rocky glen below 
 
 I see a mighty river flow: 
 With dancing foam and shouts of glee 
 
 It rushes onward to the sea ; 
 The boundless sea where all we know 
 
 Is lost beneath its ceaseless flow. 
 Forever runs the turbid tide 
 
 That bears along our hopes and fears, 
 Our self-conceit, our foolish pride 
 
 That wanes not with the passing years. 
 How little of our lives remain ! 
 
 The river ne'er returns again ; 
 The rugged rock on which I stand 
 
 Is slowly crumbling into sand ; 
 From this lone peak, dim is the trail 
 
 That leads us through the misty vale. 
 
 56 
 
The river flows, 
 
 The south wind blows, 
 Sing high, sing low\ 
 Where'er I go 
 The swelling bucl, the opening flower, 
 
 All things beneath us or above, 
 Bend to thy throne, O Sacred Love. 
 
 From out the groves, early and late. 
 
 Some happy bird calls to his mate. 
 But I, — ah me ! all day I sing 
 
 And no one comes. Yet this is spring. 
 ^'Are all the birds more blest than I ? " 
 
 The voice was like the plaintive cry 
 Of some lone spirit floating by. 
 
 While yet the notes were in the air 
 She came, I know not whence or where — 
 
 Love takes no heed of time or place, 
 It knows its own when face to face. 
 
 There is no thought, howe'er expressed, 
 That does not find a place of rest; 
 
 57 
 
No yearning sonl, whate'er its state, 
 That does not somewhere find its mate. 
 
 As turns the lily to the sim 
 When morning light around it plays, 
 
 With trembling step and timid gaze 
 She turned to me and we were one. 
 
 ^' Dear Friend/' I said, " wilt thou abide ? 
 Then journey with me, side by side. 
 
 Though rough the road and oft astray. 
 As swings yon star above the night, 
 
 So Hope shall lead and Love shall light 
 Our steps along the widening way. 
 
 I lay my head upon thy breast 
 And feel I am supremely blest. 
 
 I drink the glory of thine eyes, 
 I press thy lips, thy hand in mine. 
 
 For thou art mine and I am thine. 
 And thus together we shall rise 
 
 Above the turmoil and the strife 
 Of changing things miscalled our life. 
 
 58 
 
No more I stand upon the crest 
 Where rolls the river to the sea, 
 
 For I accept the full bequest 
 Of that rich life thou givest me ; 
 
 So much to thy great soul I owe. 
 Through parting clouds a light is shed 
 
 That weaves a halo round thy head. 
 The heavens shall ope and thou shalt see 
 
 The splendor of thy love for me. 
 
 Unseen they come, with muffled tread ; 
 
 I hear their voices whisper low. 
 And looking upward, I behold 
 
 In dreams, as Jacob did of old. 
 Love's messengers pass to and fro. 
 
 59 
 
PASSED AWAY 
 
 !N'ow close tlie door, put out the light, 
 
 For I would be alone tonight. 
 'Tis fitting I should feel the stress 
 
 Of my great loss, its loneliness. 
 If, in my weakness, I have said 
 
 There is no life now he is dead, 
 I do recall it, for I know 
 
 That all is life and nought is dead. 
 'Tis not his loss but all my own. 
 
 For many years full well I've known 
 His manly strength, the gentle tone 
 
 Of his rich life, his kindly deeds. 
 His sympathy with all our needs. 
 
 Nor this alone : it was my pride 
 That we could journey side by side, 
 
 And in our harmony to find 
 The working of his inner mind, 
 
 That conscious self that still survives 
 All changes of our earthly lives. 
 
 60 
 
How blindly flows the flood of grief 
 
 That gives the lie to our belief, 
 For these sad things are only seeming, 
 
 In our true life they have no meaning. 
 This house, that once had served him well, 
 
 Is only, now, an empty shell; 
 The bird is flown, the nest is bare. 
 
 From his new home we still may share. 
 Through all our lives, his loving care. 
 
 What we may think, may never be. 
 For life is what we feel and see. 
 
 I only know what comes to me ; 
 And here, in all its beauty, lay 
 
 The strength, the love, the gentle sway 
 Of that great soul that's passed away. 
 
 61 
 
UPWARD 
 
 Everything with life is teeming, 
 
 Nothing lacking in its meaning; 
 Songs of birds that are testing 
 
 Coy mates, while they are nesting. 
 Yielding petals droop and close 
 
 Round the stamens of the rose ; 
 Eragrant comes the wind that weaves 
 
 Slender branches with the leaves, 
 Through the pine trees, whispering, sighing, 
 
 O'er the blossoms that are dying. 
 
 ISTature fills us with surprise. 
 Cheats us with her seeming lies. 
 
 Bids us ope our wondering eyes ; 
 Shows the sun come up the east. 
 
 Then slowly drop into the west. 
 J^ever sun or planet yet 
 
 Ever rose or ever set. 
 
 62 
 
Only in our inner being 
 
 Lies the fullness of our seeing. 
 
 Like the chime of evening bells 
 
 That in the distance floats and swells, 
 
 There is music everywhere, 
 With its rhythm all unbroken, 
 
 Floating, trembling in the air. 
 
 There are many thoughts unspoken. 
 
 Dreamy thoughts, all too tender 
 For our coarser words to render. 
 
 Whether it be friend or lover. 
 Little do we know each other. 
 
 What thou canst feel and know and see 
 Is all there is of life for thee. 
 
 Beyond thy little range of sight 
 A million forms glow in the light. 
 
 63 
 
Slowly come the changing years, 
 
 Mixing up our hopes and fears 
 Till, at last, the curtains rise : 
 
 Through the cloud rifts gleam the skies, 
 Eichly falls the evening light. 
 
 Silent, blending into night. 
 Gentle as a little child 
 
 That on its mother's bosom smiled, 
 From this tenement of clay. 
 
 From the conflict and the strife 
 Of this mortal prison life. 
 
 Upward thou shalt cleave thy way. 
 
 64 
 
KEMmiSCENCE 
 
 Softly blows the evening breeze 
 
 O'er waving grass, through leafy trees 
 The trembling air that gently weaves 
 
 A music like the murmuring seas 
 Where the waters slide and reach 
 
 Up and down the sandy beach. 
 Here we walked and talked together, 
 
 But in all our talking, never 
 Did we say we loved each other. 
 
 Was it Fancy with its gleaming. 
 Mocking, only, with its seeming? 
 
 Was it Love Avith its sweet dreaming 
 That led us onward, side by side. 
 
 Thoughtless of all else beside ? 
 Love is blind, it never sees. 
 
 You may call it what you please — 
 'Twas enough that in our pleasure 
 
 We had found a priceless treasure 
 That no other life could measure. 
 
 65 
 
Lifting up our sense of seeing 
 All the glory of our being. 
 
 'Not alone the simple blending 
 
 Of our lives with love unending, 
 
 But a love that richly gives 
 A beauty over all that lives. 
 
 With our selfishness denying, 
 Heart to heart, with soul replying, 
 
 In the beautiful spring weather 
 Hand in hand we walked together, 
 
 And the angels never knew 
 Aught of love that was more true. 
 
 Ah, the days when we were young. 
 
 When the buds and flowers SAvung 
 With their fragrance everywhere ! 
 
 Feathered songsters chirped and sung. 
 With their music filled the air. 
 
 And our lives were free from care. 
 Little did we think or know 
 
 Of that never ceasing flow 
 That changes all things here below. 
 
 66 
 
Stalks that bud and bloom today 
 
 On the morrow shall decay. 
 Yet today is full of meaning, — 
 
 'No less beautiful its seeming 
 Than the one that's passed away. 
 
 'Tis our blindness in not seeing, 
 Never thinking, never knowing 
 
 That these changes are the flowing, 
 ]^ever ceasing, outward flowing 
 
 From another state of being ; 
 They can have no other meaning. 
 
 Bound by age yet strong in spirit, 
 From the love I still inherit 
 
 From the dear one passed away. 
 Conscious of her gentle sway, 
 
 Grow^ing stronger day by day, 
 How can I think, how can I say 
 
 From my life she's passed away. 
 
 67 
 
SPEIISrGTIME 
 
 The early mom with coming light 
 In splendor rides above the night. 
 
 The rayless gloom that barred our way 
 In ghostly silence steals away, 
 
 And once again our eyes behold 
 The beauty of this changing world. 
 
 We bare our foreheads to the breeze. 
 We listen to the hum of bees, 
 
 The music of the restless leaves, 
 
 The blending sounds that far and near 
 
 Like murmuring waves break on the ear. 
 
 Ere yet shall come the leafy June, 
 The happy birds with love shall tune 
 
 Their throats and soar and sing. 
 
 The bending flowers, in silent prayer. 
 
 Shall breathe their fragrance on the air. 
 
 68 
 
The rosy mom, the budding life 
 Of happy youth, so full and free, 
 
 So careless of all things that be, 
 Its airy castles flash and gleam, 
 
 The mirage of a fevered dream — 
 Of idle thoughts that float and play 
 
 And shift and drift and pass away. 
 
 All things are thine, O gentle Spring; 
 
 The birds shall build their nests and play, 
 The dream of youth shall have its day. 
 
 Its joys, its sorrows, and its pride. 
 Only its memory shall abide. 
 
 When youth is gone, how dreamy then 
 We backward turn to what has been. 
 
 And wistfully, with weary eyes. 
 
 We scan the heavens, the changing sky. 
 
 And plead for light. There's no reply — 
 ISTot here the answering visions rise. 
 
 69 
 
'Not what we dream or may believe, 
 
 But what we know, shall net and weave 
 The fullness of the lives we live. 
 
 Our thoughts and deeds are never sown 
 On barren soil, in land unkno\\Ti ; 
 
 Our duties here are all we own ; 
 For what we feel and know and see 
 
 Is all there is for you and me. 
 
 The listless mind may fail to find 
 
 The beauty that forever springs 
 From out the unseen world and flings 
 
 A glory over all that life can give. 
 There is no great, there is no small, 
 
 Love spreads its golden light on all. 
 How rich the song that I^ature sings ; 
 
 As perfect in the things that crawl 
 As in the man who proudly swings 
 
 His scepter over earthly things. 
 
 70 
 
THE WRECK 
 
 Stood the captain, firm, erect, 
 
 On the rolling, pitching deck. 
 Walked the captain, fore and aft. 
 
 Master of his little craft. 
 Trod the deck, with anxious eye 
 
 Looking upward at the sky 
 Where the weird clouds were drifting l)y, 
 
 With the wild winds raging free 
 Bent the mast, swelled the sail. 
 
 Water foaming o'er the rail, 
 
 Ploughed the vessel through the sea. 
 
 Through the dashing and tlie roar 
 Of the waves that lash the shore. 
 
 Where runs the ragged, rocky ledge 
 All along the water's edge. 
 
 Dimly shone the beacon light 
 Through the darkness of the night. 
 
 'Not all the prayers of all who pray 
 Can lift the gloom that round him lay, 
 
 71 
 
Or change the darkness into day. 
 'Not for himself came doubt and fear, 
 
 But for those who, far more dear, 
 Helpless in the cabin lay. 
 
 Walked the captain fore and aft, 
 
 No longer master of his craft. 
 All the hope, the joy, the pain. 
 
 That he ever felt or knew. 
 Hurtled through his fevered brain. 
 
 Over the wearied, helpless crew 
 Ripped the sails, like ribbons flew. 
 
 Streaming, snapping in the gale ; 
 And above the broken rail. 
 
 Without stays or spar, the mast 
 Bent and trembled, and at last. 
 
 Yielding to the angry blast. 
 Broke and crashed into the sea. 
 
 72 
 
O'er the fast retreating storm 
 
 That, like the Arab, stole away, 
 Shrinking from the light of day. 
 
 Broke the morning with its calm. 
 Eesistless rolled the onward swell 
 
 Of waves that ceaseless rose and fell. 
 Within the storm-tossed bay 
 
 Drifted forms, here and there, 
 With pallid face and floating hair. 
 
 Mocking life with vacant stare. 
 While up the beach, beyond the reach 
 
 Of the restless, foaming tide, 
 Where the wreckage had been piled. 
 
 Without pulse, without breath, 
 Folded in the arms of death. 
 
 Lay the mother with her child. 
 'Not in garb of fashion dressed. 
 
 But in the beauty God expressed 
 When he made all mankind 
 
 In the glory of His mind. 
 
 73 
 
STRAY THOUGHTS 
 
 Many are the thoughts that gain 
 
 Possession of a fevered brain; 
 Fleeting as an April day, 
 
 All uncertain is their stay. 
 Joyfully the sunlight gleams, 
 
 Sporting o'er our youthful dreams. 
 All the world with beauty teems ; 
 
 It is our recklessness that sows 
 Thorns that nestle neath the rose. 
 
 Dreary clouds may shift and spread 
 Rolling darkly overhead, 
 
 Chilly winds around us blow 
 Piling up the drifting snow. 
 
 Changing, comes the leafy June, 
 Singing quite another tune: 
 
 With the whispering of the breeze 
 Dance the leaves upon the trees; 
 
 74 
 
Song of birds, the opening flowers, 
 
 Light with love the shadj bowers 
 Would that we could always know 
 
 All the beauty and the flow 
 Of these things that come and go. 
 
 Be ye thoughtful, be ye wise. 
 Check the passions as they rise ; 
 
 Angry thoughts unbidden start. 
 Tear the fibers of the heart. 
 
 Backward you may turn and say 
 ^'All my life was led astray." 
 
 Many things should be forgotten: 
 
 They were fancies ill-begotten, 
 Chips the builders threw away. 
 
 Not tomorrow nor today. 
 But in the moments as they play. 
 
 Life shall bud and have its sway. 
 I^ot today canst thou say 
 
 Thou art the same as yesterday. 
 
 75 
 
Roll the planets round tlie sun 
 But never since tlie world begun 
 
 In the same path have they run. 
 
 Softly flows the rich refrain 
 
 Of the dreams that once have been, 
 
 Figments only of the brain, 
 Dreams that never come again. 
 
 Sturdy stands the mountain oak, 
 
 Bares its forehead to the stroke 
 Of the gleaming thunder-bolt. 
 
 In the battle and the strife, 
 In the onward march of life, 
 
 Firmly meet thy destiny. 
 Never canst thou dare to be 
 
 Less brave than yonder tree. 
 In the life that here is thine 
 
 Be always on the firing line ; 
 ISTever canst thou once decline 
 
 To meet the f oeman face to face — 
 E'ever soldier looks behind. 
 
 76 
 
There are those who think they find 
 That, because we change our dress, 
 
 We are old, — are growing less. 
 These garments may be sadly worn, 
 
 But day by day more rich unfolds 
 The life within their ample folds. 
 
 To those who feel and see aright 
 
 Not less beautiful the night 
 That silent waits the coming morn. 
 
 It is folly in our seeing 
 Things that really have no meaning 
 
 That ever makes our misery. 
 Were we truthful, were we free. 
 
 All the sorrows that might be 
 Could be thrown into the sea. 
 
 77 
 
LISTENING 
 
 In the woods the birds are singing, 
 Flitting round from limb to limb, 
 
 And my soul is full of music, 
 Hunnine: over at the rim. 
 
 "fc> 
 
 Yet my heart is reaching, yearning. 
 For a song I cannot hear. 
 
 Well I know it floats around me 
 And at times comes very near. 
 
 Over all the night is falling. 
 And the stars are in the sky; 
 
 Summer breezes softly breathing 
 Whisper as they pass me by. 
 
 Silently the moon is rising. 
 Climbing up the hazy sky, 
 
 And so near it floats above me 
 I can reach it where I lie. 
 
 78 
 
Like a restless bird rejoicing, 
 Freely I can cleave the air ; 
 
 Upward rising, onward drifting, 
 Leave behind all earthly care. 
 
 For our thoughts and aspirations 
 That forever outward spring, — 
 
 Ever present, never ceasing, — 
 Make us one with every thing. 
 
 And our joys and sorrows blending 
 With our love, we all can see 
 
 Something of the life we're nearing 
 That will come to you and me. 
 
 Still my soul is yearning, listening. 
 For the song I cannot hear, 
 
 For the ever-flowing music 
 Of a life that's always near. 
 
 79 
 
TO MY FRIEND CHARLES HALLOCK 
 
 If thou hast eyes that thou canst see 
 
 The glory of all things that be, 
 The myriad forms that float between 
 
 Thee and the world we call unseen, 
 Thou hast the key to that rich life 
 
 That knows not fear, nor doubt, nor strife. 
 
 80 
 
TODAY 
 
 Life is a battle, and the strife 
 
 Ends only with our earthly life. 
 The bugle call is in the air; 
 
 The rush, the conflict, everywhere. 
 And none but cowards fail to share 
 
 In all that makes us what we are, — 
 The forward march, the onward trend 
 
 Of all things to some certain end. 
 In vain we seek to turn aside 
 
 The onward sweep of that great tide 
 That bears us to our destiny. 
 
 There is no hope, there is no rest 
 For those who fail to do their best; 
 
 Peace only comes to those who see 
 That they keep step in harmony 
 
 With all that is or yet may be. 
 
 81 
 
Why should we wish or care to know 
 
 Why all is changing here helow ; 
 Why outward life should ebb and flow, 
 
 Or why our thoughts should shift and sway 
 And like our dreams should pass away ? 
 
 We backward turn and lingering yearn 
 For that wdiich never can return. 
 
 For, all our life, our sense of being 
 Lies in the fullness of our seeing — 
 
 IsFot the fleeting things w^e borrow, 
 Or the phantoms of tomorrow. 
 
 But the splendor and the play 
 Of that rich life that's here today. 
 
 82 
 
THE COTTAGE BY THE SEA 
 
 It was long, all, long ago ! 
 
 I cannot tell you why 'twas so 
 
 It might have been that restless feeling 
 
 In our youthful days revealing 
 Something of a sense of seeing 
 
 That life should never be alone, 
 That hearts are pleading for their own. 
 
 Strolling, in this restless mood. 
 Where a low-roofed cottage stood. 
 
 Where the lengthened shadow^s lay, 
 Phantoms of the passing day. 
 
 Suddenly, before me stood 
 
 A gentle form of maidenhood. 
 
 Startled like a timid fawn. 
 
 Fled she down the grassy lawn 
 To the cottage by the sea. 
 
 83 
 
I^ever backward did I see 
 That she turned to look at me. 
 
 Erom that moment I was changed 
 And my vision wider ranged. 
 
 ^ever came to me again 
 
 The thoughtless boy that I had been. 
 Bolts and bars, nothing known, 
 
 Keep the lover from his own : 
 In the golden autumn weather, 
 
 Hand in hand we strolled together. 
 
 What we said, or thought, or did, 
 Beneath the veil of love was hid ; 
 
 Sacred as our sense of being 
 
 Are the dreams that love is seeing. 
 
 From within, outward f3.owing, 
 
 Is all the love that's worth the knowinj 
 
 Shadows falling from without 
 Poison love with fear and doubt. 
 
 84 
 
Wake a yearning loneliness 
 
 That no words can e'er express. 
 
 Even she who dwelt with me 
 In the cottage by the sea, 
 
 In her heaving, throbbing breast, 
 Showed how great was her unrest. 
 
 She was simple in her bearing, 
 Little for the fashions caring ; 
 
 You might pass her any day 
 And never think or care to say 
 
 That she differed from her race. 
 Or was more than commonplace. 
 
 Yet 'ue;ith the fringes of her eyes 
 Gleamed the light of southern skies. 
 
 Never love was more intense 
 Or richer in its eloquence, 
 
 Than the love that came to me 
 From the loved one by the sea. 
 
 85 
 
Oft we walked hand in hand 
 O'er the sea-floor's level sand, 
 
 On its surface traced and planned 
 All we thought that there should be 
 
 In the cottage by the sea. 
 
 Here we lived and loved and sung 
 When the world to us was young, 
 
 In an age of hope and doubt, 
 
 World within and world without, 
 
 All so closely inter-blended 
 
 None could tell where either ended. 
 
 If we had our little spats 
 
 'Twas not of gowns or flaring hats, 
 But from that foolish innate pride 
 
 That brushed, at times, all else aside. 
 
 All our peace lay in not seeing 
 
 Things that we could not 
 That the fullness of our love 
 
 In its strength should rise above 
 All such false, discordant feeling. 
 
 86 
 
Like the lightning's heated glare, 
 Pulsing through the evening air 
 
 With its changing, fitful gleams, 
 
 Flashed the love-light of our dreams. 
 
 Shifting visions that presage 
 
 The richer life that comes with age. 
 
 Wandering lonely through my hall, 
 
 I see a portrait on the wall 
 That in my memory doth recall 
 
 All she was and still might be. 
 It w^as a picture that I drew 
 
 In the golden summer time. 
 When we both were in our prime 
 
 And I knew that she was mine : 
 
 A velvet cap trimmed with lace 
 That half hid her blushing face; 
 
 A rich bodice, open, free. 
 
 That she brought from Italy ; 
 
 The skirt was short below the knee ; 
 
 87 
 
Raven locks tliat flowed and spread, 
 A golden band around her head ; 
 
 Olive tints that glowed with red, 
 A rich toned voice that quivering flung 
 
 The accents of her native tongue. 
 
 Eyes that gleamed with love or hate 
 But only in their love were great; 
 
 A soul that only knew its mate — 
 A soul intensely passionate, 
 
 JvTever stern nor obstinate. 
 
 l^eath the calm of outvrard form. 
 
 Slept the sunlight and the storm. 
 
 What others thought we scarcely knew. 
 
 From year to year w^e nearer grew 
 Till we were one ; or, only two 
 
 When some fancied feeling wrought 
 A momentary change of thought. 
 
 Open stands the cottage door. 
 
 And the waving sycamore 
 Trails its shadows on the floor. 
 
 88 
 
Through the hall nevermore 
 ^"^ learns the light that once it bore. 
 
 'vj i.( 
 
 I have wandered far and wide, 
 
 Seen the rushing of life's tide, 
 Thought but little, caring less, 
 
 What the world might express. 
 l^ever have I been the same, 
 
 Never to my senses came 
 Aught that cheered my loneliness. 
 
 Still, in every heart is sown 
 A hope that love will find its own 
 
 Somewhere in the great unknown. 
 
 All this happened long ago ; 
 
 I cannot tell you why 'twas so. 
 For life is still a mystery. 
 
 I only guess, I do not know 
 Why the angels took from me 
 
 All the life there was for me 
 In the cottage by the sea. 
 
 89 
 
THE PASSmG YEARS 
 
 I mourn not o'er the passing years, 
 
 The vanished hopes, the selfish fears. 
 Whate'er we fancy there may be 
 
 Of hope, or joy, or misery. 
 They are but ripples on life's sea. 
 
 They pass and ne'er return again. 
 Alike to me the chaff and grain ; 
 
 They grew together and must fill 
 Their measured lot of good or ill. 
 
 Enough to feel and always know 
 That all things in their outward flow 
 
 Are rich with love, — that nothing's low 
 Unless we choose to make it so. 
 
 Or in our blindness fail to trace 
 That naught is poor or commonplace. 
 
 The earth, the air, the changing skies, 
 The clouds, the sunshine and the rain. 
 
 90 
 
The countless forms tliat round iis rise, 
 
 Are voiceless to an idle brain, — 
 Within ourselves the splendor lies. 
 
 Dull is the soul that cannot see 
 The beauty and the mystery 
 
 Of all that is or yet may be. 
 All forms may change, and yet change not 
 
 The tenor of our inward thought; 
 While that remains, whate'er may seem, 
 
 What we may think, or know, or dream. 
 Can never change our destiny. 
 
 God rules supreme through all the spheres. 
 
 Whate'er may come we still retain 
 Our joy, our sorrow, and our pain. 
 
 Beneath the sunlight and the rain. 
 The chaff shall mingle with the grain. 
 
 And all our hopes and joys and fears 
 Shall blossom in the coming years. 
 
 91 
 
WHO KE-QWS THE EITD 
 
 From out the unseen world there springs, 
 In wondrous beauty, all living things — 
 
 A countless host, whose onward trend 
 
 Is through all time. Who knows the end ? 
 
 Who comprehends the mighty force 
 
 That swung the planets on their course, 
 
 And through the realms of endless space 
 Still guides and holds them in their place ? 
 
 Who knows the time they first begun 
 Their ceaseless journey round the sun. 
 
 Or aught of that sidereal sweep 
 
 That bears them through the boundless deep ? 
 
 Still swells the tide, within, without. 
 
 Whether we fear, or hope or doubt, 
 Resistless rolls the mighty flow 
 
 Of life. The end, — ah, who can know ? 
 
 92 
 
THERE IS 'NO PAST 
 
 There is no past. The future lies 
 A blinding mist before our eyes. 
 
 No footprints mark the unseen trail 
 That leads us down the shadowy vale. 
 
 Still on we press. With hopes and fears 
 We watch the coming of the years, 
 
 And here and there, thro' rifts between 
 Some parting cloud, the light is seen. 
 
 93 
 
FEAR -NOT 
 
 Fear not tlie gloom, 'tis but a sliroud 
 That veils the light, — a passing cloud 
 
 That trails and drifts and drops its rain ; 
 The parched earth drinks and laughs again. 
 
 What is for thee, accept, retain, 
 
 'Tis thine, — for thee all else is vain. 
 
 Think not that when the waning light 
 Of evening fades and blinds thy sight 
 
 That all is wrong, or aught impure ; 
 The white light, only, shall endure. 
 
 Look to thyself. What thou canst see 
 Is what thou art, — a part of thee. 
 
 All fraud, all wrong that we call sin. 
 Or think so, springs from within. 
 
 Our acts are past beyond recall ; 
 Love throws its mantle over all. 
 
 Our seeming sins, our faults, are due 
 To baffled thoughts, — the spirit's force 
 
 Deflected in its outward course. 
 
 94 
 
LOVE EXILES SUPHEME 
 
 In all that makes a healthy life 
 
 There is no pomp or jealous strife. 
 Love rules supreme and self-conceit 
 
 Is crushed like weeds beneath the feet. 
 We grope about and aimless move 
 
 Until our hearts are filled with love ; 
 Then comes the dawn, the rosy light 
 
 That lifts the shadows of the night, — 
 The withered hopes, the ghastly fears 
 
 That journey with our waning years. 
 The pathway to the unseen world 
 
 Is full of hope, of joys untold ; 
 With love's rich bloom, with fragrant air, 
 
 Unselfish deeds and silent prayer. 
 Who seeks to climb some other way 
 
 Will tarry long, will go astray ; 
 Eor love alone can point the way. 
 
 95 
 
WE SLEEP, — WE WAKE 
 
 Our life while here is but a sleep 
 
 Where weird forms around us sweep, 
 Unreal as the fitful gleams 
 
 That haunt us in our fevered dreams, 
 These ghostly things have swayed and swung 
 
 All life since first the world begun. 
 And, shadow-like, where'er we tread 
 
 They fill us with a nameless dread. 
 
 We yearning reach only to find 
 That to all else our eyes are blind. 
 
 And yet at times there comes a gleam 
 Of something more than idle dream; 
 
 A still small voice, so far away, 
 
 That whispers 'tween the night and day ; 
 
 A gleam of mom with golden ray. 
 
 96 
 
The unborn child, what can it know 
 Of all the restless fear and doubt 
 
 That marks the changing world without ? 
 
 As little do we know or see 
 Of what the other life may be. 
 
 We sleep, — we dream, but who can say 
 
 That in this strange dramatic play 
 He sees the light or knows the way ? 
 
 Alike the rayless gloom of night. 
 The sun's fierce glare that blinds our sight. 
 
 We think, but know not what is right 
 And o'er a life not understood. 
 
 In our conceit, our selfish mood. 
 We draw the line 'tween bad and good. 
 
 ^N'ot for their own, but others' guilt 
 The heathens' burning hell was built. 
 
 Satanic thoughts that flowed and run 
 O'er all the earth when it was young. 
 
 97 
 
The dreary song tliat Milton simg, 
 
 Like storm-lit clouds they intervene 
 And trail and drift and drop between 
 
 Our visions of the life nnseen. 
 Not for the few was Heaven designed 
 
 But for the good of all mankind. 
 Through unknown space the world shall sweep 
 
 Regardless of our troubled sleep. 
 Deem not the evil thou dost fear 
 
 Can follow thee to yonder sphere. 
 
 As drops the husk that folds the grain, 
 We drop our sorrows and our pain, 
 
 And upward we return again 
 
 To that pure life from whence we came. 
 
 We sleep, — we wake, — but nevermore 
 Do we return to this vague shore 
 
 To dream the life that once we bore. 
 
 98 
 
THE LAST LEAP 
 
 Sitting bj my evening fire, 
 
 Cheerful-blazing, open fire, 
 While the autumn leaves are falling 
 
 And the mournful winds are calling, 
 Wailing o'er the passing year, 
 
 In my memory recalling 
 Eriends who once to me were dear. 
 
 Eull of hope and life we started 
 In the opening of our day; 
 
 One by one they have departed, 
 Eading, drooping by the way. 
 
 Thoughtfully, alone I'm sitting 
 
 With the shadows round me flitting; 
 Dusky forms that rise and fall 
 Slide along the vacant wall, 
 
 Weird phantoms that retire 
 
 With the waning of the fire. 
 
 99 Lof 
 
Welcome was the manly strife, 
 
 Building up a stronger life. 
 Brave we fought, or stood at bay 
 
 Over things that blocked our way, 
 Caring nothing for the play 
 
 Of idle thoughts that round us lay. 
 All of life is but expression 
 
 Of the life we call progression 
 In its changing outward flow, 
 
 Little of it do we know. 
 
 Why should I grieve o'er the departed. 
 
 O'er the friends who with me started ? 
 Conscious of their sense of duty, 
 
 Of the fullness and the beauty 
 Of their lives from day to day. 
 
 Without doubts, without fears. 
 Trusting to the coming years. 
 
 Brave they fought and passed av/ay. 
 
 100 
 
Sitting by my evening fire, 
 Cheerful-blazing, open fire, 
 
 While the antumn leaves are falling, 
 In my mind I am recalling 
 
 All the love that came to me. 
 'Not in sadness do I see 
 
 The last leaf trembling on the tree. 
 
 101 
 
PSEUDO SCIENCE 
 
 The gods have ceased to play their pranlcs. 
 But in their place the modern cranks 
 Rush in to fill the vacant ranks. 
 
PSEUDO scie:nce 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 '^ Everything from a clam." 
 
 —Motto of tlie elder Darwin. 
 
 Science opes her little doors, 
 
 Shows you walking on all fours, 
 Pointing out the fancied gain 
 
 Of fooling with a monkey's brain. 
 Pound the scientific platter, 
 
 With their microbes and their matter. 
 How they grin, how they chatter. 
 
 Like cannibals around their fires, 
 They are eating up their sires. 
 
 Science shows you everywhere, 
 Prom a microbe to a bear. 
 
 On the plains of Arizona 
 
 There were horses without owner, — 
 Little horses that had toes. 
 
 105 
 
Ill tlie bad lands they have laid 
 Ever since the flood was stayed. 
 
 Every savant thinks he knows 
 Why it was they lost their toes/ 
 
 And why the bird that chirps and sings 
 Was once a crawling, hideous thing. 
 
 With a magnifying glass 
 They will prove you've been an ass. 
 
 They err but little if they say 
 'Not you, but they, have gone that way. 
 
 Slimy monsters whirl and swish, 
 
 Chase each other for a kiss. 
 Divine affection in an oyster. 
 
 Such as angels fain would foster. 
 All the potency of our being 
 
 That in our lives we are seeing 
 Was in the bivalve long ago : 
 
 Burst his shell, — the overflow 
 Made us women, made us men. 
 
 Made us all that we have been. 
 
 106 
 
On their scientific scroll, 
 
 Running downward through the whole, 
 In the microbe there must be 
 
 Everything that comes to thee. 
 There is no question now about it ; 
 
 'Not a scientist will doubt it, — 
 In a little drop of slime 
 
 Lies the world we call sublime ; 
 Lies the promise of a nation ; 
 
 Lies the secret of Creation. 
 
 Comes the scientific scholar. 
 
 With his spacious mouth to swallow 
 All this great philosophy. 
 
 When you've played your little role 
 In a body without a soul 
 
 They will dump you in a hole. 
 And the world shall roll and swing. 
 
 Whether it be fall or spring, 
 Always comes the same old thing. 
 
 107 
 
iN'either man, nor saint, nor devil, 
 
 All their theories can unravel. 
 If jou take one for a sample 
 
 You will find that he is ample 
 To fully prove his heritage 
 
 Somewhere along on history's page. 
 Down the dim, uncertain trail 
 
 You will find he lost his tail, 
 ITot through design or force of will. 
 
 But through sliding down a hill. 
 Lost his peerage and his steerage ; 
 
 Has been wabbling ever since 
 With his lack of common sense. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH 
 
 Of all the things that vex the brain 
 And turn and twist and come again, 
 
 There's nothing like the soulless fad 
 Of scientific thoughts run mad. 
 
 108 
 
Tor every science has its share 
 Of little men, and here and there 
 
 Like owls they blink and wink and stare, — 
 A mushroom growth that taints the air. 
 
 "What wonder then that everywhere, 
 In all the colleges and schools. 
 
 There's lots of scientific fools ? 
 
 And this recalls my ancient friend 
 
 Who knew all things from end to end. 
 A kinder man you could not find. 
 
 But he was Darwin, soul and mind. 
 He could not see how 'twas we grew 
 
 From microbes up, yet well he knew. 
 Through evolution, it was true. 
 
 And yet at times he had a doubt 
 How all these things could come about. 
 
 He turned all theories upside down, 
 Like Hodgson, stretched them till they broke,' 
 
 And in the end was sure he found 
 Prenatal influence was no joke. 
 
 109 
 
But Science claims what you indite 
 Must be set down in black and white. 
 
 It makes no difference what you tbink, 
 All must be welded, link by link, 
 
 Until you bave a perfect cbain 
 Of bonest facts tbat will remain. 
 
 Our ancient friend now earnest sougbt 
 
 Some way to prove bis new-found tbougbt. 
 He scorned to lend a belping band 
 
 To tbat great borror of tbe land 
 Wbere scientists, to gain tbeir facts, 
 
 Must torture guinea pigs and cats. 
 He built a room, tbe walls were wbite ; 
 
 He bad no doubt tbat radium plays 
 A fertile part in our sun's rays. 
 
 So tbrougb tbe day and tbrougb tbe nigbt 
 He lit it witb tbis new-found ligbt. 
 
 And wben all things were 'ranged aright. 
 He sought a tenant for his cell. 
 
 110 
 
He wandered long, a weary time, 
 
 Before lie found from Afric's clime 
 A woman who was black as night, 
 
 And straightway placed her in his cell. 
 And I have often heard him tell, 
 
 He dressed himself in spotless white; 
 'No darkness on her vision fell ; 
 
 He fed her on green food and rice, 
 And it is said that once or twice 
 
 He frightened her with his white mice. 
 
 The weeks, the months, went slowly by. 
 The winter fled, the spring drew nigh. 
 
 The chilly wind turned fresh and mild ; 
 And on one morn she had a child, — 
 
 Strange to say 'twas creamy white. 
 
 No woolly scalp upon its head, — 
 The hair was golden, titian red. 
 
 It was a lovely sight to see 
 This little waif, this mystery ; 
 
 111 
 
Its dimpled cheeks, its dreamy eyes, 
 As blue as are the summer skies ; 
 
 Its sunny face, its golden hair, — 
 A gleam of life undimmed by care ; 
 
 A dreamy sense of loveliness 
 
 That one may feel but not express. 
 
 Now there was hurrying to and fro 
 
 That all the scientists might know 
 About this strange prenatal show. 
 
 Of this great crowd that gathered there 
 The Psychical Research had its share. 
 With looks profound 
 They gathered round, 
 ISTor made a sound 
 Till Dr. Hodgson scratched his head 
 
 And, turning to friend Hyslop, said 
 It was a spiritual conception. 
 But Hyslop wisely raised the question 
 That it was muscular suggestion; 
 
 112 
 
And Dr. Hudson thonglit 'twas plain 
 
 The action of a dual brain. 
 What Savage thought he would not tell 
 
 Until 'twas made respectable.^ 
 Shades of the past ! Have we forgot 
 
 The gentle ISTazarene who taught 
 The beauty of all living thought, 
 
 And, careless of all scorn and strife, 
 For love of truth laid down his life ? 
 
 Can we descend to lower plane, 
 And in our self-respect retain 
 
 One word of praise for those who boast 
 Their fear of Mrs. Grundy's ghost ? 
 
 From every new-found thought that floats 
 They hide behind her petticoats. 
 
 Our ancient friend now did insist, 
 
 He'd found the link that Darwin missed ; 
 
 That evolution could be wrought 
 Only through prenatal thought; 
 
 113 
 
That, if you wished to change a nation, 
 It must begin with its gestation. 
 
 I waive the moral of the scene, 
 
 Of what is now, what might have been ; 
 'Nor do I wish nor here desire 
 
 To raise the question of its sire. 
 Professor Loeb, who knows these things, 
 
 Will tell you how all life begins,^ 
 For he is hot upon the trail 
 
 To prove how useless is the male. 
 
 The tale that's told how Eve was made 
 
 While Adam in his slumber laid 
 By scientists is counted out. 
 
 For now 'tis known beyond a doubt 
 That no one saw the spare rib sprout. 
 
 Her restlessness, her wily tricks 
 That got poor Adam in a fix 
 
 Show that the story was a fib; 
 Such things require more than one rib. 
 
 lU 
 
True science heeds not right or wrong ; 
 
 In research, only, is it strong. 
 It is enough for them to know 
 
 That all these things may come and go. 
 'Not here alone these changes flow, 
 
 For in the sunny South, we know. 
 Where virtue waves her loving hand 
 
 O'er all the children of the land, 
 Such things can be. 'Tis only fright 
 
 That turns one half the negroes white. 
 
 In vain I warned my ancient friend 
 
 Against this scientific trend. 
 He claimed the honor of his birth. 
 
 His Saxon blood, his pride, his worth. 
 And scorned the man who fain would say 
 
 These changes came some other way. 
 
 !N'ow, if you don't believe this tale, 
 
 And think these things cannot prevail, 
 
 Just call to mind the little tricks 
 
 That Jacob played with his peeled sticks. 
 
 115 
 
You cannot, if you would, discredit 
 
 Or doubt his scientific merit, 
 His wondrous plan of changing brute and man ; 
 
 For nowhere else on history's pages, 
 Among the bosses or the sages. 
 
 Can you find another case where wages 
 Have been paid by such a tackle 
 
 As Jacob made with Laban's cattle. 
 IsTought is changed from days of yore 
 
 When Jacob, with his subtle lore. 
 O'er the teaching and the preaching 
 
 Of that wily sage of yore. 
 Fought his scientific battle. 
 
 Fought with Laban for his cattle. 
 Winning out the little score 
 
 That his double marriage bore. 
 
 Who use their brains all on one side 
 
 May find the other mystified ; 
 And ten to one at such expense 
 
 They lose all claim to common sense. 
 
 116 
 
And o'er some scientific fad 
 
 In self-conceit they all run mad. 
 Pseudo science rides rough-shod 
 
 O'er all our hopes of man or God. 
 'No' matter where, 
 They all are there, 
 The million germs that fill the air, 
 
 And through our life they warp and weave 
 A deadly blight in air we breathe, 
 
 And poison all our dreams of bliss 
 With thirty microbes in a kiss.* 
 
 Worse than any Spanish blister 
 
 Is the kissing of a sister ; 
 !N^ever touch your father or your mother, 
 
 'Never come too ne'ar your lover; 
 Ten feet from him take your stand. 
 
 You may drop upon your knees. 
 Throw him kisses if you please. 
 
 But never dare you touch his hand f 
 
 117 
 
There's a million devils greeting 
 
 All such silly sort of meeting. 
 But these are nothing to the find 
 
 Of Dr. Hudson's dual mind. 
 You nurse your manhood and your pride 
 
 Only to find that side by side 
 Sub-conscious self in you resides. 
 
 The dreams of love that once you knew 
 Have faded like the morning dew. 
 
 Sub-conscious self in Mary's life 
 Refuses now to be your wife, 
 
 And so you have domestic strife, — 
 The certain trend, the fruitful source 
 
 That paves the way to all divorce. 
 
 But should you marry both, why, then, 
 What can you say of Mormon men ? 
 
 Or if, perchance, you are a lover, 
 It's possible you may discover 
 
 That all your love is but a fraction 
 Of that great law that sets in action 
 
 The microbes that produce attraction ; 
 
 118 
 
That your passion buds and swells 
 With the building of new cells.® 
 
 She whom you think you are seeing 
 May be quite another being; 
 
 Tho' she walk in all her splendor, 
 Great full eyes, so deep and tender, 
 
 Stand aside, — she'll not surrender 
 While the microbes can defend her 
 
 Like a swarm of bees unseen. 
 Circling round their stately queen. 
 
 Are you plucky ? Dare you risk 
 All your life on things like this ? 
 
 Cold the hand that turns the page 
 Of this scientific age. 
 
 'Nero played when Eome was burning; 
 
 Pseudo science, always scheming 
 With a life that's only seeming, 
 
 Scorns and laughs with its upturning 
 Of all for which our hearts are yearning. 
 
 119 
 
Soars the vulture tlirougli the air ; 
 
 In the distance he looks fair, 
 But his beak with blood is red 
 
 From his feasting on the dead. 
 
 Icebound, silent, is the river. 
 
 With its chill we tremble, shiver ; 
 
 Still it floweth now as ever, 
 rioweth to the boundless sea. 
 
 !None but fools can think it never 
 From its bondage can be free, — 
 
 In the sunshine it shall quiver, 
 Laughing, reach its destiny. 
 
 Great is science in its learning, 
 
 Searching all things, crawling, squirming; 
 All its savants now are turning. 
 
 Turning handsprings o'er each other, 
 Over things they may discover. 
 
 Shouting, " All the world's ablaze 
 With the little radium rays." 
 
 120 
 
Sun and stars, thej still may render 
 Glory to the day and night, 
 
 But they know that all their splendor 
 Must he due to this new light. 
 
 But greater still that lying elf 
 
 That Hudson calls sub-conscious self/ 
 
 If what he says proves to be true 
 Then in yourself there dwelleth two : 
 
 How can you tell which one is you ? 
 
 Far away in Life's mid-ocean, 
 
 Where the waves have ceased their motion 
 And the stars have lost their light, 
 
 '!N'eath the hopeless gloom of night. 
 Where no friendly hand is beckoning. 
 
 Where the pilot's lost his reckoning, 
 rreighted with its speculations, — 
 
 Dreary, gloomy speculations, 
 That have cursed the life of nations, — 
 
 Drifts this scientific bark. 
 Crumbling, rotting, in the dark. 
 
 121 
 
THE VOYAGERS 
 
 In The Voyagers I have touched lightly on 
 one of the most remarkable fads that has ever 
 clouded the intellect of man. 
 
 Men of character and extensive culture have 
 allowed their imaginations to run riot, resulting 
 in elaborate treatises on a subject so simple that 
 a child could understand all that is of value in 
 it. 
 
 It is its simplicity that has misled them. 
 
Did tlie grim old boatman Cliaron, 
 Ferrying souls across the Styx, 
 
 Dream they would return and swear on 
 All these scientific tricks ? 
 
THE VOYAGERS 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Armed and spoiling for a fight 
 Rides our famed Quixotic knight, 
 
 Ready for all fancied ills, 
 
 Mistaking: mediums for windmills. 
 
 "t> 
 
 Of all the men in history 
 
 Who have braved the E'orthern Sea 
 Looking for the Arctic Pole, 
 
 'None could ever fill the role 
 Of these men who claim to be 
 
 Members of a great Society :^ 
 This mighty, scientific band 
 
 That wrecked their boat upon the sand. 
 In their conceit they held the portal 
 
 To the land we call immortal. 
 
 125 
 
The Secretary kept the key, 
 
 And for the modest little fee 
 Of twenty dollars in advance, 
 
 He put the medium in a trance 
 That you might see into eternity. 
 
 He would not tell from his subletting 
 How much of boodle he was getting,^ 
 
 But made it plain you could get in 
 By bribing Peter with the tin. 
 
 Alone he trod the battered deck, 
 The sole survivor of the wreck, 
 
 And now as in the days of yore 
 He stands again beside the door 
 
 Of that veiled land he would explore. 
 
 To trusty friends he sends a greeting 
 That there is one who wants a meeting; 
 
 And if you wish to save your fame 
 By masking in another name, 
 
 He'll introduce you as John Smith, 
 Or Jones, or any kind of myth. 
 
 126 
 
And should you fail to understand 
 The spirit writing in shorthand, 
 
 He'll read it for you and translate 
 All he can get through his pate 
 
 Of this vague hypnotic state. 
 
 With open palms he claims the cash 
 
 If you would share his spiritual hash. 
 
 Like rippling laughter runs the story, 
 Euns the great Munchausen story, 
 
 Of the ponderous blows he dealt 
 On some fakir medium's pelt. 
 
 A hundred scalps himg from his belt, 
 While from his spear aloft he swung 
 
 The Eussian woman's cloven tongue.^ 
 
 He who is hunting for a thief 
 Will find the difference so brief 
 
 That each could take the other's place 
 And still continue in the race. 
 
 The fraud or ill that he may find 
 Is but a refiex of his mind. 
 
 127 
 
Great is the scientific pull: 
 
 All the anxious seats are full 
 And you must wait and take your chance 
 
 If you would join his psychic dance. 
 If there are spirits, do they know 
 
 About this strange mesmeric show, 
 And are they, as our hero claims, 
 
 The victims of such pseudo names ? 
 In his weak uncanny prying 
 
 Into things he is denying. 
 Does it pay one, after dying. 
 
 To come back and prove the lying? 
 
 128 
 
THE ADVANCE 
 
 They came in a strange hypnotic dream 
 And paddled their boat up a little stream. 
 
 They paddled by night, they paddled by day, 
 Through ghostly frauds that haunted the way, 
 
 Till the pilot refused any longer to guide 
 Their mystical boat to the other side. 
 
 Where those called dead are supposed to reside. 
 
 Beached on the sand not far away. 
 High and dry their frail boat lay 
 
 With the men, who, all alone. 
 
 Were hunting for the Great Unknown. 
 
 In the years that they were out 
 
 Chasing fraud along the route. 
 Once or twice, it has been said. 
 
 They had chatted with the dead. 
 ]^ot through muscular attraction, 
 
 'Nor through telepathic action. 
 But through the pilot's understanding 
 
 Of the thing that she was handling, 
 
 129 
 
Things the spirit once held dear 
 
 While dwelling on this mundane sphere 
 
 Strange hypnotic seeing 
 Of another state of being. 
 
 Then, rushing, came the fake reporters, 
 
 These wonderful truth supporters, 
 A hustling, rustling, little band 
 
 That scatters scandal o'er the land, 
 Cutting up their frantic capers 
 
 Gathering garbage for the papers. 
 You can't wink, nor think, nor say 
 
 A single word, but that next day 
 It is printed in the papers. 
 
 Useless are your judges or your courts ; 
 If you are charged with any crime. 
 
 With their garbled-up reports, 
 Without reason, without rhyme. 
 
 They wdll try you every time. 
 And convict you of the crime. 
 
 130 
 
When this woman, seeking glory, 
 
 Pumped the pilot for her story,* 
 And, with great headlines, sold that story, 
 
 Like a rocket in the air 
 Burst the scientific scare. 
 
 Blazed the papers through the nation 
 With the woman's indiscretion. 
 
 With the silly explanation. 
 And the people all ran riot 
 
 O'er the statements of the pilot. 
 
 ^ever hound on blood intent 
 
 Was more hot upon the scent. 
 Than these hustling, rustling rakers, 
 
 Seeking rubbish for their papers, 
 When they struck the dusky trail. 
 
 Leading down the misty vale, 
 Of that wondrous psychic band 
 
 That for many years, 'twas said, 
 Had been hunting for the dead, 
 
 Found them stranded on the sand. 
 
 131 
 
Then, witli eagle feathers spread, 
 
 Danced a pow-wow o'er the dead, 
 And in the papers, great and small, 
 
 Told the story of their fall. 
 When the howling tom-tom ceased 
 
 And thev had smoked the pipe of peace, 
 With the pilot off the deck. 
 
 They cared little for the wreck, 
 Or whether fraud or self-conceit 
 
 Had paved the way for their retreat. 
 But they w^ould give the simple tale 
 
 Of one who followed on their trail. 
 
 Their boat was battered and shattered and worn, 
 
 And never since the world was born. 
 On land or on sea was such a crew. 
 
 Doctors and ministers, not a few, 
 And one professor who claimed to know 
 
 Something about a dear " wdiite croAV." 
 They wandered here, they wandered there, 
 
 And in their blindness and despair 
 
 132 
 
Some thought they heard George Pelham swear 
 That Imperator was not there. ^ 
 
 Confused and dark to them the way. 
 
 What could they do ? They could not stay, 
 And some were sure their wornout boat 
 
 With such a crowd could never float. 
 From spectacles to slipper shoes/ 
 
 That once they thought were good to use 
 To tempt the spirits back to tell 
 
 AVliether they dwelt in heaven or hell, 
 Were gathered up and thrown ashore. 
 
 AVith tug and pull and bending oar 
 They gain the stream and drift once more. 
 
 One thing remains w^ithin the boat — 
 'Twas Hyslop's book. They all agreed 
 
 It Avas so light it could not sink, 
 And come what might, if there was need, 
 
 A hundred men could on it float. 
 The slimy snake slid through the grass 
 
 And reared his head to see them pass ; 
 
 133 
 
The croaking frog crept from his den, 
 
 Climbed up the rocks and winked, and then 
 He langhed and croaked and winked again. 
 
 THE EETKEAT 
 
 All day they drift adown the tide 
 
 IsTor heed the banks on either side. 
 Sad Hyslop sits in the stern and steers ; 
 
 His harlequin mask is wet with tears,"^ 
 For they neither see, nor hear, nor know 
 
 What will become of their dear white crow. 
 And each unto the other said 
 
 " There is no life where hope is dead." 
 What else they thought no one can tell. 
 
 The noiseless paddles rose and fell. 
 And like a phantom in a dream 
 
 They drifted down the Lethe stream. 
 The lazy wind that all day long 
 
 Had slept beneath the summer sea 
 N^ow w^oke to life, and rising strong 
 
 134 
 
Drove round the boat the swelling tide. 
 The restless waves that sobbed and sighed. 
 
 The sim dropped down, the full round moon 
 
 With hazy light climbed up the skj, 
 And from the cove the laughing loon 
 
 Eode on the swell and turned aside 
 To mock them with her mournful cry. 
 
 The weird darkness round them spread ; 
 The bittern from her weedy bed 
 
 Rose on the wing and booming fled. 
 All unseen by mortal eye 
 
 Swept the curlew through the sky, 
 Piercing the darkness with her cry, 
 
 While the plover's plaintive notes 
 O'er the gloomy water floats, 
 
 And like some lonely thing accursed 
 The hooting owl called from the glen ; 
 
 The fox came doAvn to quench his thirst 
 And rushed in terror to his den : 
 
 'Tis said he ne'er came back a^ain. 
 
 135 
 
Black were the clouds where set the sun, 
 
 And high the cliffs that overhung 
 The sea that rolled and swung, — 
 
 The swollen sea that dashed and sprung 
 Upon the rocks that madly flung 
 
 The angry waves that one by one 
 Charged up the cliff, then backward run 
 
 With muffled sound like booming gun. 
 
 The ghostly fraud that once was theirs® 
 
 'No longer haunts them with its cares, 
 And o'er the prow, with anxious eyes 
 
 They watch the misty clouds that rise ; 
 For far away in the outer bay 
 
 Their frail ship lay, and rolled and swung. 
 And this the song that Hodgson sung : 
 
 " The piper may pipe, the dancers play. 
 The silly folks may go astray, 
 
 For the torch we lit to light the world 
 In utter darkness has been hurled. 
 
 And never again, ah ! never more 
 Will it light our path to the unknown shore." 
 
 136 
 
And bending low they all cried, ^' Oh, 
 What will become of our dear white crow ! " 
 
 It was a fearful thing to see 
 
 These men who nursed their misery, 
 For they with one accord did think. 
 
 As rose the swell, that they would sink. 
 Then Hodgson said, with hopeful look, 
 ^^ Almighty friend, hast thou thy book ? 
 If so what care we for this boat ? — 
 
 For come what may we all shall float." 
 " But see, my scientific friend. 
 
 These ugly clouds that o'er us bend. 
 And like a mountain torrent free 
 
 EoUs and swells the mighty sea. 
 Canst thou with thy philosophy. 
 
 With thy strength, thy magic skill. 
 Bid these wild waves to be still ? 
 
 Fifty thousand words or more,^° 
 Freighted with thy fancied lore. 
 Would bridge this sea from shore to shore. 
 
 137 
 
Let tlie angry waves rejoice 
 With the music of thy voice." 
 
 Just then a voice broke loud and clear — 
 
 " Hello, old chap, by Jove I'm here. 
 What can I do for this sad crew ? 
 
 Give me the helm and I will steer." 
 And all began to think and feel 
 
 That they were safe. Then Hyslop took 
 And read a chapter from his book. 
 
 The sinking boat rose on its keel ; 
 The listening wind, a moment still, 
 
 'Now angry grew, and loud and shrill. 
 With fitful gusts it struck anew 
 
 Their helpless craft that onward flew, 
 And 'neath the darkness of the night 
 
 It passed forever out of sight. 
 The years have gone, the glint and gleam 
 
 Of sunlight dances on the stream. 
 The wireless telegraph 
 
 Has left no record of their path 
 
 138 
 
And there is little now to show 
 
 Of what took place so long ago. 
 Standing on the sheltered lea, 
 
 Looking out upon the sea 
 Where the waves are breaking free, 
 
 iN'ot a vestige canst thou see, 
 ^ot a whisper comes to thee 
 
 Telling where they now may be. 
 They may have reached the outer bay 
 
 And in their frail bark sailed away. 
 Yet some believe they all were drowned. 
 
 And one old fellow, tramping round. 
 Swears that he saw, not far away, 
 
 A strange black crow upon the shore 
 Pick up the mask that Hyslop wore 
 
 And, crow-like, bear it to her nest. 
 And as each chicken broke its shell 
 
 The forest echoed with the yell 
 Of mother crow, who, in delight 
 
 Saw none were black, but all were white ! 
 But in her joy she failed to find. 
 
 While none were black, they all were blind. 
 
 139 
 
Unlike tlie tale the fanner told 
 
 Of that poor man whose stomach rolled 
 With four black crows it could not hold, — 
 
 Which in the end proved something dark, 
 These new-fledged birds rose like the lark. 
 
 If in their splendor they survive, 
 For one white crow there may be five. 
 
 And now these scientists are testing 
 All kinds of birds that change in nesting. 
 
 They seek to prove, — a hopeless task, — 
 That naught was due to Hy slop's mask. 
 
 They feared, in time, they could not tell 
 Which one it was they loved so well. 
 
 If you believe in annihilation. 
 Or what is worse, reincarnation, 
 
 It is a goodly thing to know 
 
 That you were once a dear white crow. 
 
 Beloved by ministers and sages 
 
 Who wrote of you a thousand pages. 
 
 And thus your fame swung down the ages. 
 
 140 
 
The world will turn, the tide will flow, 
 The changing seasons come and go, 
 
 But what can Science ever know 
 Of the beauty of that love 
 
 Ever flowing from above ? 
 
 J^oah trusted to his dove. 
 
 Had he been fooling with the crow, 
 Do yon think, — can you show, — 
 
 That he could have hung his hat 
 On the top of Ararat ? 
 
 141 
 
NOTES 
 
E'OTES 
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 Note 1, page 106 : 
 
 Every savant thinks he knows 
 Why it was they lost their toes. 
 
 The finding of these skeletons led scientists to 
 believe that they had discovered the evolution of 
 the modern horse. To attain their present form 
 they had to drop their toes. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH 
 
 Note 1, page 109 : 
 
 " Like Hodgson, stretched them till they broke.'' 
 
 Dr. Hodgson is reported as saying that he would 
 stretch all other theories till they broke before he 
 would accept the phenomena of spirit communion. 
 
 Note 2, page 113 : 
 
 " What Savage thought he would not tell 
 Until 'twas made respectable." 
 
 " One of the first, and as a preliminary, one of 
 the most important results of this Society [for 
 Psychical Eesearch], so far, has been to make the 
 study respectable." — Minot J. Savage. 
 
 145 
 
Note S, page 114 : 
 
 " Professor Loeb, who knows these things, 
 Will tell you how all life begins/^ 
 
 Professor Loeb announces the discovery of the 
 propagation or continuation of animal life inde- 
 pendent of the male organism, thereby taking the 
 question of immaculate conception out of the 
 arena of public discussion and placing it in the 
 line of scientific facts. 
 
 According to his discovery, we are fast ap- 
 proaching an age in which the laws governing the 
 relations between the sexes must undergo a radical 
 change. 
 
 Note 4, page 117 : 
 
 " Thirty microbes in a kiss." 
 
 A German Scientist has found that there are no 
 less than thirty different kinds of microbes in the 
 average human mouth. 
 
 Note 5, page 117: 
 
 " Never dare you touch his hand/' 
 
 M. Crouzel, a French chemist, has discovered 
 that there are 83,450,900 bacilli in the average 
 hand, the shaking of which is a frightful source 
 of spreading disease. 
 
 146 
 
Note 6, page 119 : 
 
 " That your passion buds and swells 
 With the building of new cells." 
 
 Scientists have found that cells that build up 
 our bodies have their periods of growth and decay. 
 That decay of these cells leads to old age and 
 death. By injecting into the system blood, or 
 serum, from a young and vigorous person, a new 
 order of cells is introduced, which supersedes the 
 old and prolongs life. By repeating the process, 
 life on earth may become continuous. 
 
 This is not a new discovery, only a new applica- 
 tion of an old one. Fruit-growers have known 
 for centuries that by grafting an old tree with 
 young and vigorous scions the life and fertility of 
 the tree is prolonged. 
 
 Note 7, page 121 : 
 
 ^^ But greater still that lying elf 
 
 That Hudson calls sub-conscious self.'^ 
 
 Thomas Jay Hudson, Ph.D., LL.D., in his book, 
 "The Law of Mental Medicine," makes the dis- 
 covery of a duplex mental organism — that there 
 are two distinct individualities occupying your 
 body at the same time, which he calls the objective 
 self and subjective self. The latter is governed 
 entirely by suggestion and is totally devoid of 
 moral responsibility. The atrophy of the objec- 
 tive self is the cause of all crime. 
 
 147 
 
Note 1, page 125 : 
 
 " Members of a great Society." 
 
 ^^ It goes without saying that no member is in 
 any way bound by the convictions of another. The 
 Society then, as such, has no opinions. It has 
 accepted no theories, has come to no conclusions.-'^ 
 — M. J. Savage. 
 
 If it has no opinions, no conclusions, no re- 
 sponsibility, pray what is it? 
 
 Note 2, page 126: 
 
 " He would not tell from his sub-letting 
 How much boodle he was getting." 
 
 No sooner did the Secretary get possession of 
 the medium than he proceeded to sub-let her to 
 outside parties at from ten to twenty dollars a 
 seance. 
 
 It is difficult to understand this effort to push 
 Mrs. Piper to the front above all other mediums 
 except on the theory of ignorance or an attempt 
 to place a fictitious value on her services. 
 
 From reports of her seances, there seems to be 
 but little in the manifestations beyond the ordi- 
 nary mesmeric subject. Her constant demands 
 for articles that have been used by deceased per- 
 sons and the results obtained therefrom are psycho- 
 metric in character and do not necessarily carry 
 any proof of returning spirits. 
 
 148 
 
Note 3, page 127 : 
 
 " The Eussian Woman's cloven tongue.'^ 
 
 According to M. Sage, a French Author, he 
 was a terrible enemy to what he thought was 
 mediumistic fraud. His masterstroke was in 
 going to India for the purpose of exposing 
 Madame Blavatsky, the founder of Theosophy. 
 
 jN[ote 4:, page 131 : 
 
 " When this woman, seeking glory. 
 Pumped the Pilot for her story " — 
 
 When the woman reporter obtained from Mrs. 
 Piper the confession that she had broken with the 
 Society, — that she wanted nothing more to do 
 with Dr. Hodgson, and that she did not believe that 
 spirits expressed themselves through her organism, 
 it swept through the country like a tornado. It 
 was in vain to point out the fact that this confes- 
 sion did not in any way affect the object for which 
 the Society was formed. The attack was only an 
 excuse for holding up to ridicule the do-nothing 
 character of a Society that had promised so much. 
 
 Note 5, page 133 : 
 
 " Some thought they heard George Pelham swear 
 That Imperator was not there." 
 
 Two of Mrs. Piper's guides. For the character 
 of these supposed controls see Professor Hyslop's 
 
 149 
 
book, page 300, where Dr. Hodgson is endeavoring 
 to arrange a sitting for Professor Hyslop: 
 
 " Pelham. — ' He asked me to speak and ask 
 you whether I conld help you out a bit when your 
 almighty friend arrives. You may count on me.^ 
 H. — '^ By Jove, I am glad to see you back, old 
 chap, I can tell you.^ " 
 
 Note 6, page 133 : 
 
 " From spectacles to slipper shoes." 
 
 These and other articles were used by Professor 
 Hyslop in his sittings with Mrs. Piper. 
 
 Note 7, page 134 : 
 
 ^' His harlequin mask was wet with tears." 
 
 In Professor Hyslop's first seances for investiga- 
 tion of Mrs. Piper he used a mask. 
 
 Note 8, page 134: 
 
 " What will become of their dear white crow." 
 
 Mrs. Piper seems to have challenged the highest 
 admiration of many of the members of the Society 
 for Psychical Eesearch. Mr. Savage called her a 
 most wonderful woman, and one of the ex-presi- 
 dents, who has never been known to gush over 
 women, scientifically expresses his interest in her 
 thus : 
 
 " If you wish to upset the law that all crows are 
 black, you must not seek to show that no crows 
 are ; it is enough if you prove one single crow to be 
 white. My own white crow is Mrs. Piper." 
 
 150 
 
Dr. Hodgson is authority for the statement that 
 " Imperator/' one of Mrs. Piper's controls, claimed 
 that the indiscriminate experimenting with Mrs. 
 Piper s organism should be stopped ; that it was a 
 battered and worn machine. 
 
 Note 9, page 136: 
 
 " The ghostly fraud that once was theirs.'^ 
 
 The wholesale charge of fraud, made by mem- 
 bers of this Society against Spiritualists and me- 
 diums, seems to have been a two-edged sword. It 
 is no longer a question as to which has been hit the 
 hardest. 
 
 Note 10, page 137 : 
 
 '^ Fifty thousand words or more." 
 
 Professor Hyslop's book contains six hundred 
 and forty pages, or about two hundred and sixty 
 thousand words, in a vain attempt to explain a 
 dozen seances with Mrs. Piper. 
 
 The conclusion which he arrived at after so 
 much labor is briefly stated on page 295 of his 
 book, " The main object here is not to convince 
 the reader that Spiritism is the only hypothesis 
 to be entertained, but that it is rational to sup- 
 pose it as one of the possible explanations." 
 
 When it is remembered that " outside of pure 
 mathematics nothing is impossible," this pro- 
 found statement must have greatly impressed all 
 scientific investigators. 
 
 151 
 
NOTE 
 
 For more than fifty years I have been a close 
 student of what is known as spirit phenomena, in 
 all its phases, and I have yet to find any evidence 
 that it is not what it claims to be. 
 
 I am not, however, in sympathy with much that 
 passes under that name, nor am I especially at- 
 tracted to the work of the American Branch of the 
 Society for Psychical Eesearch. 
 
 However honest its members may be, I regard it 
 as little more than a respectable humbug. They 
 have not sought to establish the truth of the phe- 
 nomena, but to prove that it is something else. 
 
 Over the well-known character and undisputed 
 honesty of Mrs. Piper they have thrown the in- 
 sinuation that what comes through her medium- 
 ship may be due to her second personality; what- 
 ever that may be. 
 
 If this second personality exists, it must be a 
 part of herself, posing in the seance as individuals 
 claiming to be spirits returning from another life. 
 
 If they have any scientific evidence to prove the 
 existence of this second personality, they should 
 have stated the facts and warned the public 
 against the fraud. If not, then their own reputa- 
 tion and not Mrs. Piper's is at stake. 
 
 Her reputed assertion that she wanted nothing 
 more to do with the society, and especially with 
 Dr. Hodgson, was the awakening of her better 
 sense of womanhood. Her return to the commer- 
 cial relations, supposed to command the open door 
 between the two worlds, must have been due either 
 to avarice or to hypnotic influence. 
 
 152