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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 
IN VERSE 
 
 PROPORTION 
 
 By 
 
 Laura Bell 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 J. B. UPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 1893 
 
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Copyright, 1893, 
 
 BY 
 
 Laura Bell. 
 
Dedicated 
 
 TO HIM OR HER OF KINDRED TASTE 
 WHO HAS A LITTLE TIME TO WASTE. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lost and Found 7 
 
 A Modern Priscilla 12 
 
 The Sweetest Name 15 
 
 Good-by ! 16 
 
 An Old Saying 17 
 
 Motherless 20 
 
 An Advanced Darwinian Theory 23 
 
 A Small Boy's Plaint 30 
 
 An American's Soliloquy 32 
 
 The Fisherman 34 
 
 An Open Letter 36 
 
 Song— Greeting 38 
 
 5 
 
Madrigal — Spring Song 39 
 
 An Enigma 41 
 
 Sonnet — Farewell to Constantinople .... 42 
 
 A Parting 44 
 
LOST AND FOUND 
 
 LOST 
 
 Missing — a tall and manly form 
 
 Which came and went awhile, 
 Since swept from sight by life's wild storm 
 
 I scarce can force a smile. 
 
 Missing — a pair of dark gray eyes 
 Which shone with light of love ; 
 
 Without them, gray are grown the skies 
 Which darkly lower above. 
 
 Missing — a strong yet tender arm, 
 A hand-clasp, not oft won, 
 
 7 
 
A loyal friend, to whom great harm 
 By love of me was done. 
 
 Missing — the sound of a full, rich voice 
 Which rang in love's clear tone ; 
 
 The owner's gone, but do I rejoice 
 That I am left alone? 
 
 Missing — the sound, the touch, the sight, 
 Of him who was faithful ever, 
 
 Though quick rebuke, rebuff, and slight 
 Were heaped on him forever. 
 
 Now, valued at their own true worth, 
 That love and friendship spurned, 
 
 Oh, if he still remain on earth 
 That love shall be returned ! 
 
Reward — a sad and contrite heart, 
 
 A hand long sought in vain, 
 O'erwhelming love, which naught can part 
 
 From master-love again ! 
 
 FOUND 
 Found — the sweetest, fairest thing on earth, 
 
 Half human, half divine, 
 And all my grief is changed to mirth 
 
 To think this treasure's mine. 
 
 A lithe young form, petite and round, 
 
 Now flits before my eyes ; 
 'Twas lost so long, but now 'tis found, 
 
 And I possess this prize. 
 
 A pair of melting, hazel eyes 
 O'erflow with love and tears, 
 
 9 
 
Creating such a glad surprise 
 That I forget past fears 
 
 And seize in mine the tiny hand 
 
 Which holds a heart within, 
 And since that heart with love is manned, 
 
 I, man-like, venture in. 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 HE 
 
 A fool, eh ? — I know it ; 
 
 But who isn't a fool 
 Who thinks to turn poet 
 
 Without metre or rule, 
 Or sense, too, for that matter, 
 
 When the theme is a woman ? 
 
 Yet we all are but human, 
 
And when women will flatter, 
 What chance have we then, 
 Alas ! we poor men ! 
 
 SHE 
 
 I wonder if I was a goose ; 
 
 I think not, though, — not quite. 
 Of course, my rhymes were but a ruse 
 
 But then, all turned out right. 
 His friends will say / threw the noose, 
 
 And fished for him to bite, 
 But when men will be so obtuse, 
 
 I think girls might — yes — might 
 
A MODERN PRISCILLA 
 
 My dearest Priscilla : — 
 
 The charming distiller 
 Of cider on tap, 
 I wish to acquaint you, 
 You dear little saint, you, 
 Of quite a mishap 
 
 Which chanced to affect me, — 
 I'm sure you suspect me 
 
 And guess what it is, — 
 For no one can wonder 
 That hearts beat like thunder 
 
 At sight of your phiz ! 
 
What causes my sighs, dear? 
 Your beautiful eyes, dear, 
 
 Alluring me on 
 To whisper I love you, 
 You dear little dove, you, 
 
 In clinging gray gown ! 
 
 Your charming expression 
 Brings forth this confession 
 
 Of love at first sight ; 
 I pray you believe me, 
 And won't you receive me 
 
 And pity my plight? 
 
 Oh, give me some hope, dear, 
 And let us elope, dear, 
 And flee many Miles. 
 
I'll leave you? oh, never! 
 I'll love you forever 
 And bask in your smiles. 
 
THE SWEETEST NAME 
 
 The sweetest name in all the land 
 
 Is one I love to say, — 
 'Tis yours, of course, you understand, 
 
 But yet, I hope some day 
 You'll change it for another, love, 
 
 Which sweeter far will be, 
 For by that change you'll surely prove 
 
 That you belong to me. 
 
GOOD-BY ! 
 
 I dare not say it as I would, 
 For something bids me nay ; 
 
 I must not say it as I could, — 
 For strength alone I pray 
 
 To hear the parting sure to come 
 Whenever friends may meet, 
 
 A parting which will find me dumb, 
 And make my heart scarce beat. 
 
 I cannot say it as I should, 
 
 However hard I try, 
 But trust I may be understood, 
 
 Howe'er I say good-by ! 
 
 16 
 
AN OLD SAYING 
 
 lago. I wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to 
 peck at. — Othello, Act L, Scene I. 
 
 (An adapted version of an old saying, being suitable reading for 
 St: Valentine's Day.) 
 
 To 
 
 In days of yore 
 
 The lover swore 
 To love his lady ever, 
 
 And hung his heart 
 
 Pierced through with dart 
 Where it would show forever. 
 
Upon the sleeve 
 
 Without her leave, 
 For vicious daws to peck, 
 
 The luckless heart 
 
 In church or mart 
 His lady's sleeve would deck. 
 
 Now obsolete 
 
 This custom sweet, 
 The reason why is clear, 
 
 For man perceives 
 
 That ladies' sleeves 
 Can quickly disappear. 
 
 And lost to sight, 
 In bag shut tight, 
 The heart could beat no more ! 
 
 18 
 
Yet woman's game 
 Of hearts is same 
 As 'twas in days of yore, 
 And shall be evermore ! 
 
 *y 
 
MOTHERLESS 
 
 Never until a mother's care 
 
 And tender love are lost, 
 Can child of hers the sad thought bear 
 
 Of what that loss will cost. 
 
 And yet, we all at some dread time 
 
 Must undergo this trial ; — 
 Then seems each passing thought a crime, 
 
 And poor is self-denial. 
 
 When Death, relentless king, draws near 
 And sways his shadowy wand, 
 
We must relinquish those held dear 
 And loose an earthly bond. 
 
 How hard it is to snap that cord 
 None knoweth, till the grief 
 
 Of giving up one loved, adored, 
 Surpasseth all belief! 
 
 A mother dies on Christmas morn, 
 In sleep her soul takes flight, 
 
 To heavenly glories she is born, 
 And wakes to endless light. 
 
 That mother's place no one can fill, 
 The void made by her loss 
 
 Is one that does, and ever will, 
 O'erwhelm one with its force. 
 
* * * * $ * 
 
 What season seems most fit for death? 
 
 A voice is heard to say : 
 ' 'To die as with the year's last breath, 
 
 To wake to glorious day !" 
 
AN ADVANCED DARWINIAN THEORY 
 
 (Written for the Locust Club) 
 Should it ever be your fate, 
 As it has been mine of late, 
 
 To listen to a series of discourses 
 On the subject evolution, 
 It will cause a revolution 
 
 Of fundamental principles and forces. 
 
 If of science you're a lover, 
 You will quickly then discover 
 
 A cell is what for life is most desired, 
 And some protoplasmic mass 
 Does of course all else surpass 
 
 In furnishing the pabulum required. 
 23 
 
You no longer can set store 
 
 By your wealth of hard-earned lore, 
 
 Which teaches you in manner antiquated, 
 But new views the old replace, 
 And you find an ape's sweet face 
 
 To yours, alas ! is very near related. 
 
 Since the prehistoric ages, — 
 
 And man has progressed some stages, — 
 ' Tis fair to think he still can make advances ; 
 
 And if only we can prove 
 
 He continues on the move 
 Our pleasure in existence it enhances. 
 
 Now, what testimony great 
 Will be needed to inflate 
 One's faith in such a strange hallucination 
 24 
 
As descent from ape to man? 
 Yet a man a ''locust" can 
 Become by long and steady application. 
 
 So I hope you will agree, 
 
 For I'm sure 'tis plain to me, 
 A Locust is a higher form of being ; 
 
 And, as specimens of these 
 
 Are here seated at their ease, 
 My logic is as clear as is your seeing. 
 
 As you glance now here, now there, 
 
 At each member in his chair, 
 You'll fain observe a higher mental status 
 
 Than's depicted on the features 
 
 Of those other mortal creatures 
 Who' re not endowed with the divine afflatus. 
 25 
 
Some might say 'tis retrogression 
 
 In the stages of succession 
 For man to spring from mammal to cicada ; 
 
 But I'm sure you will maintain 
 
 That the latter have more brain 
 Than found in skull of genus quadrumana. 
 
 They are governed, too, by laws, 
 Which, like others, have some flaws, 
 
 Administered by good and wise dictators ; 
 If their talents are confusing, 
 The results though are amusing 
 
 In programmes filled by amateur creators. 
 
 Though they live in atmosphere 
 
 Made so rarefied and clear 
 
 By culture and aesthetics close united, 
 26 
 
Yet this diet's too ambitious, 
 And, alas ! 'tis not nutritious, 
 For wants of flesh and blood must be re- 
 quited. 
 
 So, 'tis surely within reason 
 
 They should eat one meal each season 
 To keep them from becoming too ethereal ; 
 
 'Tis to-day, then, that they meet 
 
 To enjoy their Jersey treat, 
 And thus prevent an ending quite funereal. 
 
 This development to you 
 Is comparatively new, 
 The race has had but eight years' brief exist- 
 ence ; 
 
By additions well selected, 
 And the species thus perfected, 
 'Twill certainly progress through sheer persist- 
 ence. 
 
 If these views are well received, 
 
 It will firmly be believed 
 That man has reached his eighth stage of pro- 
 gression ; 
 
 Yet reluctantly we say 
 
 That a higher stage one day 
 Again may greatly alter his expression ! 
 
 Let me tell you, in conclusion, 
 That there must be no confusion 
 Between this branch of Locusts and another, 
 
Which in ages far remote 
 Did in Egypt then denote 
 A plague of more destruction than all other. 
 
 They were known to be audacious 
 
 And exceedingly voracious, 
 Such qualities their namesakes don't inherit. 
 
 And now, I humbly beg 
 
 You'll not call me a plague 
 For boring you with verses without merit. 
 
 29 
 
A SMALL BOY'S PLAINT 
 
 I've written letters by the score, 
 And yet each damsel wishes more. 
 Now, why it is that / should be 
 The victim of their coquetry 
 I really, truly, cannot see, 
 For I am blind as blind can be. 
 
 They're not content with one short verse 
 Which tells of love in terms most terse, 
 But all make use of maiden's art 
 To break my oft besieged heart, — 
 To wound me with a piercing dart, 
 And laugh, perchance, if then I start. 
 30 
 
And as a guerdon for this act — 
 
 I do assure you 'tis a fact — 
 
 I'm forced to write to each fair maid ; 
 
 Not to reproach her nor upbraid, 
 
 But just to say I feel repaid 
 
 For treatment such from her, sweet maid ! 
 
 My sorrows are to ladies joy, — 
 
 With looks and smiles and kisses coy, 
 
 They treat me like a little boy 
 
 And make of me a lovely toy. 
 
 I'm sure you'll guess, unless you're stupid, 
 
 This persecuted boy is Cupid ! 
 
AN AMERICAN'S SOLILOQUY 
 
 When climbing hills or threading dales, 
 When drinking draughts the gods have drunk, 
 
 When morning breaks, or evening pales, 
 Behold, the omnipresent trunk ! 
 
 When rapt in meditation sweet 
 
 On bones of virgin or of monk, 
 When list'ning winds the tale repeat, 
 
 Behold, the omnipresent trunk ! 
 
 When idly sailing o'er calm lakes 
 In boats as odd as Chinese junk, 
 
 32 
 
4 ' Facchino' ' desolation makes 
 And seeks the omnipresent trunk ! 
 
 When crossed the Pass, near foaming stream 
 Where ages' snows have frozen, sunk, 
 
 And reached the inn where warmth doth teem, 
 Behold, the omnipresent trunk ! 
 
 When facing homeward on the seas, 
 Recov'ring from linguistic shocks, 
 
 When minus Baedeker and fees 
 And ev'rything save travelling-box, 
 
 Regard with tears that well-worn friend, 
 With pathos note its lacking lock, 
 
 Dejected strap flaps out an end, 
 
 And breathe "adieu" when reaching dock. 
 
THE FISHERMAN 
 
 There was an old doctor named Bundy 
 Who fished ev'ry day save on Sunday ; 
 When he caught a small trout 
 Then he gave a great shout, 
 This clever old chappie named Bundy. 
 
 He sat on a rock on a Monday 
 And stayed there until the next Sunday, 
 Though he went without dinner 
 Yet he did not grow thinner, 
 This jolly old sinner named Bundy. 
 
 34 
 
Andromache-like, he went c ' rocking' ' 
 In costume — well — equally shocking ; 
 
 His wide knickerbockers 
 
 Amusing all mockers, 
 Made ample display of his — stocking ! 
 
 And yet, he's of aspect benign, 
 Befitting an able divine 
 
 Who aims at high goals 
 
 And angles for souls 
 As well as for fish on his line. 
 
AN OPEN LETTER 
 
 Only once in four years can 
 
 A maiden tell her secret love, 
 Tell it openly to man, 
 
 Tearing wide the veil above. 
 
 The time has come, but, oh, my heart, 
 
 Why shrink' st thou from the pleasant task? 
 
 Dost fear the truth, with winged dart, 
 Would cause a fracas, may I ask ? 
 
 Ah, no ! too well I know the world, 
 And men, alas ! are oft obtuse ; 
 36 
 
My heart might at his feet be hurled 
 
 And gain as greeting, — ''What the deuce !' 
 
 And yet, despite this looked-for greeting, 
 
 I fling it wildly, wildly, dear ; 
 Look on me kindly, and on meeting 
 
 Invoke a blessing on Leap Year. 
 
 Perchance some wonder who are meant 
 
 As actors in this little game ; 
 But then, all know this missive's sent 
 
 By me 
 
 "On dit," 
 And then supply the other name 
 With thine, oh, thine, 
 My Valentine ! 
 
 37 
 
GREETING 
 
 (Written for the Treble Clef) 
 Should earth-born care and sorrow 
 
 Within your hearts hold sway, 
 Dismiss them till the morrow 
 
 And hearken to our lay. 
 With merry voice we greet you, 
 
 So care must disappear, 
 To joyful songs we treat you 
 
 And bid you welcome here, 
 
 And welcome every year ! 
 
 3S 
 
A SPRING MADRIGAL 
 
 (Written for the Treble Clef) 
 When joyous sounds are ringing, 
 The birds sweet songs are singing, 
 And flow' rets are upspringing, 
 
 Then summer-time is near. 
 La-la-la, tra-la-la-la, 
 
 The summer-time is near. 
 
 When roses' hearts are flaming, 
 The brooks their murmurs taming, 
 All nature is proclaiming 
 
 That summer-time is here. 
 La-la-la, tra-la-la-la, 
 
 Glad summer-time is here. 
 
 39 
 
When butterflies are soaring 
 'Mongst honeyed buds, adoring, 
 The sun warm rays outpouring, 
 
 Then summer-time is here. 
 La-la-la, tra-la-la-la, 
 
 Blest summer-time so dear. 
 
AN ENIGMA 
 
 If U were I 
 
 And I were U, 
 I wonder what the world would do? 
 
 For then, U C, 
 
 We both would B 
 An alphabetic mystery ! 
 
SONNET 
 
 FAREWELL TO CONSTANTINOPLE 
 I came a stranger to a foreign land, 
 
 Where Ignorance and Superstition breed 
 No recognition of a woman's need 
 Of manly chivalry and helping hand 
 Accorded her by him who's nobly planned. 
 Alas ! 'tis true, by Turks too little heed 
 Is given her, whom Custom has not freed 
 From narrow laws we cannot understand. 
 
 In contrast marked, in native land I found 
 Those men, as gentlemen and scholars known, 
 
That type of mingled courtesy and force 
 For which the newer continent's renowned, 
 
 Such men as Culture loves to call her own, 
 And proudly, as Americans, endorse ! 
 
 43 
 
A PARTING 
 
 When friends depart for distant lands, 
 We watch them as they leave the shore, 
 
 And gayly wave and kiss our hands 
 And "au revoir !" we call once more. 
 
 If stronger friendship though be felt, 
 That called Platonic, name most vain ! 
 
 We're not then apt in tears to melt, 
 
 But, hands clasped, cry, " Auf wiedersehn !' 
 
 And if some sentimental token 
 
 Has caused two hearts to beat quite high, 
 
The sweet Italian words are spoken, 
 " A rivederci !" with a sigh. 
 
 But, sweeter still, true love is hid 
 In th' accents gentle, soft and low, 
 
 The pure Castilian of the Cid, 
 "Adios, hasta luego !" 
 
 So harsh by contrast seems our tongue ! 
 
 To love it does not cater, 
 And carelessly the words are sung, 
 
 "Good-by, I'll see you later!" 
 
 45