Class ^ZrUAfZ^ Book > //& £_£& Copyright N° COPi'RIGHT DEPOSIT. FANCIES AND THOUGHTS IN VERSE BY AUGUSTUS GEORGE HEATON BOSTON The Poet Lore Company 1904 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY THREE SONS .^^ AUGUSTUS, HARRY AND PERRY HEATON WITH PRIDE IN THEIR CHARACTER AND CAPACITY, JOY IN THEIR LOVE, AND TPIE HOPE THAT WHAT IS BEST IN MY VERSE MAY BE AS BENEFICIAL A LEGACY TO THEIR MINDS AS THAT OF MY MATERIAL POSSESSIONS CAN BE TO THEIR COMFORT AND WORLDLY WELFARE. : - : - : - LIBRARY of congress] Two Copies Keceived FE8 4 1905 CiukSS O^ AXc. Not / Of o^y COPY B. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1904 by Augustus George Heaton in the ofBce of the Librarian of Con- gress at Washington. Printed at Th? Qcrham Press, Boston. U. S. A. PREFACE The author has during forty years been pub- licly occupied as an artist but, in his private life, poetry has for as long a period almost equally interested him. Of a strongly sentimental na- ture, his earlier paintings reflected it, but, after producing a number of real life and historical subjects during long residence abroad, some of which were exhibited at the Paris Salon and many in various cities of this country (his best known picture being "The Recall of Columbus" at the Capitol in Washington and engraved on the 50 cent Columbian postage stamp), he gave time mainly to portraiture and then found increas- ing pleasure in a fuller expression of thought and fancy than this art or, indeed, any branch of painting permits. Little of his writing was, however, offered for publication until, contrary to general pre- cedent, his most ambitious work appeared in 1900 in the form of an epic entitled "The Heart of David, the Psalmist King." This has since met with such high commendation and his friends have so often desired many of his shorter poems in book form, that he here commits to type a number of compositions as wide in range of subject and mood as in poetic worth. Covering as they do, however, impressions of nature, promptings of imagination, early ro- mantic emotions, sympathetic and religious feel- ing, art reveries, patriotic sentiment and humor- ous impulses, it is hoped that even the chance reader may find some pages of interest. But, whether the collection win general favor or not, the author will be gratified if, to the loy- alty of friends possessed, he may from time to time, by means of but a few of the poems, add the kind regard of readers, seen or unseen, who base affinity upon earnestness of heart, sympathy in culture and aspiration and a sincerity and in- tegrity of purpose that make life superior to cares, sorrows, narrow natures, or sordid pleas- ures and bring the truest and most enduring happiness. Washington, D. C, 1904. CONTENTS Poems of General Sentiment ... ii Poems of the Sea 32 Poems OjF Place 48 Poems on Love 89 Poems to the Fair Sex, Including Imi- tations OF Burns 102 Poems Relating to the Art of Painting 133 Poems of Religion, Morality, Sorrow AND Serious Feeling 158 Poems of Patriotism 183 Humorous and Lighter Verse^ Includ- ing Numismatic Verse .... 196 POEMS OF GENERAL SENTIMENT. To a Butterfly 11 The Bat 12 The Old Bed 15 Compensation 16 A Spark of Feeling 18 Two Marriages 19 In Office 21 The Rhythm of a Ride 25 The Rain that Falls at Night .... 28 On a Sheet of Paper 29 Little Visitors ........ 30 Happy Moments 31 POEMS OF THE SEA. A Song by the Sea 32 On the Atlantic 33 Faithful Ships of the Day 33 A Ship on the Starboard Bow .... 34 Lonely Ocean 35 5 A SHEAF OF SONNETS. The Poet's Heart 37 The Poet's Mission 37 Great Minds . 38 Nature's Noblemen 39 Cobden and Bright 39 Queen Marguerite 40 On a Book of Poems 40 The Eve of a Century 41 Fancy, Fact and Faith 41 The Fire of Ambition 42 The Critic 42 The Spendthrift 43 The Craven World 43 Compass Variations 44 Lost Friendship 44 Heart Cherished Ones 45 Proven Friends 45 To a Maple Tree 46 The Orchid 46 The Lily 47 POEMS OF PLACE. Memories of Italy 48 Pasadena 63 The Prairie 65 Catskill Mountains 67 On an Adirondack Lake 71 Duddington 73 Mountain Life 76 Indian Rock, a Nocturne yj A Welcome to Indian Rock .... 80 The Lodge of Heatonawa 83 An Old Virginia Estate. Sonnet ... 86 The White City. Sonnet 87 Granada. Sonnet 87 Yellowstone Park. Sonnet 88 6 POEMS ON LOVE. The Melody of Love. Sonnet .... 89 Music of the Wind 89 Love Growth. Sonnet 90 Love, Sonnet 90 The Dawn of Love 91 The Castle of Love 92 Love Reigns 93 The Island of Love 94 Love in Sorrow. Sonnet 97 Consolation 97 The Love of the Immortal ..... 98 POEMS TO THE FAIR SEX. A Song to Nine 102 What is There More to Say? .... 103 To a Pretty Girl 104 Beautiful Girls 105 Where is the Bird I Gave, Love ? . . . 106 For Company's Sake . . . . . . . 107 Rifts of the Lute . 108 Jealousy 108 A Rose of Herculaneum 109 No Greater Joy '. . iii Sea Dreams 112 To a Fair Fellow Traveller 112 To an Ideal 113 Love in Absence 115 My Spirit of Sunshine 115 Tell Me You Love Me 116 The Diamond Necklace 116 Sub Rosa 117 Slumber Song 118 Of Poems to a Friend. Sonnet . . . 119 In Honor of a Fair Friend. Sonnet . . 119 Heart Weather. Sonnet . . . . . 120 Beautiful Eyes. Sonnet 120 To a Mexican Brunette. Sonnet . . . 121 7 To an Artist's Daughter. Sonnet . . . 121 To a Young Actress. Sonnet . . . . 122 Lines Introducing an Authoress . . . 122 The Coquette. A rondeau 123 Play, For I Would Dream 123 A Hidden Song Bird 124 To Miss Gertrude Griswold in "Hamlet" . 125 To Emma Nevada in "The earl of Brazil" 126 To a Louisiana Soprano. Sonnet • . . 127 To a Brooklyn Choir Singer. Sonnet . 127 IMITATIONS OF BURNS. A' Partin' Frae My Dearie 128 A Gash wi' the Moon 129 POEMS RELATING TO PAINTING. Memories of Art Student Life in Paris Sketch Qub Song First Meeting of the Cradle Club, Paris To a Summer Companion . Peter Paul Rubens. Sonnet . Ideal and Reality .... Barren Technique. Sonnet The Apostles of Art. Sonnet . Beauty's Gift to Art . . . . 133 136 137 140 140 141 142 142 143 POEMS OF RELIGION, SORROW AND SERIOUS FEELING. A Mountain Hymn 158 The Better Offering 159 Cheer Thee, Doubtful Pilgrim .... 160 The Sweeter Rest 161 Rocking the Cradle 162 Generosity 162 A Charming Sunday in December . . . 163 The Goodness of Men 165 8 To Hope . i68 No King But Caesar 169 The Arena 170 King David 171 In Memory of M. T 171 In Memory of C. E. M 172 Life's Bravest .172 How Long? 173 Life's Crescendo 174 Vicissitudes 174 "Follow Thou Me" 175 The Higher Love 176 Soul Love 177 Time's Corridor 178 Perfection 179 Nature's Gospel 179 After Drought 180 The True Trinity 180 If I Were Judge 181 Devotion 181 Life Lingering 182 To M. L. O . . . . 182 POEMS OF PATRIOTISM. Stand by the Flag 183 Patriotism 185 Music of Freedom 189 A Sigh in a Foreign Land 190 Columbia's Night Watch 191 The Fourteenth of July in Paris . . . 192 The 1892 Grand Army Parade in Wash- ington 193 HUMOROUS AND LIGHTER VERSE. A Summer Mishap 196 Fumigation 198 A Question of Temper 200 The Yankee Twang 201 9 Adventures in Southern Spain and Tangier 203 The Ear of Corn, a Fable for Children . . 205 The Herd of Swine, a Satire . An American Girl's Mail in Paris To a Lively Girl in Paris . Midsummer The Herring and the Clam Woman's Strategy .... 209 212 213 214 215 215 NUMISMATIC VERSE. The Amorous Numismatist .... 217 A Miss Taken Scent 218 The Old Lady We Know 219 The Numismatist and the Burglar . . . 221 10 POEMS OF GENERAL SENTI- MENT TO A BUTTERFLY Jauntily floating butterfly, flitting from flower to flower, Lured by the brightest blossoms, sipping their hidden sweets, Oft do I watch thy vagaries during each sunny hour Spent in my garden's confines, fairest of all retreats. Whether of crimson panoply, whether of brown or blue. Or of a Spanish splendor, orange and bor- dered black. Still in a vaunted rivalry with every petal's hue. Art thou the zephyr riding, free in thy care- less track. Now in thy light winged wandering dost thou a feast survey. Now in a blushing flower pry for its nectar deep, Then, as in airy bantering, circle with friends at play Or, as with pleasure sated, linger in seeming sleep. What are thy jocund reveries, king of the in- sect host. Hast thou a care or a longing in thy existence bright, Mute in thy outer loveliness, knowest thou in its boast Danger of feathered foemen, hours of damp and night? II Heir of a worm made glorious, symbol of hu- man fame, Spirit of wayward fancy, hast thou a joy com- plete. Or is thy day a sophistry, fate in its end the same Whether we soar exultant or journey on weary feet? Lo! Mid my idle questioning, suddenly wings are spread, Gaily thy course is taken over my garden wall, Thus full many a rhapsody out of my life has sped. Thus full many a day dream passeth beyond recall. Indian Rock, 1901. THE BAT In my cottage garden musing, I partake the twilight's peace. Every care of day refusing As the throbs of labor cease And the balms of night increase. Every ill of life excusing — What is that Thing of darkness near me gliding. Gone as quickly into hiding As I shudder? 'Tis a bat, Noiseless in its apparition As some terrible suspicion That, despite the heart's deriding. Swoops and leaves a scar behind. Hateful as some vicious slander That the tongues of cravens pander. What have I for sad contrition? Why should I a moment mind? 12 There, against the sky apparent, Now it mocks at greater distance And I smile, for malice errant Far removed dispels resistance. Wherefore grudge it then existence, This small whim of nature trying Antics in the art of flying? But a mouse on wings, says fancy, Revelling in speed ecstatic. Not an imp of necromancy. Lo, it whirls in course erratic, Dodging, flapping and careering In its frenzy acrobatic, Then as mutely disappearing. Why should still some apprehension Trouble now my twilight dreams? Rest in vain the day redeems With my mind in anxious tension From this mad-cap intervention. Get thee hence. Again it dashes. That winged fiend oi maniac daring. Close athwart my blinking lashes. Silent as a dread unsparing When the heart gains no replying As some love of youth seems dying. What ! again ? Thou black defiance, Wierdly noiseless persecutor, Wouldst thou by thine onsets banish Even such a patient suitor For repose, when thou art flying? Then, since all my pleasures vanish, I must yield thy spite compliance. Lo, I go within my dwelling That, all worriment dispelling, I may find no peace denying While I muse of life's true living Over selfishness of men, Of the greater good of giving .13 Than receiving bounty when — Evil creature, still pursuing, By what cleft hast thou invaded My retreat, to thy undoing In thy flight no longer shaded, In each dizzy perihelion? Night-begotten winged chameleon. Now beware, amid thy swooping And thy vibrant corner looping Or thy zigzag speed bewildered. For the light is on thee shining. Hellish things in such confining Ever seek escape unhindered. Ah, at length thine end seems certain. Dashing at the window curtain, Thou hast struck the sash and tumbled, All thy frantic being shaken. Writhing, flapping, yet unhumbled, Hissing wrath, though all forsaken. Demon, at my mercy lying. Shall revenge be quickly taken? Shall I see thee bleeding, dying 'Neath my heel? Nay, for a better Spirit makes thy evil debtor To its more exalted mission And, in fuller recognition Of my musing, by the^ broken, Do I, by a 'kerchief trailing, Lift thee, in thy rage unfailing. And unto the doorway bear thee To thy freedom, as a token Of the nature that should spare thee E'en to life of darkness, knowing There is joy about me glowing Due to no shame for thy spite But to guiding inner light. Then, in higher restoration Of true faith, I sit confiding 14 That all baseness of creation, Large or least abomination, Cannot harm, with good abiding. 1903. THE OLD BED Listen, dear son, when I was wed. Scarce out of girlhood made a wife, My father gave this ample bed With other bounties to my life. Though little did I need to rest , With every wakeful hour so blest. My bed, in ripening season, knew The daily strife of fear and joy. And gave, one morning, to my view. Thy ruddy little face, my boy. And thou didst cry with such a zest And nip so tightly at my breast ! Time flew apace, and love bestowed Full many a test of family care. Yet morning mirth and health o'er-flowed The midnight watch and silent prayer As oft fair forms like flowers o'er-spread And clustered 'round their natal bed. Then Fortune marked thy father's toil And humored quickly each desire. The city's best became our spoil. Full many sought our glowing fire. And this old bed, in high disgrace. Gave to a modern couch its place. The fire went out. The fortune flew And men went elsewhere to be warm. Our pomp of life, as well you knew. Was sold to weaken trouble's storm, But my old bed regained its right To soothe us many an anxious night. 15 Then came a time of bitter woe, Your father took his final sleep. The house was dark, the prayer was low And some true friends came there to weep Until the bed my loved one gave To lonely slumber in the grave. Oh, sacred scene of death and birth, Of joy and pain, of praise and prayer, Of each loved infant's tender mirth, Of visions stretching everywhere, Of sweet repose and loving vow, How should I wish to spare thee now? I care not if the bed's design Makes it the greed of lavish taste, If yielding it would bring as mine Fair gold out-poured from fashion's waste. To me a deeper worth precedes The whim of taste, the moment's needs. For on it have I learned to know Life's truest joys and sweetest rest. To measure not by wealth or show Our true desires and motives best, So in its comfort let me spend My nights until fatigue shall end. Denver, Col., 1880. COMPENSATION A farmer sighed one summer morn, As to the field he bent his way, That he was to its labor born Throughout each heat pervaded day, 16 That, to his little ones endow And cherish well his loving wife, He needs must guide the delving plough In weariness of subsoil strife, Must watchful serve, as rain or sun Aided or harmed the sower's care. And long maintain the war begun With pigmy foes of earth and air. He reached a field of wheat that stood As lances of a countless host And gaily bid him call it good And far exceeding labor's cost. But sullenly he made reply, "Your tribute is but barely just. What bounty here can gratify The toil that raised you from the dust?" "Ah," sang the wheat, "we yield to thee Full harvest measure, and beside Give of our blessings gladfully, That grace may in thy fields abide." The musing farmer looked again And lo, like silken banners spread, Were flowers in the hosts of grain That gratefully their perfume shed. Then came the lesson to his heart That, though monotonous or mean. If toils were met in noble part Unplanted joys would grow between; That duties manfully sustained. Though long withholding fruitful yield, 17 Held present pleasures freely gained By those who stooped in life's rich field. Thus viewed, the farmer's cares grew light, New zeal controlled the day's hot hours And, when he sought his home at night. His arms were full of nodding flowers. Philadelphia, 1870. A SPARK OF FEELING "Will you oblige me with a light?" "Boss, will you give a man some fire?" Thus high or low a boon invite And pure "Havana" meets with "briar. The soothing leaf the red man found Thus still a peaceful influence yields And gives a moment's neutral ground To men in life's apportioned fields. The rich forgets his studious pride, The poor his humble fate or shame As, standing briefly side by side. They ask and grant the needed flame. A moment only serves, alas, This little courtesy of mankind. And then upon their way they pass. Oblivious one and one resigned. Yet hath the act its little good. The poor man feels a touch of cheer. And he who bends from wealth or blood A sense of better influence near. The giver, howe'er poor he be, Gives freely, yet his boon retains, 18 A paradox of charity The generous heart in all explains. And the receiver, pleasure free If fortune smiles in lapse of care, Plucks flowers of serenity From' furrows cut by ruder share. Would that the spark of kindly grace 'Twixt man and man could spread as far And cheer as many a weary face As doth the light of one cigar. Washington, 1885. TWO MARRIAGES A guest tonight with the husband sits And the wife has left in scorn ; The fire up from its prison flits, The wine need brighten the hale guest's wits, For the host abides forlorn. The wife doth long in her chamber wait While she sharpens darts of blame That one should talk with her lord so late As friend who, careless of social state. Had married "beneath his name." Alone she goes to her couch so wide As the hours pass away, Brooding in woman's wealth wrought pride, The while her husband must groan aside. Though the guest at heart is gay. They sit together who first had met In the flush of freer life, When every art of the world beset Their course, enlisted betimes to get For them each an heiress-wife. 19 But all its craft to their eyes became As a snare, a loveless crime, And, holding not its decoys in blame, They waited yet for a fuller flame. And the sophist world its time. Full oft men, guarding with shields aibove. Can be smitten deep below. Two sisters chanced in their path to move, They followed, knew them, at length, to love; Ah! Why should the sophists know? Fair sisters, passing the weary day In a wealthy tradesman's store, Together glad, on their homeward way. To talk of men who had pledged faith's sway. Whom they dared to love the more ; Had dared to love in their hearts' great need Of a shield from worldly harm, As orphans left of a house decreed, Despite its honor of name and deed, To crumble at fate's alarm. A year sped on, but their tired feet Could no more together wend, For one in loving was indiscreet .... The host was not in the narrow street At a death bed few attend. He sought again the distracting thrall That fashion gives its slave, He wed an heiress, of blood withal, He asked the world to his feast and ball, And the smiling world forgave. The guest was mourner with her who wept For a sister's early death. A year crept on, as his fortune crept, 20 And then in marriage he "downward stepped," As the world said, under breath. Love graced the home of the wedded guest And it healed his dear wife's heart, But wedded host in his soul's vain quest For joy was scourged to his manhood's best And he sought his guest apart. Tonight they sit by the fire late, Musing of passion's cost. The guest, relenting, has buried hate Of a broken heart that bewails the fate Of one deceived and lost. The heiress turns, as she restless sleeps. With a smile upon her face; She dreams her husband no longer keeps His caller welcome, but proudly heaps On him taunts of his disgrace. She little knows that the old friend came With a pardon full instead. She little thinks that the pretty name Her daughter bears is, by choice, the same As the name of one long dead. Philadelphia, 1868. IN OFFICE CONCERNING WOMEN IN GOVERNMENT EMPLOY IN WASHINGTON We see a maiden gay and fair. The sun hides in her wavy hair. The hope of life is in her face, The strength of Spring bestows its grace 21 To slender form and nimble feet, Her voice is gleeful, clear and sweet And, prompted by a cultured brain, Has made each knotty question vain. So, passing with ingenuous smile The censor's test, the city's guile, She hastens lightly on her way. Making her daily task a play. With nimble fingers gleaning more Of comfort for the household store. God bless the schoolmates who may still From ease and affluence fulfil The pledges of affection made In innocence of social grade And fashion's inquisition false, Inviting her to feast and waltz, And guarding, in hard care's despite, Her equal claim to youth's delight. II VVe see her young and lovely yet But haunted by some dim regret. The eye is softer in its glance And gazes from a yearning trance Of sympathetic womanhood, A longing for the perfect good And joy of living. From her lips Of tender will less often slips The chime of laughter, and she moves Along the world's contracting grooves With quieter and surer tread And nobler grace. The upright head And rounded outline, full and fair Of just proportion, scorning care, Saving, at times, when petty toil At humble duty seems to foil An orphan's resolution high And mark the hours with a sigh. 22 God bless the hero young and brave Who has the wealth or will to save The treasures of so deep a love And full a beauty and, above The web of care, to lift her feet To happiness and leisure sweet, That all the fickle throng may see True virtues win their dignity. Ill We see her once again, but now The lady has a sadder brow. Spanned by a hueless arch above. The symbol of a widowed love, The token of a broken bliss And the long interrupted kiss Of gracious fortune, once so kind. Through sweet and patient eyes the mind Discloses an abandoned trust In life's ambitions, for the rust Of calculating greed has fed On honor's tears and overspread Hopes of an alloy once so bright. Yet, happily, at times, the light Of these soft eyes gives greeting due To courteous act or converse true. The clear fair skin takes back again Some happy color and the pain And weariness which linger nigh Her miserable drudgery Are half forgotten for a while If kindly mirth restore a smile ; A smile to lips which long ago Had said to many a suitor "No," To all but one, whose toiling hand And brain had taught her to command 23 Until misfortune, death and need Compelled her, hardly heard, to plead. God bless the man of place and power Who guards for her toil's scanty dower And honors with as high a heart This lady in life's humble part As any woman blessed by fate Whom fortune strives to satiate With wealth undue and courted leisure, Who wearies but from taxing pleasure. God bless those women rare who prove Their right to riches in their love For her who, having fully known Abundance, striveth now alone. Who, could the truth be told aloud, Is least unworthy to be proud. IV At last we see her old and gray. This toiler in the nation's pay. Complying, like a child at school, With each obligatory rule Of discipline, each daily share Of toil with humble nervous care. Her hands may tremble, it is true, And dimness sometimes cross her view, Or some unsoothed coug"h or pain The measure of endurance drain, But she can bravely struggle yet Above the cramping waves of debt. And, with a quick pathetic pride. Rejoice that no one need provide Her bread or shelter. Not in vain. Perchance was son or husband slain In war, or lost upon the sea To leave a pleading memory, 24 For still she holds her place content And, when the weary week is spent, She dreams, in sacred music's peace. Of realms where toil and pain shall cease And hears a voice as from her home, "Ye blessed of my Father come Unto a place of joy secure To heavy ladened, meek and pure," Where, welcoming at open gates. The "Chief" among ten thousand waits. Washington, D. C, 1887. THE RHYTHM OF A RIDE Mounted well for a country ride, Kate and I from the stable start, "Prince" her courser and "Chief" my pride Know the ways that we take by heart And snort impatiently as we go Along the pavement in progress slow. Out in the course of the wider street. Persons from mansion and alley stare. Think not, ye poor, our joy unmeet. Ye rich, that your languor we yearn to share. As we give our horses a freer rein And the pure air greets our faces again. Then, as the verdant park appears. Our steeds alert, with quicker pace. Trot on where all the vision cheers And, taking in the throng our place. We scan the gay and glittering line Where countless masquerades combine. Here meet we and salute a friend. With mirthful comment, passing by, 25 There, though distracted, scarce attend A dozen more. With glancing eye Each equipage we briefly see And then forget for that to be. Oh ! labyrinth of flashing wheels, Of colors bright and trappings new, How high the heart of pleasure feels As all the pageant we review, Of beauty flushed and gallant pride, Of pomp and envy, side by side. How swift the whirl of thought between The saddened gaze of age or care And tender childhood's merry mien, The dame serene, the millionaire Of brooding face ; from grave to sweet, Life's myriad moods our glances meet. Yet oft the world's bedecked parade Fills wearily the constant sight, Its drift unchanged, its charms displayed Monotonously, pall delight And, seeking not its tasks to learn, We to a freer pathway turn. The trot is broken, now we feel The boisterous spirit which gives release From form and fashion and lumbering wheel, And, over the turf, restraint may cease. So, cantering here in the softer ground. We sing with the rhythm of every bound. Our hearts exulting are falcons free As those they tell of in old romance And whither they fly our will would be, 26 O little care we for a plunge or prance When barriers meet us, for life is wild In all the bliss of its speed beguiled. Then, flushed with pleasure, we give the rein. Our horses leap with sudden joy, Flashing feet and flying mane. Every sinew seeks employ And the flowing winds divide Rude caresses as we ride. Lo, they blind our merry eyes, Blow away the mirthful tears. Break our hurried words and rise Into music at our ears, Surely love is in the blast. May we dare to run so fast? Dare? Our spirits are possessed And we go bounding over hedge, Panting, though we despise tO' rest. And clattering down a rock-ribbed ledge Until again the road we meet And stay our horses' unwilling feet. Their nostrils, as the fading sun, Are red, from the day's race and drink The cooler air. Night has begun Her stealthy march and soon, we think, The hour has come to seek once more The homeward street and stable door. Yet, how we, in returning, yield To the soft influence of the gray Sweet twilight ! Every quiet field Sleeps 'neath a veil of mist until the day Shall each wild bloom renew. The shadowy air Seems spirit-haunted everywhere. 27 Reveries steal upon us. Truth In the full confidence of thought is free. And, in the happy faith of youth, All portals open. Cherished fancies see Their doubles in a new beguiling grace At each heart's gateway and embrace. What if we two, who end our ride In the pale light of the now rising moon. So pale as yet that the blush may hide And the glance tell nothing, what if we soon May know from accents guided by the heart That long will be life's highway ere we part! 1872. THE RAIN THAT FALLS AT NIGHT When, on the mountain or in desert places, Meek blossoms, in their wild and tender graces, Wilt from the ardent sun's voluptuous sight. They lift again their petals at the breaking Of fresher day, to gladder life awaking. Delivered by the rain that falls at night. When, on his humble couch, the toiler weary Tosses amid his sleep from visions dreary Of all his well sown fields in arid blight. He in the darkness hears, with spirit glowing, The patter on path and roof and then the flowing And splashing of the rain that falls at night. When, on the desolate field of battle lying, Some hero in the gloom is slowly dying. Deserted by his comrades in the fight. With thirsting lips and frame in fever burning. How grateful is his youthful face, upturning To feel the cooling rain that falls at night. 28 Whence are these drops that come with gentle blessing To soothe each anguish of our days oppressing And give the darkest hours a strange delight? They are the tears of angels, fair immortals, Who, pitying, gaze below from heaven's portals And pledge their care in rain that falls at night. 1903. ON A SHEET OF PAPER A poet, mid a day dream, got a spirit-chilling letter, For he had fallen debtor to a Croesus of the town, He sighed, in honor's high intent, for such a greed unfeeling And fancy ceased revealing as he cast the letter down. But when a rapture woke his soul upon a fairer morning. He caught, its poison scorning, at the letter lying near. And on the back entangled all his drifting in- spirations Until his mind's creations bore him from the fens of fear. Thus, on a sheet of paper, throbbing for a while together, Held in abhorrent tether, there were words of rage and bliss. Of wealth's ignoble craving and the full heart's overflowing. As little concord knowing as the world beyond and this. 29 The poem, given to the world, blessed many- souls dejected, Its grosser gain collected paroled all the debt- or's need, Who found the sweet embrace of fame w^hen Croesus lay a-dying, His sordid riches flying, e'en as flies the thistle seed. 1880 (entirely imaginary). LITTLE VISITORS How was I honored today by a call. How was my heart happy over it all ! Was it, you think, any fashionable dame, Mighty official or Croesus who came With a smooth tongue or an arrogant mien ? No, you would only two children have seen. Bob was the brother, but eight, if you please, And barely six was bright little Louise, Lovely as any child charmer of Spain ; These, told of no one, to see me again, Came gaily half a mile over the snow Seeking a friend of eight long months ago. Months, that in their brief existence were years. Held not maturity's doubtings or fears. Held not indifference, canker or rust. Still was I kept in aff^ectionate trust; Bless their sweet memories. Surely they knew That my tried heart was both loving and true. Washington, February 17th, 1895. 30 HAPPY MOMENTS (Written at i6 years of age.) How blessed do the moments seem When, watching nature's wondrous face, The soul seems in a hallowed place And doth with happy visions teem. Strange fancies make it flee its throne And mount, swift winged, the azure skies, Nor dare to watch with dizzy eyes The spot from which it just hath flown. No bound restrains its wayward flight, It knows not now the world or care. But revels in the upper air With wider scope than dreams of night. When it regains its earthly sight It cannot tell its dreamy bliss, Too big for words, it knows but this, It bathed in dazzling waves of light. Philadelphia, i860. 31 POEMS OF THE SEA A SONG BY THE SEA The waves of the sea flow rudely When threatening breezes make, They hurry in from the ofiing And topple and curl and break. They roar at the craggy rampart And creep to the marsh's side, But the sailor's child is fearless At the drift of the highest tide. The waves of the heart are restless, They in from its ocean move To surge through the bay of friendship And glide on the shore of love ; They break 'mid the crags of passion And foam with a mad increase, But none may await their coming Or know when the tide shall cease. Ah, chill are the waves of ocean And dreary its dirges sound, Yet death comes ever so gently To those in its bosom found And rather may one float lifeless At the feet of the sailor's child, Than fall where those deeper billows Of passion are coursing wild. Atlantic City, 1867. 32 ON THE ATLANTIC Great ocean, stretching forth on every side, My all enchanted eyes Survey thy azure distance far and wide, As thought its memories. Of all the round of nature, dost thou most The vital soul inspire. Bearing it outward from the changeless coast To realms of free desire. I love to sit alone and watch thy might, Dreaming of nameless things Here and beyond in that blue infinite We seek on hastening wings. The breadth and vastness of the vision calms, E'en while thy turbulent breast Mine own portrays, for thou hast healing balms, Thv very life hath rest. 1885. FAITHFUL SHIPS OF THE DAY Of ships that pass in the night Our sweetest of poets sings. Faces that vanish from sight While yet their greeting brings The hope of a love untold. The trust of a friendship's stay. Wrapped in the darkness cold, Quenched by the blinding spray. And the poet's mournful song Tolls yet in each doubting heart That drifts through the night so long Where beacons are far apart, 33 But those who their course maintain, Sincere until morning grey, Shall see on the sunny main Fair ships that pass in the day. Ships they shall overtake With greeting of flags and cheer, Ships shall come from their wake To sail on the blue waves near, With signals of helpfulness To voyage the same long w^ay. Brief ships of the night, no less Are there faithful ships of the day. Washington, 1894. A SHIP ON THE STARBOARD BOW "There's a ship on the starboard bow," One cries from the deck to me, As I sit on the swaying prow And gaze at the azure sea, "A ship, and whither its course?" I ask as I watch it now, Impelled by the free wind's force. That ship on the starboard bow. "There's a hope for thy lonely heart," Cries an inner beguiling voice, "Revealed on its way apart To say it may yet rejoice." "And whither," I plead, "is its way. This hope in the life before? How long shall its bliss delay, And where is its happy shore? Doth it follow in fair convoy The course I have measured best, To draw me with straining joy Still on to its blissful rest, 34 Or, borne on the fateful wind, Doth it cross the path I go. Rebuking the toil behind And turning my hope to woe?" Full little the sailor knew Of my heart's responsive cry, As over the waters blue He gazed with a searching eye. But he answered, "The sails afar Are set for the wind we take, And every brace and spar For the self-same course we make." O ship on the tossing wave, O hope in heart weariness. The token doth make me brave, The answer hath balm to bless. There surely hath come to me, With the breezes that cool my brow, A peace o'er the azure sea From the ship on the starboard bow. Written on La Bretagne, May 2d, 1891. LONELY OCEAN Once, when sailing on the ocean, Long I watched from day to day For some vessel on the circuit Of the blue line far away. But the great shield of the water Bore upon its steely rim Not the faintest spot arresting Eyes through distant gazing dim. Where, methought, are ships which cluster Thidcly at each people shore, 35 Coming ever and departing, Trafficking the round world o'er? Doth an ocean sprite disperse them, Do the haughty billows wall Each from each, or cloudy curtains. Pearly tinted, 'twixt them fall? Then I mused of love and friendship When our days of joy depart. Whence and why so quickly vanish Those once moored heart to heart? And I doubted whether ocean Or misfortune most possessed Lonely wastes of weary tossing. Toil without relief or rest. Crested hopes of brief endurance. Depths unsounded, black as night, Lowering clouds all aid concealing ; This my fancy merged with sight. But the love a few had given Bid my better hope prevail And, with eyes again uplifted, Lo! I saw a sunlit sail. 1878. 36 A SHEAF OF SONNETS THE POET'S HEART The poet's heart hath an unbolted door That opens to the south and grants a way To every hand and vesture. Never day But writes its golden "Salve" on the llooir Through branches of clematis which explore The over-arching frame. The swallows gay In airy loops through that bright entrance play And restless doves await their food before. Oft doth the willing portal gently swing Untouched of any one, as if the breeze Of Summer had love offerings to bring From fragrant clover fields and hillside trees. Then come those guests of sweet imagining To do whatever joyful thing they please. 1887 THE POET'S MISSION The poet shunneth an ignoble mind Sterile of tender feeling. He is sent To sing the carols of the innocent, To voice creation's beauty unconfined, The bending flowers of his path to bind. Interpreting the Grace Omnipotent. He soundeth hearts for every sweet intent And giveth winged spirit to mankind, For beauty is but nature's creed of right, All fancy is dear thought divinely free. All song a rapture of the soul's delight When, fondly, peace and love and hope agree, And God doth give the poet clearer sight Of loveliness that is and is to be. 1903 37 GREAT MINDS High natures build their towers far apart, Whether to dwell in majesty or pain^ Troubled or doubted by the throngs that strain In common greed about the city's mart ; So Dante lived in solitude of heart, So Milton struggled for the spirit's gain On battlements of thought the few attain, Steel clad and mighty from the battle's start. Such natures wear the helmet fancy lends Its hero who at will would walk unseen. For when they grovel, all the world attends In fellowship but, when they pass between To gain strange heights, no alien comprehends. They mount unknown while new enchantments screen. II The visions seen in solitude's repose By higher minds that rear their branches wide, Shadowing lesser spirit growth beside, They cannot to the bush and weed disclose Or share with any envious vine that grows Upon their strength to mar their leafy pride ; The lesser nature may the broad deride. But the great trunk a loftier regence shows. Thus, nigh the vast Pacific's nurturing wind, Gigantic trees hold centuries in scorn — Nature's great living beacons that remind The world, in aimless wandering forlorn, Of immortality of fame behind And shall ennoble millions yet unborn. 1903 38 NATURE'S NOBLEMEN I love a true aristocrat who bears Upon his brow high wisdom's coronet, With brightest gems of widest culture set, Who, as a cloak oi princely ermine, wears A grace serene and sure that gladly shares His largess with the needy as a debt Of highest faith and honor, to beget Pure noble living in a world of cares. Such aristocracy owes naught to birth Or rank or riches, it is self-ordained ; These breed the basest bastards of the earth To pride, desire, might and pomp untrained, But nature's noblemen atone for dearth Of greatness in the host by lusts enchained. 1903 RICHARD COBDEN AND JOHN BRIGHT Personally met in December, 1863 High elm and oak of England's honored dead, Happy was I in youth to humbly stand Before such proven men, to take their hand Of greeting when my suffering country bled From fratricidal strife, to know they led The laboring thousands of our mother land Amid their want to better understand The cause of freedom. Great of heart and head, These champions of honor gazed above The smoke of greed and passion and the shame Of strong cabals, and now, since long the dove Of peace abides, we know that in their name And her pure throne, doth England hold the love Of her proud offspring best and share our fame, 39 QUEEN MARGUERITE To whom the Author was presented in 1882 Oh regal Pearl of Savoy, years ago, When Italy was made by fortune sweet The pleasure garden of my wandering feet, In thy enchanting realm I came to know Treasures of genius, scenes that ever grow In memory's joy ; yet only was complete My gratitude when privileged to meet The grace thy matchless attributes bestow. Then, more than others, by attention blessed, I answered questions of my art and land. And later, at thy palace as a guest, Saw thee enthroned while, ranged on either hand, All beauties of thy court did but attest Thy charm supreme to every heart command. ON A BOOK OF POEMS BY ALEXANDER SMITH Acknowledged to a friend who had loaned them. To-day thou art mine angel. Thou hast given In this, my Patmos, to my soul to eat A little book of words as honey sweet, And, as I taste, the lust of earth is shriven, Cloud barriers for my upward flight are riven. Yet not the New Jerusalem do I greet, But pale Valhalla and the fitful heat Where Thor, the mighty thunderer, hath striven, And, as he laughs defiant, I behold Beside his anvil and his luminous bars A mortal shade in anulation bold Seizing his hammer and from glowing scars Smiting, before the crimson steel is cold, A scintillation of resplendent stars. 1886 40 THE EVE OF A CENTURY How strong is he who, when he wills, can turn And hold in life's scant book some treasured leaf Of purpose, since the winds of joy or grief So speed the pages man can rarely learn The parables whose lessons he may earn From rich robed meditation. All too brief_, After youth's jocund seed time, is the sheaf Of harvest, far too much the chaff we burn ; Yet, seeking in life's pages what is best. And daring upright emprise for sweet good, We, 'mid the tangled plot, shall gain a rest Of soul within, a valiant hardihood. And find between the leaves youth's flowers pressed. And havCj at length, all mysteries understood. Washington, Dec. 31, 1900 FANCY, FACT, FAITH Wouldst thou sweet Fancy in the mind enthrone, Her dexterous brush shall fascinate thy sight, Her graceful arabesques impart delight And for all deeper arguments atone ; Wouldst thou the sculptor Fact believe alone, His patient chisel and persistent might Shall seem from error's cave to hew the right, Giving thee truth from the refractory stone ; But sibyl Faith, by inward vision fired. From sight and touch would higher joys derive, Beneath the fervor of her scheme desired It seemeth vain for nature's work to strive. The picture is with air and light inspired. The blue-veined stone is pulsed and made alive, 1890 41 THE FIRE OF AMBITION Ambition's course is as a hearthstone fire Kindled in lighter fancies, quickly fanned By Hope ingenuous to well withstand The damp of worldly doubt, then leaping higher, Warming in its enchantment of desire, Full of bright visions to essay command Of cloven oak with many a flaming hand, Eager to strive and joyful to aspire; But, when life's night draws ominously near And glowing visions flicker. Meekness keeps Watch of the struggling fire and, in fear Of danger to her dwelling place, she heaps Ashes upon the embers' lingering cheer And parts the logs still burning ere she sleeps. 1900 THE CRITIC He who hath entrance to a garden close Of studious effort, whether small or great. Should in all noble purpose animate With tillage due each blossoming plant that grows From seed celestial and, in climbing, shows True bloom and leafage ; he should arbitrate For good and beauty and with care abate All rank excess that hides or harms the rose; Bnt one who. narrow minded, brutal, vain, Maketh a garden and a barnyard share His equal spite and jest for vulgar gain. Who trampleth down alike the flower rare And poisoning vine, but giveth genius pain And maketh all his vagabondage bare. 1903 42 THE SPENDTHRIFT He who doth spend or hazard in excess Of each year's gift or rashly conjure friend To, for his venture or indulgence^ lend, Squanders more wealth than gold, since^ in the press And rack of debt, wisdom and cheerfulness Leave his fair house to gloom, while nigh attend Vultures that lurk to ravage in the end, — Doubt, mockery, grief, pain and lean distress; Then, in the rooms where love and comfort grew And prudence fed and honor greeted all. But emptiness and ruin meet the view. Age's chill winds blow through each desolate hall And groaning casement, ever to renew Their requiem for joys without recall. THE CRAVEN WORLD A hero of the stage who faces wrong. Oppression, jealous greed and pompous pride, Which, in their foul hypocrisy, o'er ride His knightly sentiment and honor strong, Hears the loud plaudits of the breathless throng, Tearful, indignant, as the acts confide His lofty purpose_, needfully denied To base or blinded foes through struggle long; But when, in life's defiles, a soul is brave For justice and for virtue, oft in pain It strives alone. Mistrust and guile deprave The craven world, that balances its gain While evil triumphs, few impelled to save Until the hero hath his dragons slain. 43 COMPASS VARIATIONS When the brave mariner, with anchor free And sloop fresh ladened speeding from the land, Holds the long tiller in a firmer hand To wrestle with the buffeting of the sea, He sometimes notes the compass tremblingly Yield to a secret treacherous command Of ore in the cargo near, nor may withstand His skill their mystical dread affinity. Thus latent passions^ by a chance revealed In life's mid ocean, agitate the sotil. And, with the guiding stars by clouds concealed, Confound the higher spirit's true control. Few are the passing ships, for aid appealed, Wide is the stormy course from youth's deter- mined goal. 1888 LOST FRIENDSHIP Sometimes it happeneth in the lives of men That, by eluding peril, they have read Their names amid the records of the dead And laughed because the misinstructed pen Was mocked by happy destiny. But when We lose a friendship, as a broken thread In trouble's cave, or love that might have spread Its palms_, as yesterday, before us, then Our heart doth read in that intolerant heart Of its own death, believing, though we live And, to the sight of others, have a part In hopes a little longer fugitive. But laughter dies and tears in silence start Lest life may never equal solace give. 1895 44 HEART CHERISHED ONES Love well, my heart, when beauty thou dost see With handmaidens that serve her but to bless, — Truth, honor, purity and cheerfulness, Mercy and patience^ bounty ever free, Courage and faith and magnaminity, — Love more, as these abound for her caress, Rejoice, thy love to measure and profess. Scorning base tongues as knighthood strengthens thee; Dearer than friendship, purer than desire, Such love, in giving homage widely due. Makes life in every emprise sweeter, higher, And gains thee kindred more than nature's true ; So shalt thou, knowing earth's best gift, aspire And youth's fond dreams with tendered grace renew. PROVEN FRIENDS Above the throng bedecked who gayly share My feast and gather near when fortune smiles. Are those who closer stand if she beguiles In base duplicity, whose spirits dare. From truth of heart and earnest trust and care, To journey with me through life's steep defiles, Bound to my rope when scaling perilous miles Of icy heights in heaven's purer air. These are my soul's companions, cherished, dear Beyond all rank or gold. They bear along My sword and shield, my food and cup of cheer. Their loyalty of heart doth make me strong In sorrow or ambition. With them near Peace charms my slumber, joy invokes my song. 45 TO A MAPLE TREE That once stood in LaFayette Square, Washing- ton, and was only notable in Autumn. By the north entrance of a verdant square Where trees of many climes form rich array, , There stands a maple, now a great bouquet, Bright as the fervent yellow of a pear From Bernardino ranches, radiant, fair And rounded out in every leafy spray. Decked, as some wedding maiden of Cathay, With gold embroidered raiment wondrous rare ; So doth the richer growth of spirit stand, Sometimes unseen, unknown, throughout the brawl Of storm, the wilting of heat, amid a band Of sordid aliens, patient until the Fall, When, lo, it shines by Infinite command And in perfected grace surpasseth all. October, 1893. THE ORCHID Thou flower of fairy fancy, from the air Comes thy existence, from the morning dews The pearly white that evening mist renews, Translucent in virginity so fair, And, when the sun doth to thy bower repair, A rhapsody of kindred rainbow hues Thy light fantastic passion all imbues. Capricious, beauteous, archly debonnaire. Teach me a life as far absolved from pain. As magically gay as thou hast found. O dream ethereal, bid me live again On dew and air and light, not of the ground ; Lead mind and heart to efflorescent reign Of such a glory as doth thee surround. 1899. 46 . ., ., THE LILY ' An angel once to earth indulgent came When, in a forest of its tropic zone, A plant unblessed with flowers made its moan "Oh, spirit pure, the land is all aflame With rival blooms that put my heart to shame. Grant me a crowning grace that I alone May hold in praise before the Maker's throne — Yon snow girt peak — and be absolved from blame." The pitying angel to the summit flew. From its pure drift she wrought a flower fair And brought it to the plant whereon it grew, Fragile but kept from melting by her prayer. So kindly years its tender charms renew To whisper ever of angelic care. 1899 47 POEMS OF PLACE MEMORIES OF ITALY Written after a tour in the Winter of 1 881-2. O fellow-pilgrims by indulgent fate ! The days have come when we our paths must bend From this fair kingdom where, in truth, so late We came unknown, and part as friend from friend. Ere mutual pleasures yet have reached an end, And ere we kiss, alas ! a different hand Of beautiful Italia, and attend. Too soon, departure from her spell-bound land, Ye for the west and I from bright Venetians strand. II. As birds in spring-time taking northern flight Pause for a while in some fair spot to rest, So here in courtly Florence we alight, After too brief a day of chat and jest, Of genial fellowship the parting test, From Rome's beguiling streets and azure skies, Spared from the perils which her gates invest To view Art's palaces which proudly rise. Wedded, though Arno's flood between their glory lies. III. Brief is the sunny Winter that has sped Above us in our wanderings, yet how long The devious course unwearied feet have led Amid the valleys of the land of song, Amid each city's happy-natured throng, 48 The ruins of a world's immortal past, The tombs of pleasure and the pomps of wrong Which still to-day pathetically last To teach forgetful men grim Destiny's forecast. IV. Yet, happily, men sadden not their days With constant musing of the vague to be. Saving the devots of exacting ways Of duty and of penance, who would see Sweet nature never from their bondage free ; But open hearts and healthy lives dispel The gloom of doubt with youth's beguiling glee, And music drowns the dull cathedral bell, And dancing feet glide on in palace and in dell. V. With smiles for leisure, we were often fain, In thoughtful mood, to seek the pious hill Where broods the ancient church in troubled reign, The dictates of her once resistless will Now challenged at her portals. Proudly still Guards she the treasures of a sumputous youth, Seeking in stubborn doctrine tO' fulfil Her close autocracy with little ruth For heaven's soul taught freely given truth. VI. How rare her riches and how widely gleaned When she controlled the intellect of earth, When rank and talent for her blessing leaned. And Knowledge, sheltered from the outer dearth In cloisters, gave so rare an offspring birth. Art, then, persuaded by her lavish gold. Mid sensual living glorified the worth Of all that saintly multitude of old. And her indulgence kind repaid an hundred fold. 49 VII. For one appeared a cardinal in right Of Art's high faith. St. Peter's stately dome And vaulted aisles hear witness of the might Of Buonarotti's genius, finding home In unknown regions and beguiled to come To earth and re-create his visions strange In that high chapel, Titan-thronged, where roam Men from the ends of earth and strive to change Vainly their humble mind to that great spirit's range. VIII. We chanced, upon another day, to walk At leisure o'er the excavated field Of Rome's forensic fame, and there to talk Of all magnificence of art revealed Amid the dismal ruins half concealed. Some lonely columns, two triumphant gates Which proudly stand, as vowing not to yield While the dismantled Colosseum waits Beyond in its austere submission to the fates. IX. O humbled Forum of a mighty age ! If e'er, attesting God, the very stones Had need to cry instead of men, thy page Of ruined art in truth would raise its moans For all man's misused sway, to which the groans Of martyrs would be requiem. Like a grave New opened, with its few and scattered bones And funeral tributes, doth thy presence crave The tears of those who love but can no longer save. 50 X. A lowly desert mid a city's poor, The stranger only seeks thee to explore For treasures unseen of the vagrant boor, Found by the loadstone of beloved lore And traced with hallowed zeal upon the floor Of that old battle-ground of wise and strong Whose lonely shafts Art studies to adore And History points to, Time's drear way along, Orations all in stone or voiced with warrior's song. XL Insatiate pride upon thy tortured plain Has, at a word, made marble fanes aspire In rival glory, rich in conquest's gain, To, in a day, be crushed by vengeful ire, Or in rebellion wrecked, or swept by fire Of ruthless lords of men in giant strife. Scorning a world to gratify desire. Baring the breast of virtue to the knife And making broken hearts their hour-glass of life. XII. These are no more, and now a race in shame Rises like one recovered from a spell Of evil spirits to restore its fame And seeks to gather up the gems which fell From its mad hands, to guard them high and well And clothe itself in garments made anew. That, when the world its history doth tell, It may with happy eyes the present view And deem past honors pledged to dignity more true. 51 XIII. Yet is its mood not always thus sedate : The Carnival arrives with painted mask, To scoff at grave ambition and, elate, Indulgence take which it would vainly ask Of melancholy prelate, — irksome task Is thrust aside for unrestrained delight, Youth drinks but mirth from out the slender flask, For daily frolic, and throughout the night Th' unwearied dancers whirl in many a costume bright. XIV. The Corso, given up to pleasure's whim, Yields Trade a captive bound in trappings gay; Rome's fairest faces overflow the rim Of balconies unnumbered, and array A mimic war with men, a storm of clay In whitened pellets pouring, or by flowers Exchanging kinder token. Then the way Is coursed by frightened steeds, or evening hours See tapers oft blown out ere maidens seek their bowers. XV. Or gaudy chariots, ranged in bright parade, Delight, succeeded by the wiles of fire In many a rainbow hue subdued and made The sport of men, as Samson, who in ire Might, free in strength, have swept with fury dire The laughing throng before him. Thus the pride And force of soul that raise our natures higher Must sometimes turn for witless mirth aside. And of the respite gain an end at first denied. 52 XVI. Now from the spell of Rome's eternal walls Turn thou, my muse, in sad farewell away To where the sun with warmer influence falls And Naples basks beside her opal bay. Loquacious in her oft-time holiday — Forgetful in the present of a past That dreams about her, wheresoever may The wondering vision turn, — a treasure vast Of history and song in loveliest setting cast. XVII. Her teeming streets betoken little heed Of outward peace. A merry people strive By fair or foul to quell their simple need Mid mud and flowers. Scarce can fate de- prive (Their food the highway fringing-), and, alive To mirth and music, leaving to the sage Or stranger all the treasures of that hive Of despoiled cities of full many an age. They joy in song and dance on famed St. Carlo's stage. XVIII. Yet what a dread o'erhangs the landscape fair, And the wide city stretched beside the sea, While that dark mountain cone in upper air Pours its pale cloud ! As some, by sad de- cree, Fear death may come e'en mid the banquet's glee In demon-haunted spasm, as some may fear A birth of shame, a poisoned cup, a tree Of torture, so^ from trembling year to year, Men smile with aching heart lest awful doom be near. 53 XIX. Stern mountain ! It was on a cloudless night When first we saw thee, and each tender star About thy crest paled in the broader light Of the full moon ; yet saw we from afar Upon the azure sky a sulphurous bar — Thy sullen heart evolving its own cloud, As hidden wrong doth part confession mar — And, 'neath its folds, the glow of fires avowed Within thy burning breast, awhile in penance bowed. XX. Ere many days, audacious we awoke To scale thy black and life-accursing side, Combating storms before our courage broke And naught of blissful vision was denied ; From Capri's purple rest to Naple's pride, The vassal hills beyond, sweet vales between, The shining sea where tiny vessels glide, Each timid village mid its pastures green, — All, as by angel's aid, in that Ijright hour were seen. XXI. But underneath our feet a monster lay Whose life was desolation. Though asleep, His angry murmurs gave the soul dismay, While, from his ashen jaws, adown the steep A hemorrhage of fire pouring deep Curdled in smoking folds upon his side. A countless host of monsters, heap on heap, Seemed mid some awful struggle petrified In the gnarled crust of that o'erwhelming lava tide. XXII. As the grim octopus, that being dread Of unknown ocean, near some sombre cave 54 G^ne-like reposes, with his Hfted head Eying the waters and a living grave Hid in his gliding arms, whence naught may- save The hapless victim, so Vesuve doth wait Clutching anon the beautiful, the brave. In its wide fiery streams insatiate ; Fair fields and cities hid by swift remoreless fate. XXIII. Pompeii, the distressing task is thine. And thine, sweet Herculaneum, to tell The ages of disasters which enshrine Your names forever — terrors that befell Your lives in few brief days, and made a hell And then oblivion of your home delights, — A grave of all wherein you loved to dwell, Exchanging emulous hours for gleeful nights 'Till death the curtain drew and quenched the theatre lights. XXIV. The mountain's wrath upon your glory came In that dire time; nor ever malice sped Amid the gaps of error as the flame Of lava to your banquet and your bed; Nor ever hath fierce tyranny o'erspread The slave's scant joy as did the sombre pall Of ashes drift on your distracted head. With smothering horror merging wall to wall And whelming meekest age and weakest child- hood all. XXV. Sealed up alike from Time's corroding touch And man's unhallowing need by Will Divine, Your shroud is lifted now, nor men too much May marvel at revealings which combine 55 To marshal jealous centuries in line And prove the human heart as still the same, The brain as active then, the skill as fine. For life's essential joy, since Science came That men might not lose hope from Art's declin- ing fame. XXVI. Men marvel, for all things of household use. All implements of toil or tradesman's need, Of sport or skill or crafty war's abuse, The artist's work, the lawyer's blackened deed, The baker's loaves, the farmer's varied seed, All labor's products, countless in array, Mock, to our gaze. Time's centuries of speed Raised, Phoenix-like, from ashes to the day, Where roofless walls yet vie in decoration gay. XXVII. But shop and temple, mill and rich abode, Proud tomb and wheel worn street, are all forgot When we behold the sculptor's dext'rous mode Of casting nature's counterfeit, the lot Of many a life revealing when the hot And furious fall of ashes torture gave To face and form crouched in some hapless spot To find, unheard, uncomforted, a grave, By gods renounced and man all powerless to save. XXVIII. O little maiden prostrate on thy face. Or thou, in tender hope of motherhood. Thy ring-pledged hand in vain imploring grace. Or thou, old man, in calm submissive mood Lain down to final sleep, — what thought of good 56 In heaven was yours mid that last bitterness O'f broken love and life ? The heart's hot blood Throbs as we view ye with a strange distress, For pity knows not time when claiming woes' re- dress. XXIX. Faint echo this, Pompeii, of thy woe And, of thy joy, words vainly may pursue The flight of fancy as enthralled we go About thy streets and all thy life renew. All doors are open now : where once the few Sought favor, we can enter without fear. And where dwelt evil, walk, remaining true. And where the poor, find not a pleader near, And where the player trod, no ringing plaudits hear. XXX. Yet, prostrate Herculaneum ! in thee, Scarce half unburdened of the lava tide Which scorched thy very heart, our feet were free To pace a stage which tunnelled masses hide From the once smiling sky. Nor was denied A tumult, but it was the smothered roar Of heavenly thunderings mocking human pride, Sounding the depths appallingly, till more Our cavern seemed some dread Plutonian cor- ridor. XXXI. Gladly we sought, when that weird storm had passed. The treasure-plundered ruins 'neath a town That jealously o'erlooks them. Fate has cast Sadly their lot and, at her adverse frown. E'en the blue sea which, where yon steps run down, The slender feet of many a maiden kissed 57 In brighter days, has fled. The past renown Of marble courts some roses only list To keep in fragrance sweet ere they too shall be missed. XXXII. But do we these lost cities need to mourn, Or clamor judgment? Theirs was but the way Of all that blue sea's border. They were born Where nature urges pleasure ere delay Withers desire and but brief dismay Led them, complete, to an immortal reign Of resurrected grace. Without decay Of lingering years, they live to us again And stand like beacon towers on history's distant plain. XXXIII. They did not die like Curtius, seeking doom. Bravely supreme of soul, for other's sake, (Fame's loved ideal) nor in all the gloom Of long sustained adversity partake. In fortitude unbowed, the thoughts that make Men heroes — oft unknown except above. Nay ! but in chance and sudden call to break Life's treasure box so ruthlessly, they move Light-hearted, ill-starred hosts, to sympathetic love. XXXIV. With less dramatic tale, where Psestum stood. In prosperous days, the southern coast along, Three temples check the traveller as they brood In calm and stoic dignity. The song Of Grecian priests is ended, for the strong Hath triumphed over beauty, save in these Gray monumental stones which even wrong Seem to forgive in their deserted ease, Warmed by the genial sun and lulled by murmur- ing seas. 58 XXXV. From their repose we turned, and northward rode The devious way of that enchanting shore Where nymphs and mermaids well might have abode And poets find their muses evermore; Amid the glens and cliffs where streamlets pour Their tribute to the sea in white cascade, Where vineyards cling above the breakers' roar And fisher hamlets scarce their foam evade, Grateful in summer days for yon steep mountain's shade. XXXVI. There stretches calm Salerno and, beyond, Amalfi nestles, loveliest of the band Of white-robed sisters who, serene and fond. Watch that bright coast with tender hand in hand ; Where once these ruined towers made their stand With anxious vigil 'gainst piratic greed. Lured by the bounty which no stern command Of the brown sower prompted from the seed. And wealth of fortune's sons from civic tumult freed. XXXVII. Again we move, and leave Salerno's bay And each fair haven loathfully behind, Castellamare seeking and away To charmed Sorrento, where abruptly wind Great ridges to the sea and hold confined In loved embrace that refuge pledged to peace From dread Vesuvius, distantly defined Across the wave, and Naples' gay surcease. That spot where Tasso's muse ecstatic found re- lease. 59 XXXVIII. O lovely scene! it is a joy to live Before thy influence. The pulse again Beats to victorious march and memories give Enthrallment to each spot that owns the reign Of happy Naples, waiting in her train, Each with some tribute of her glorious past, Each in its own bright beauty robed to gain The pilgrim's homage, here by fortune cast, Who counts all perils light while such beguile- ments last. XXXIX. The hills are set with gardens, — as with gems A rich tiara, — where, serene, await The vacant halls of kings. Free pleasure stems The wayward tide to, by the ocean gate, Rest on those purple isles that float in state, Swan-like before the zephyr or the gale^ — Fair Ischia and Capri, willed by fate To yield the way to many a conqueror's sail, For Naples so beguiled, defence had light avail. XL. Phoenicians here, and Greeks, in ancient days Drove their adventurous galleys to the shore ; Resistless Rome possessed these lovely bays And held patrician pomp ; the Spaniard bore With haughty rule, forgetful of the Moor, Upon the careless people ; but, withal. Peace wrought her crowns surpassing those of war. Blessed by the muses whose seductive call Drew an immortal line to Fame's emblazoned hall. 60 XLI. What voice would venture to declaim the scroll That her charmed touch illumes, to fitly sing Laudations from the ostentatious roll Of stately warrior, emperor or king, In gilded armor passing? Who can bring The shade of Cicero to earth again, Or learned Pliny, or unfold the wing Of Virgil's mastery and Dante's pain ? Appalled, my muse but dwells on one fair wo- man's reign. XLII. I humbly sing, with love and lesser dread, Vittoria Colonna's meed of praise. Her guileless youth, in highest culture led. Abused not those proud dignities that raise The dizzy mind from truth, or knew the maze Conceit devises beauty to ensnare. Love gave her noble heart no rude delays, But from her childhood her Pescaro' rare Entered its priceless faith and learned a world to dare. XLin. He rose a hero in his nation's wars To early die, and all desire fled From her deep heart forever, while his scars In it had faithful counterpart and bled Through nights of childless grief. Then calm- ly spread A cohort from the soul, aggressive armed For noble deeds. Her ardent genius sped To its high purpose and a world was charmed By the impassioned verse that her pure love em- balmed. XLIV. And not alone the riches of her song But her wide influence took a fuller grace, 6i All men were awed by genius that no wrong Was kindred to, that sought with loyal face Exalted natures only for a place In her loved audience, that meekly bent To cheer the crippled children in life's race And dared to use all power by heaven sent To strip bedecked deceit from prosperous sin's intent. XLV. By the keen eye of virtue she discerned With noble welcome each regard sincere That pierced the mists of life and bravely spurned Those covert natures, disappointed, drear, Which foster intrigue, but at friendship sneer. Unfitted for its benediction sweet. Lacking the grace by which her voice could cheer Alike the poor and outcast of the street Or weary souls whom men with ostentation greet, XLVI. Of such was Michael Angelo, whose age Repelled, disdainful, malice-poisoned blame, Nor heeded witless praise — an august sage In Art's wide realm, whose dignity of fame Set narrow hearts aside. Colonna came With nature fitted his great soul to know. Revering aspiration more than name Or mighty handiwork, — as comes the glow Of sunset on vast cliffs which then their glory show. XLVII. In her, ideal grace of heart and mind Adorned ideal presence and dispelled, By guileless mirth and fancy unconfined And noble thought, the doubt his spirit held 62 If worldly lusts and sophistries had quelled All loveliness of nature evermore. She gently smiled, and that true friendship swelled Life's stream beyond the chilling years it bore, And flowers of peace renewed their perfume on its shore. XLVIII. Before such regents let my muse repose ; Upon the scene fond Memory surveys They fitly bring all glories to a close, They fitly end the throng that Fame arrays — One the high chief of art, whose genius plays With its fine snares and obstacles, and one Italia's truest loveliness portrays. As if in her fair womanhood alone Nature would challenge all ideal Art had done. PASADENA O fair Pasadena, as sweet as thy name Are memories of thee when distant I sing And give as a laurel my verse to thy fame, A chaplet whose leafage unwithered shall cling. The charm of thy beauty still glides to my heart In peaceful serenity, bright as a dream. And, though fate detains me reluctant apart. Again, in a vision, before thee I seem. Again I behold thee in rapturous rest, 'Mid orchards of orange and olive at ease, Watched over by many a snow-covered crest And lulled by the breath of the monarch of seas. 63 For jealously mountains and ocean divide Thy gentle protection their power between, As if they had nurtured no less than a bride Predestined to sit on the throne of a queen. The ocean bestoweth his mists as a veil, The mountain doth fashion a robe of her snows But over thy freedom they neither prevail Or lure from the joy of thy virgin repose. Content in thy maidenly beauty to lie In nature's luxuriant drapery bright, Thou hearest the wooing of valley and sky And amorous zephyrs in waiting delight. The smiles of the bright orbs of heaven are thine, In joy that their gifts may such beauty per- suade, Since all fairest flowers that earth can combine In color adorn or in fragrance pervade The couch of thy musing ; the pride of the rose, The heliatrope, fuschia and meek mignonette And lavish carnation their graces disclose And in a perennial passion beget Their sweet adulation. The violet sighs, The tulip, geranium and daisy contend To win but a glance of thy gladdening eyes. And hosts of white lilies from evils defend. Verbena and dahlia and heartsease await In all the fair legion no words can portray. While peach and magnolia and orange dilate Their blooms in a glory and pomp of array, And palm and palmetto in statelier line. The cycle plant armed for its lingering sleep. The cactus and pepper and laurel and vine And the dark eucalyptus their vigilance keep. 64 Kind Winter »vills not from his peaks to descend But ever contributes cool streams from his snows. From Summer's mad passion doth Neptune de- fend. Spring smiles at thy morn, Autumn charms thy repose. The bird and the butterfly^ every fair thing That lives on the sweets of thy fruit and thy bloom. That floats in the sunlight on rapturous wing And weds thy gay flowers of yearning per- fume — All haunt thy enchantment, youth's hope and de- sire, Beloved Pasadena, find joyous surcease, No longer for fame doth man groan or aspire Or age long for heaven, enwrapt by thy peace. 1897. (Written after a trip to Southern California.) THE PRAIRIE Lo, to the sight inimitably vast. The undulous prairie stretches to a line That seems to bound the future and the past, A mystic circle of a plan divine. Its anarchy of verdure far and wide Is bright with blossoms, like a foaming sea. Save that the petals spread in humble pride Of seed to bloom in ages yet to be. And, like the adventurous sail on distant wives Flecking the blue horizon, we descry, Perchance, a hovel where some outcast braves The wilderness when human greeds defy. 65 No tree the pilgrim to its shade invites O'er all the plain, no gladdening water flows, But changeless all abides through solemn nights And changeless liveth when the morning glows. Save for the varying seasons, from the green And multi-colored raiment of the Spring To Summer hues in ranker verdure seen And russet charms that Autumn chidings bring. To restless bees the blossoms give their sweets, The grasses sigh 'neath the tumultuous wind, Alternate rain or snow inclement beats, The cyclone's whirling lash leaves wreck be- hind: The vagrant's careless camp fire spreads its flame From service brief to lay a region waste, While, only, from its doom the timorous game, Despised of human skill, make desperate haste ; Since now the unwieldy buffalo no more Blackens the landscape wild — a wandering host, Nor roaming redmen craftily explore Haunts of the foe to win a chieftain's boast. Though man may claim, with avaricious mind, The wide domain no husbandmen possess. It lies as if abandoned, unconfined. Created and resigned, — a wilderness. Earth in her bare humility sublime Bows to the wide dominion of the sky, Watching its astral armies as they climb With steadfast march the blue plateau on high ; 66 Watching the burning of their countless lamps The torches their reviewing leaders bear. The drifting smoke of their assembled camps, Their signals gliding through the realms of air; Watching their virgin queen in each campaign She dares, while ever fleeing from the wiles Of day's enamored sultan, in whose reign And love the unclad earth awakes and smiles. Thus inspirations of the day and night Throng to the mind amid the solitude And, from the mighty space that greets the sight, Its thought is with a kindred range imbued. It learns to look beyond obstructions near That narrow its horizon and to see Life's aspirations with a vision clear, And joys to every striving spirit free, And from the heavy burdens others bear, The secret woes of hearts in sore distress, The groaning of the strong in guilt's despair, The sobbing of the weak without redress. It learns that, if the earth on which we tread Seems profitless and weary, hard and wild, There are exalting powers above us spread To make our lives and yearnings reconciled. Oklahoma, 1895. CATSKILL MOUNTAIN Upon the Hudson's silvery expanse The traveller speeds between its sentinel hills To banks whence the pavilions of their chief In proud encampment are beheld afar. 67 Mooring-, he threads the verdant intervale And, slowly climbing to the highest cliff, Stands mute in rapture. Backward o'er his course An undulous plain spreads boundless to the east And, winding o'er its midst, the river seeks In dwarfed humility some sheltering sea. Majestic States the beauteous scene divide Where once the redmen knew as little bound Or limit as yon eagle doth in air, Amid pervading forests which, with them. Have vanished from the bare and pleading earth Before the axe and plough of wiser might. Lo, in the charm of the declining sun A tenderer color warms the varied green Where tiny homes like daisies grow apace While, on the distant river, every sail Seems but a floating blossom. Far beneath The lanes of quiet vales appear no more Than the fresh track of some exploring worm And the plowed fields but spaces on a lawn Deprived of sods by some Cyclopean race. E'en now the sun is girded to depart And deeper shades succeed of purer blue. Then the wide shadow of the mountain heights Glides eastward over the illumined land Like an extending flood that merges all It covers in oblivion. Anon, It mounts from misty earth and scales the towers And dazzling battlements of soaring clouds That taunt the mountains dull stability. While yet the traveller gazes, he beholds Himself transfigured on their glowing front, A giant shape beyond all gift of fame, Then, as the brief dispelling of a dream, Doth his grey presence on the crimson mist Slowly dissolve in sombre evening shades. Now a cool hoyden wind doth herald wide 68 The coming night. Stars signal from their vast And solemn realm in growing multitude And mystery sublime, while far below The window lights of scattered dwellings gleam Amid the gloom as lamps of fisher boats Anchored anear the shore to wait the day, For, ocean like, the level landscape spreads In azure depth and early falling dew. Nor shall the traveller yet seek repose, For over dim forgotten parapets Of cloudland doth a silver radiance steal. Hail ! gracious moon, parting thy eastern gates And pressing every misty curtain back, Put off thine opal robes and in thy full Denuded beauty mount the softening sky. Scarce less a welcome doth the Greenlander Give to the arrowy radiance of the north, That mystic aureole of the polar Thor, Amid the long enduring sway of night, Then every young heart of the country side Accords th}^ monthly regency. No more. Shrouded in darkness, doth each household turn From waning embers to consoling sleep But gaineth genial hours now between The arbitrary sun's commands of toil. Dark motes appear upon the moonlit lanes In ant-like haste and distant sounds are heard Of roadway songs and joyous laughter clear. Some home is bright in hospitality, The dance proceeds, the ample feast is spread And men and maids unite in honest mirth Until their steeds are weary and the dogs Have howled the tidings onward miles away. With midnight, all the revellers have gone And but the owl with his soft bassoon Soundeth his watch at dismal intervals Until the shrill fife of the cock at dawn Stirreth his drowsy harem's darkened rest. When the glad traveller ends his longer sleep 69 What wonder doth await th' astonished sight, What scene confound, in earth or heaven dis- posed ? Doth he confront reaHty or dream? The sun stands regal at the dazzhng east All canopied in purple and in gold, While, widely spread below and far beyond, A snowy plain appears, such white expanse As screened the mystic birth throes of the world. The clouds have bowed themselves in reverence. Prostrate and silent as an angel host With pearly pinions folded. Not a trace Of earth appeareth, but ethereal realms Have sent their legions down and spread a path Of golden palms for day's effulgent king. Oh, icy plains of northland, steadfast drifts Of Andes or Alaska, ye are chill And heavy winding sheets forever bound Which man may shun or tremble to behold, But here the snowy apparition floats, A veil of nature's sleeping loveliness. For, when creation in an hour of prayer Hath worshipped its Divinity, the winds. Descending from the mountain, break the spell That holds the floor of heaven, touch the wings Of the bowed clouds until they softly rise Swaying together and extending up Their spotless pinions, while the sun rides on In shining raiment and, munificent, Scattereth gold about him. As his course Mounteth the azure heights, the waiting mists Spread their light wings and joyfully ascend To their accustomed regions, while the earth Smiles 'twixt their shadows and extols the day. Its dewy blossoms open, its sweet birds Sing matinals, the brief confiding prayers Of childhood lips from many humble homes Rise swifter, higher than the fleecy clouds^ Bearing the sweeter oiTering of souls 70 To the Eternal Spirit Who hath wrought All light as emblem of the Truth Supreme All beauty as a pledge of Love Divine. 1871 ON AN ADIRONDACK LAKE Tonight, fair lakelet, from thy shore I free my lightly poised canoe And then, with gently sweeping oar, Speed outward on thy waters blue. The sleeping cedars that enfold Thy rippling sheen are dark and dim But in their shadows I behold The lilies floating at thy rim. Above, the moon's unclouded light Scatters the starry host apart And charms, serene, the deepening night. While argent mists like spirits start From distant bays and tangled glades, Untrodden but by thirsting deer. And melt until a glow pervades The opal tinted atmosphere. Then, as I pause for deamful rest. Out of the mist there comes to me A fairy presence, self confessed The queen of all the realm I see. Like a great night moth winged, she flits Coyly about my light canoe. Then at its point so gently sits That not a ripple spreads to view. 71 Silent I gaze beneath her spell Until, like flute notes echoed near, The fairy's accents softly tell The secrets of her mission here — The mission of her myriad band, Invisible to mortal sight, Alert to serve her least command In gladsome rounds of day and night, In all of nature's high intent. To silent serve with magic skill, While loveliness with peace is blent And harmonies its cycles fill. And bounty from its fullness grows. Thus love and joy pervade his soul Who haunts its solitudes and knows The mysteries of its sweet control. Long musing of this world unseen, My reveries find oblivion, Then, at my light canoe's careen, I start, — The fairy shape has gone. I wait, but only mists abide And, taking up my slender oar, Above the limpid depths I glide To gain the balsam-scented shore And leave thee with reluctant heart, Fair lakelet, to thy midnight swoon. Guarded by every fairy's art, In full enchantment of the moon. 1894. 72 DUDDINGTON [This was the name of a mansion of the Car- roll family which, with the block of ground on which it stood and which was the remnant of a large estate, remained high above street grade a few blocks south of the Capitol until 1885-6, when both dwelling and plateau were razed for "mod- ern improvement."] Written in 1885. Wandering far upon an afternoon Of bright beguiling Spring time, I beheld And entered stately Duddington which soon Shall pass away among the things of eld. E'en as yon giant tree so lately felled Within the grove that centuries have grown, So shall its life be stricken, so dispelled Vain memories as its wilted leaves are blown By mutinous winds which oft the ancient house bemoan. Its walled domain a wooded island stands With cliff and cape above each vandal street Bounding its acres, — once extended lands Where swept the vision o'er a princely seat, — Full many a gentle hill and meadow sweet Spreading below to bright Potomac's stream, — A landscape formed for rapturous eyes to greet. Now levelled for the human pens that teem Across the checkered waste to mock the painter's dream. Nor have its fair possessions been resigned To nameless thousands only. One proud hill Was granted when accordant States combined To honor their paternal chieftain's will And build their power on it to fulfil The destiny of liberated man. And, from the garden, now o'ergrown and still, We view in stately marble that proud plan The nation in young faith on Carroll's soil began. 73 Then, ere the Capitol had won away The glory of the motherly estate, Or dreamt that all her beauty should decay, Fair Duddington gave welcome to the great Whose virtue had been mighty to create A self-controlling people. In her halls The brave and eloquent oft lingered late. And through the minuet of stately balls The fairest women stepped that fondest age re- calls. Here the "Three Graces" drew their lovers' feet And turned the gaze of each attendant guest, Here the high envoy of the papal seat Took genial relaxation and confessed But happy subjects. Statesmen welcomed rest And diplomats from many thrones of earth Who came at hoyden liberty to jest, Found in the social throng at Carroll's hearth Such noble hearts and minds as best can yield to mirth. Prompted by household tales, the eye can see, Crossing the lawn and curving gravelled way In rattling coaches, many a company Of gentry in the picturesque array Of bygone fashion with its tresses gray ; They throng the hallway, each high room invade. Stroll in the garden, join in shuttle play. Drink of the dairy's wealth or, by the aid Of liveried zeal, partake the sumptuous feast ar- rayed. O joyous past ! O rhapsodies of youth ! Sometimes so far, and yet so little gone. Each house hath haunting dreams but this, in truth, A retinue its past can claim alone, 74 So richly robed that nothing can atone For time's indignity. Nor wedding more Nor birth nor feast shall closing record own, Nor even death may enter as before. Alas, that none is strong to save and to restore. Where now are all its votaries of mirth? The elder have no longer pride or care, Their faded raiment only left to earth, The younger need no powder for their hair. The very walls that sheltered brave and fair. These are to fall untimely. E'en the mound. Their lofty pedestal, before the share Must disappear, as if the very ground Of Duddington refused a burden less renowned. Thus, like a vision, shall the old estate Flee sight or touch, and, mourning for its fall, I leave a slender chaplet on its gate, A brief memorial, ere the dreary pall Of modern greed shall overwhelm it all. Slaying a stately sentinel of the past In every falling barrier and wall. As youth's desires, which have clung so fast. Are, one by one, in age from brooding hearts out- cast. 75 MOUNTAIN LIFE [At the author's summer abode, Indian Rock, on Stonyman Mountain, Va.] I dwell upon a mountain brow That seems to scorn all human care, Begirt with rugged oaks that bow Before the torrents of the air. Mine eyes delight in clouds that wreathe The kingly summit they revere, My nostrils in a rapture breathe Its death defying atmosphere — Its wind that, with ambrosial kiss, Throughout my wearied being steals And some uncomprehended bliss To every grateful sense reveals. Toil seems a pleasure to the frame Redeemed from heated vales below, The blood leaps like reviving flame From a regenerate heart aglow. The mind seems all at peace with fate. Forgetful of its every wrong. In new ambition raised elate And, in a truer courage, strong. From brooding doubt it wakes again To hold abiding life more dear And banishes distrust and pain From high and pure existence here — Existence where all love and truth, Unharassed by the world's deceit, From nature gain rechristened youth And freely make their offering sweet. 76 Oh happy heart, well mayst thou find That no restraint thy fullness mars When thou art so above mankind, So near the influence of the stars. 1894. INDIAN ROCK (A NOCTURNE) The tenderest moonlight on Indian Rock Is shining" where chestnut and oak interlace And flecking the pathway with shadows that mock The fingers of all but a wood nymph to trace. i It vies with the lichens to mottle the ledge And dapples the sumptuous mosses so green With fairy rings, in the ferns on the edge It dances while gliding their arches between. Each tree trunk with silvery tablets it decks For fancy her sweetest of dreams to record, The deep spreading shadows it daintily flecks And fondles the wild blooms that sleep on the sward ; It falls on the hammock that listlessly sways In the night wind and then I, astonished, be- hold A fairy enchanting who smiles as I gaze, Her form lightly pressing each pendulous fold. Reclining in graceful abandon of rest, The beautiful presence revealed to my sight Lies silent, in reverie's rapture confessed, Her nature attuned to the symphonic night. True queen of the rock, to its magic complete, She mingles her witchcraft with that of the moon n And ever her mirth or her sentiment greet And hold me entranced or arouse me as soon, For sentiment dwells in her magical eyes And mirthfulness mockingly plays at her lips, She gazes, and love no sweet triumph denies, She laughs, and despair from expectancy slips ; And still, as she sways in the light or the shade, I watch the fair face with a longing untold Until a kind cloudlet its shadow hath made And the amorous night wind hath whispered "Be bold." Then I kneel at the side of the vision so fair But, lo, as I seek to embrace her, she springs And glides to the rock, like a spirit of air, Where, smiling compassionate, softly she sings — "Ah, mortal so ardent, thy passion begun Is all to the fairy nature unknown. It bumeth our wings as the heat of the sun, No gift of such love for its harm could atone. The love that we feel hath no sorrow or fright. The heart is refreshed as by grace of the dew. It liveth serene as the moon's fullest light, Forever confiding, eternally true ; It sendeth no fever or jealous unrest. It knoweth no sighing or lingering tears, It giveth alone what is purest and best And thus our lives have no limit of years, For passion that blooms like a peach tree in Spring Is sated in fruit and in Autumn is bare. While love in our hearts blossoms ever, to bring But beauty and joyfulness, free as the air. 78 So live thou and we shall bestow to thee long Our charm for thy bowers, our art for thy gain, I leave thee, but list to my followers' song — She vanished, and then came their gentle re- frain. From the world's toil and strife, Doubting and dread, Up to the mountain's life Lo, we have sped. Here in the moon's delight. Here 'neath the stars. No sorrow bringeth blight, No trouble mars. Here in celestial air, Life's truth we find And, from all doubt and care. Pure hearts unbind. True life is only love. Full trust its peace, No joy endures above Such high release. As nature's beauty blends With bounty sweet. So mortal grace transcends, Led by her feet. Nothing in selfishness Kept to decay. All of its means to bless Love gives away — Gives and no treasure asks. Joyful to gain 79 Good, in its willing tasks Ever to reign. Thus, amid moss and fern, True to our queen, Gladly her will we learn. As thou hast seen, And by her grace we sing Ere we depart, Let every good we bring Gladden thy heart. With silence, I long in the hammock reclined, From whence the bright presence affrighted had flown, And, kissed by the moonlight and sorrowing wind, I mused, of the love of the fairies, alone. Stonyman Mountain, 1895 A WELCOME TO INDIAN ROCK [Read at a Lawn Party given, on the author's estate, to sojourners at Stonyman Camp, August 23rd, 1898.] All welcome to the guests who flock To-day like birds to Indian Rock And grant their beauty, wit and grace So briefly to this garden place ; All welcome to the few who lend Their varied talent, to the end That music and dramatic art May give each sense a joy apart. Here shall smooth pathways lead your feet 'Mid beds of mountain flowers sweet 80 To sloping lawn whereon the dance May young and old alike entrance, To shaded ledge from whence the eye Shall many a distant range descry And view, bathed in the sunset's glow, The fertile valley far below. Here may each guest find full content In gay pavilion, garnished tent, And, by the Rock, a feast select From tables all with ferns bedecked Or in the spacious Lodge arrayed By kindly mountain nymphs who aid Your host in every earnest plan To please alike the inner man And inner woman and employ Even the craving inner boy. How changed the scene that we survey In present social concourse gay From scarce a hundred years ago ; Then trees, that yet above us grow, Doubtless beheld the red men here Securely camped, without a fear Of any paleface, though their gaze Saw his keen axe their forests raze Along the spreading vale to yield Him harvests from each furrowed field. His musket ever primed at hand To guard his hut and conquered land. Here the red warriors long defied On pathless heights the Saxon pride Of new possessions, venturing down These wild steep canyons, with a frown Of hate upon their brows, to smite Their foes, by wily craft, at night. The firebrand and deadly bow Their vengeance spreading far below Ere, with untiring silent feet, They gained once more this sure retreat 8i Amid the clouds, to grimly rest Like scornful eagles in their nest. Here did they, with a lighter care, Pursue the deer or bait the bear Or shape, when life was dull and sere The flint heads of the dart and spear, Which now we sometimes gladly find. Here did the squaws in patience grind The maize they gained with little toil In open glades from stony soil, Or fashion gorgeous battle gear For braves whom they might well revere,- While each pappoose of blinking eye Scorned, in its chieftain blood, to cry. Now all the past is warp for dreams, Yet still your poet's fancy deems Some parody of olden times May linger in his fieeting rhymes. Some old braves still, in care's release, Gather to smoke their pipe of peace And, while the fragrant weed inspires. Tell of exploits, about their fires. While younger limbs pursue the dear And thread the forests far and near And strive in sports or find delight In stealthy prowess after night. Here, for each growing chieftain's sake. Fair squaws still gaudy trappings make And tan their skins and grind their corn Twixt ivory molars. Here they scorn The trails of civilized conceit And scale the heights with active feet. Here many maidens hunt their gane Whom braves should only win b)- fame And prowess worthy of their grace And charms of nature as of face, Who, if these braves are near or far, Let nothing their enjoyment mar, 82 Find mirth in every circumstance, Lead gayly in each tribal dance And leave in every lodge and tent Some bounty with their merriment. These all, who now about me stand, I welcome with a cordial hand And seem in thought to greet as well The guests that in our memories dwell Of other weeks and seasons bright, That all may share the true delight Which, in this mountain atmosphere. Draws natures, to themselves sincere, Into a kinder, fuller trust Of friendship honest, helpful, just. THE LODGE OF HEATONAWA [Lines complimentary to Misses Jeannette and Laura P , authors, after their visit to Skyland in August, I902.]. Where the Blue Ridge parts the valley Of the winding Shenandoah From the lands of the Potomac, On a high brow of the mountain. Standing as a mighty wigwam. Standing as a chief of red men. Rests the lodge of Heatonawa. Far above it shouts the summit. Rising in a rugged glory, "Who within thee seeks a shelter. Dares to live in this my cloudland. Ventures to abide so near me?" Far below the peaceful valley. Spreading to the Massanuttan, Gently whispers "O thou dwelHng High above my fields and rivers, 83 Tell thy brave my bosom giveth Sweeter nurture, safer hiding." But, beneath his roof contented, Heatonawa, though he heard them, Heard the valley and the summit In their pleading and defiance. Sat as if his ears were covered, Sat in joy of his possessions. In the shade of oak and chestnut. Of the birch and of the maple. In the rustle of the pine trees. Sat he, by his door, beholding All the beauty of the flowers. There were columbines and daisies, Golden rod and tiger lilies, Laurel blooms and every blossom Of the mountain in its season ; There were flowers of the valley, Lovely in their briefer triumph. Charming in their richer colors, While among them all in eager Searching for their hidden sweetness. Flapped the butterfly emblazoned, Buzzed the bee in zealous hurry. Darted humming birds as quickly As a poet's thought that flashes, Charms — and, lo, is lost forever. In the lodge of Heatonawa There were many skins and hangings, Fair embroideries of maidens. Many stores and many vessels, Many warmly covered couches. For he often to it welcomed Such as might partake his pleasures, Whether of his tribe or others, Chieftains and their squaws together. Ruddy youth or gentle maidens, — All gave joy to him in sharing Simple comforts of his dwelling 84 And the peace pipe by its fire. So it happened, when the corn stalk Bent its sheathed ears and tassels, Meek as ever truest worth is, When the moon in golden fulness Was a long enduring beacon In the hunting grounds of heaven, In the prairies of the cloud drift. Came two maidens of the westland To beguile the lonely chieftain, — Jeannetaka of a spirit Merry in the plumes of fancy, Laurababa, gentle natured. With a soul of lofty visions ; Came they both with reeds in blossom. Wands of magic they had gathered From a field of incantation. Found in weariness of toiling. On the mountain brow they rested. Gazed upon the misty valleys. As an ocean stretched below them With the hills as crested billows. Asked the rocky cliff its legends, Drank from icy springs it gathered, Heard the birds' responsive voices. Watched the buzzards, skyward soaring. Watched the chipmunk in the branches, Dreamed before the crimson glory Of the sunset, and awakened To the moonlight's long enchantment And the starry host so near them. Then, in many silent trances. All the healing of the cloudland Gave them strength of hand and spirit, Gave them newer inspiration. So they in the lodge divided Mystic tongues and patient labors, Cunning arts and high endeavor. Where they sat the flames grew brighter, 85 At their touch the brazen bearings Of the fuel shone resplendent, At their speech the evening shadows Softened in the glow of feeling, Faded in the light of laughter, And their presence held the sunshine Steadfast as the days succeeded. When, at length, with Summer's ending, Jeannetaka, Laurababa, Rose, like rested birds of passage, For a flight to other regions, Still prevailed their incantation. As they vanished from the Skyland, From the lodge of Heatonawa, 'Mid its waving ferns and flowers. Not a cloud was in the azure, Not a mist the valley troubled. And the mountain said "Behold me Vestured in my richest raiment, In the morning sun exulting, That ye may, O gentle maidens, Often in your thoughts remember Clifif and field and grove and bower. With a longing heart remember All the cooling winds of heaven. All my peace when ye are weary. And, upon another season, When I smile upon the valleys, Seek the lodee of Heatonawa." UPON AN OLD VIRGINIA ESTATE. Though Autumn bids me seek my task again, My thought in fond beguilement lingers still Where, better known than any lofty hill, Were brave and fair whose memories shall reign When now neglected tombs no more remain 86 Or stately mansions stand to mourn the ill Of alien dwellers who presume to fill The chambers of immortal ones in vain. But there abides domain where, though the clay And stone are failed, still may pilgrims find The spirit of the past without decay, The lineage true, and, after greeting kind. Know that the best endureth there to-day In graceful beauty led by cultured mind. THE WHITE CITY [Written a year after the World's Fair in Chi- cago.] As changing seasons dull procession make, I turn to blissful memories aside And muse, as near a loved one who hath died. Of yon entrancing city by the lake It grew a lasting sorrow to forsake. Long have I gazed upon her in her pride Of snowy raiment, held her deified. Upon her throne majestic, to partake The homage of the ages. Now, behold, The sparrows live that chirped upon the shore At her creation and her charms untold Of beauty, grace and strength abide no more. A living dream of wonders manifold. What miracle her glory can restore? 1894 GRANADA Farewell, Granada, bosom of the earth In all the bounty that the sunlight dowers. In every charm that Nature's grace embowers. Thy nurturing breast is worthy love's true birth, 87 Thy groves and gardens fitted for his mirth, For his enamored years the fragrant flowers And orange blooms, the nightingale through hours Of moonlight vigil singing passion's worth ; But in a higher zeal, the ranging eye, Passing from plain to mountain, rests its gaze Upon thy lone Alhambra and, anigh, On walls that tell of Christ's or Caesar's praise. Then may the Moslem hear a Christian sigh And e'en a contrite prayer to Allah raise, Granada, 1881. THE YELLOWSTONE PARK. On the new world's proud crest a wide domain Of might mysterious supreme abides In Nature's vast creation, here she hides The vessels of her alchemy to gain From chemic secrets and the stress and strain Of throes volcanic and contending tides Of cycles all her wonders ; here she rides Amid the clouds majestic in disdain Of man's control, here cleaves the groaning earth In awful gorges, stains its whitened crust With many dyes, gives boiling cisterns birth And fierce eruption in Plutonian lust Of harm ; A^et here a lake in splendor lies, A peaceful font of blessing from the skies. 1903 88 POEMS ON LOVE THE MELODY OF LOVE At times, when an orchestral leader stands With beating rod, — a Moses at the rock Of Meribah — and smites with sudden shock Fountains of sound from the impetuous hands That move miraculous to his commands. There glides beneath loud themes that interlock Some gentle melody conceived to mock At tumult like a brook in flowery lands ; And so of love^ amid life's care and pain Or pomp or strife, whose instruments combine Clamorous around, there flows a bUssful strain Of music through the heart, so sweet, so fine. That, when its charm is found, no griefs remain And life seems less terrestrial than divine. 1890 MUSIC OF THE WIND A minstrel on an autumn night Two musing lovers saw And from its case with gilt bedight Did his guitar withdraw. To many amorous strains it thrilled Beneath the player's hand, Yet, though it all his art fulfilled. No plaudits could command. Anon he ceased and then the wind Swept over his guitar And seemed a blissful song to find. Far floating from a star. 89 The lovers turned with eager ear To catch the theme divine And, as it drew their spirits near, So did their arms entwine. "Thus," said the maiden, "to the heart No skill love's music brings. But, all unbidden, it will start When heaven sways the strings." LOVE GROWTH Comparing life to aeons, love proceeds As the stalactite and stalagmite grow From drops of heavenly birth that silent flow And, trembling, leap the void of earthly needs. The woman's heart above expands and feeds Of its excess man's quickening heart below ; In sure direct approach they firmly know A faith that neither time nor doubt nor darkness heeds. At length they meet in rapturous delight, They blend together as a beauteous whole. Seamless and true, in love's renewing might, Grace guiding strength yet stayed by strength's control, In one fixed column noble to the sight^ Perpetual in affinity of soul. 1899 LOVE "What call ye love ?" saith one of spirit proud. Give heed, I answer. Once my fate was cast Upon a stormy ocean. Near the mast I watched it tracing labyrinths in the cloud When lo! while sheltered mortals sobbed aloud, 90 Two plaintive land birds, fluttering on the blast In uttermost despair, came helpless past Yet whirled i' the lee and gained the moaning shroud. There, happy tokens to the toiling crew, They clung a moment safely. Then away From final hope the arrogant tempest blew One outcast. Had the other strength to stay ? O might of love ! she would not, for she flew, Following her mate through requiems of spray. 1886 THE DAWN OF LOVE A loveless life resembles ghostly hours Of later night when all is dark and chill, A time of silent birds and folded flowers When sullen earth exhales its vapors ill. And one who wanders from a sleepless bed Stumbles in doubt upon his unseen way. He shrinks from nature's touch as from the dead And finds in each black rivulet dismay. Within his breast the present and the past Their trouble with the outer gloom combine, His destiny seems in misfortune cast And hope and courage every dream resign. But lo, along the clouded eastern sky, The shrouding gloom decreases and there grows A pallor to the anxious watcher's eye That presently a silver clearness shows. As spreads the trust of friendship in the mind And banishes its sorrows, so expands 91 The argent radiance upward unconfined, Dispelling darkness from the swooning lands. The birds of hope essay their early song, The damp of night appears in pearly dew Of penitential beauty and along The rivulet its clear depths charm the view. Then tints of purple and of gold pervade The eastern light and, floating into air, The sun of love triumphantly has made A conquest of the weary watcher's care. All wide possessions, doubtful in the night. Are now in verdant grace about him spread, Joy's waiting flowers open to the light, The doves of peace soar grateful overhead And all his heart expands, in bliss unknown Amid the darkness, to extol the day That bringeth safety, life and joy alone And harvests which shall every care repay. THE CASTLE OF LOVE. A castle that true love endowers Can nevermore crumble away. Though lighter stones fall from its towers. Those fixed by devotion shall stay. Foundations of truth and of pureness And bastions of honor and trust And high walls of sentiment's sureness Can never be strewn in the dust. Nor can hearts, if worthy of gaining The rapture these towers enfold, Believe that, true vigil maintaining. They yet may but ruins behold. 92 Sweet fancies, the battlements carving, May flee in a storm from their task, Desire may plead she is starving While waiting the bliss she would ask. But, ever within at their duty. True hearts are erecting secure A stronghold of firmness and beauty That, while they exist, must endure. Where, whether besieged or at leisure. They still in their wealth can delight And know bliss without the world's pleasure And faith beyond enmity's might. Fond hope, with her whispers so tender, Shall make them forgetful of rest Until, without dream of surrender. They finish their walls to the crest. Aye, finish each turret and tower And raise every banner on high To prove true love's patience and power In deep and unending supply. LOVE REIGNS. Ah, Love is still reigning, his sway is unbroken And Youth, his fair herald, proclaims him the king, By every sweet grace and by every kind token Of eye and of heart, by each gallant word spoken, By every clear peal that the wedding bells ring. He asks his dominions, while, early responding From every broad zone that old earth doth com- bine, Fresh manhood and maidenhood, willingly bond- ing 93 Their all to his service, converge at his shrine, And hearts shall be mated, though loiiely as thine. In the olden time highway bescattered with roses, Meet young men and maidens through ages the same, And feet pace accordant, each right hand reposes In one even pulsing, each bright eye discloses Tlie love that lips speak when they murmur a name. Thoughts turn from the past, as in present com- pleted, And see in futurity visions that shine Like planets unclouded, twin stars that have greeted The sight in conjunction of passions divine, And hearts shall be mated, though lonely as thine. Then sigh not, thou lone one, who, ardently dreaming. Art still far away from thy visions of joy, While searching all faces complacently beaming For concord of spirit and still vainly deeming Each newly found nature as free from alloy : The king in his pleasure may beckon beside thee Some maiden for whom thou dost hopeless repine Or, mirthful in humor, may choose to deride thee By richer bestowal than dream could define, And hearts shall be mated, though lonely as thine. Paris, 1865 THE ISLAND OF LOVE Stay, tender thoughts, how sweetly ye beguile This lonely evening as ye fly to me Like red flamingoes from some tropic isle Upon the bosom of an emerald sea. 94 An isle the radiant sun hath loved so well That it doth blush eternal with the rose On every side, in every watered dell And fragrant labyrinth its glades disclose; Roses that give their hearts unto the sight, In amorous abandon to the air Their perfume, as a language of delight, And spread a fairy pathway everywhere Of dewy petals generously cast From the abundance of their loveliness. That, if Love failed to kiss them as he passed, They, dying, would his very feet caress. And there are two transfigured in my dream Whom Love hath wafted to this isle alone To rule its solitude and to redeem A wasted past his grace can but atone. Nor, granting them dominion, need he stay, For all their blood is throbbing with the fire Of blissful freedom from the world away, And blessed barbarity and glad desire; A wild delight in being all apart And casting off the cowl of man's despair To live in Nature's presence heart to heart, With every fearless thought before her bare. With arms entwined, they walk their isle around And breast the emerald waves that lap its shore, Or, on the grassy sweetness of the jjround, Lie as the summer zephyr passes o'er. Then, restless from abounding life renewed, They scale the cliffs and gaze upon the sea, With all its mystic energy imbued And, like its ever ranging billows, free. 95 Tn joyous heart descendingf, they evade The tangled branches arching overhead With cUistered roses, and, from glade to glade. Wind onward by some new enchantment led, Until the magic of the twilight hour Makes every cloud a rosy isle above. And then, beneath some crimson petalled bower, Tliey yield them to an ecstasy of love. The silver moon amid the east appears. And still are long and ardent kisses pressed, And eyes are limpid as with blissful tears Before the twain are clasped in perfect rest. So day by day and night by night they live In purest joy of Nature's high intent That each from heart and mind and strength should give The best that she hath given to be spent. And, in a trust that never doubt obscures, And in a bounty measureless as light. Their souls serenely reign, their love endures Without a care and gathers newer might And newer beauty. As their bowers gain An opening bud for every leaf that dies, So Love bestows, for each forgotten pain, A living hope that spreads and glorifies. No thorn is found upon that island blessed, No thought of evil, hate or death invades, But eagerness of life and blissful rest Abound like songful birds amid its shades. O, ruby isle amid thine emerald sea. Held by two hearts that Love doth high enthrone 96 In perfect peace, may none discover thee Or mar their bliss who there would dream alone. LOVE IN SORROW To court fair woman's smile when all is well, The artful semblance of her love to gain. Is pastime any gallant may attain For gay conceit by wine freed lips to tell But when joy pales at the bewildering knell Of sorrow's discords or intolerant pain And gentle long forbearing eyes are fain To plead protection while afflictions dwell, Then may true manhood claim that fate bestows A higher mission under gathering care, A deeper love than any worldling knows, A braver task than earth's distrustful dare. And firmly front each threatening wind that blows In faith that storms will pass and heavenly mercy spare. New York, 1868 CONSOLATION In the silence of the night When the moon on high is sailing Like a lily in the stream And its soft pervading light, As a dense perfume exhaling, Pictures nature as a dream, Then, my spirit, if in pain Thou dost muse upon the weakness And inconstancy of love, Lift thee to the skies again, To the chastity and meekness Of the silvery orb above; 97 In serenity so calm Learn a hopefulness in waiting Until love shall reign in peace, Let this heaven floated balm Make thy sorrows, now abating, In some sweet hereafter cease. New York, 1869. THE LOVE OF THE IMMORTAL Two lovers lingered in a glen when the depart- ing sun Made beacons of its lofty trees while all the grove below Spread jealous gloom upon the stream's glad waters, which had run Impetuously from their birth amid the radiant snow. And darker were his eyes who loved and softer in their tears Than any shadow of the rocks upon that tor- rent's side, And dark his hair, but her's was fair as golden sand appears When glides the trembling sunbeam down be- neath the shallow tide. "O, thou strange rapture of my life," the lover said at last, "How often have I left thee here, forbidden to pursue, How vainly asked thee whereunto thy gentle feet have passed And watched with loving eyes thy form de- parting from my view. 98- When shalt thou nevermore depart and my abode be thine, Thenceforth the nest of every hope, the hive of all desire. Where but thy touch shall bring its bloom to every clinging vine, Thy kiss the altar of my heart illume with leap- ing fire." "O, lover fond," soft lips replied, while upon him were turned Her eyes of that cerulean blue which tints the sky of morn, "Thy heart already hath a flame as fierce as ever burned With offerings to jealous gods on high Olym- pus born. Its earnestness hath kept me here through many twilight hours. My soul hath half forgotten flight from its im- petuous grace. And if I loved the earth alone and its beguiling bowers, My hand should ever cling to thine, my face press to thy face. But now the season of my love is past, I must away To that ethereal realm concealed from any mor- tal eye. Where once thy dream freed spirit flew and, seen by mine at play, Was loved and followed even here, forgetful of the sky." The youth grew pale and from his gaze an agony of heart 99 LofC. Sought that fair presence fainter grown amid the dusky air He knelt to plead with eager hands, unwilling thus to part, And on his grief distracted lips words trembled in a prayer. "Have mercy, if thou art of heaven, and do not leave me yet. How should I know that maid so fair was not for love's delight? That of the earth or of the sky, thou wouldst so soon forget The passion thou hast tempted here and take thy final flight? Is there no tenderness untried which may thy soul detain. To pity me, no charm of eyes, no witchery of lips E'en on thy hand that will renew a bliss defying pain And give back to my breast again the peace that from it slips," The spirit trembled in the gloom, her blue eyes, sadder grown, Gave a libation of their tears upon the hand she pressed. Her light robe seemed a floating mist upon the wind whose moan Gave dreary echo to the sigh that struggled from her breast. "O heart too fond, is there no balm of earth to heal thy woe. No gracious strength to give me peace in realms where I return? 109 I cannot leave immortal joys to dwell with thee below And deaden in the love of sense that purer love I learn." There fell a silence. Then his words impetutously came. "If earthly passion may not dwell in thy abode unknown, Then let me cast away its woes, and make our realm the same, For if thou need'st leave me here, thou shalt not there be lone." A vision like a rising mist amid the gloom was seen And naught was heard save eddying stream and melancholy wind But prone a pallid body lay the air and flood be- tween And two glad spirits sought the stars to love eternal find. New York, 1873 lOI POEMS TO THE FAIR SEX [Written, in moods of gallantry or great admi- ration, to a number of persons ever honorably known, or as sentimental effusions of poetic in- dulgence, at times without individual subject.] A SONG TO NINE Ah, many minstrels oft have sung Of fair eighteen's attractions, I would not still their zealous strain Or join their gallant factions But, free from wiles that may prolong Their trance, I string this harp of mine To half their numbers and my song Is of the child of nine. What step so light, what eye so bright, What heart of pureness so divine? I sing the child so gentle wild, Tlie artless child of nine. She lives untainted by the touch Of worldly schemes and fashions. For love restains, the Winter's course. From its corroding passions, But, fairy of the Summer day. From grove and lawn her light laugh rings And, happy as the birds, as gay As theirs the song she sings. What step so light, what eye so bright, etc. Her heart is like a garden ground Upon a fair May morning, All dewy blooms of gentle grace Its innocence adorning, And from its depths her thoughts flow pure 102 As from its source the mountain stream Ere, scattered by the cliff's allure, No guidance can redeem. What step so light, what eye so bright^ etc. Brussels, 1865 WHAT IS THERE MORE TO SAY? O, lovely girl of seventeen, H, when thy face is near, No weariness can intervene And life seems full of cheer, If from the glancing of thine eyes A magnetism gay Robs every thought of vain disguise. What is there more to say? If I become so strangely bold. Sweet maiden, at thy side And in my veins, all uncontrolled. The blood in fuller tide Flows 'neath the sunshine of thy smile Like some clear stream in May Caressing every flowery isle, What is there more to say? If hope from her entangled vine Long planted in my heart Bids blooms of richer hue combine And newer tendrils start At every sentence from thy lips. If I in haste obey Each wish that from their beauty slips. What is there more to say? If there is more, it rest with thee The mystery to divine ; 103 Beware, a gaze may set it free From such sweet eyes as thine, A glance of sudden tenderness. One sympathetic ray. May make my trusting heart confess What more there is to say. 1866 TO A PRETTY GIRL You are lovely, sweet maiden, and know it. The glance of your quick flashing eye, The curve of your tender lips show it. Though these should pretend to deny. For who in the world can know better Why men often gaze at your face. Not rudely, but each one as debtor In seeing such beauty and grace? Distracted? Of course they confess it. You give them a fever or chills And, ere they can guide or repress it, Their heart shows its yearning or ills. And you, with a nice circumspection, In merry or artless disguise, Turn ever in some new direction •When love's soft miasmas arise. You are charming, nor may one reprove you Because such attractions are known, When many of those who may love you Vaunt riches less true than your own. Such treasures as oft are acquired By means of unscrupulous might. While nature gave ere you desired And waits to enjoy your delight. 104 Her gift is a bounty exceeding Of beautiful form. Is her grace The same in a mind of rare breeding We see in an exquisite face? O many a maid in confusion Has failed, but your delicate art, We trust, will perfect the illusion And pledge every worth with your heart. 1877 BEAUTIFUL GIRLS Oh, the girls, beautiful girls, What can compare with their spell to delight. Flowers and butterflies, diamonds, pearls, Peacocks and humming birds pall on the sight When the fair girls appear, Dainty as fallow deer, With eyes as tender and earnest and bright. Oh, the girls, beautiful girls, They make a paradise only for youth When the gay dance every votary whirls, When yearning eyes meet in bower and booth And the red blood runs high, Throbbing to love's reply. Holding desire the heart's only truth. Oh, the girls, beautiful girls, Merry and laughing and blushing and sweet. Lovely in drifts of entangling curls. Tapering fingers and light stepping feet ; Standing so strong and straight. Graceful, alert, elate. Each with some talisman pleasure to greet. Oh, the girls, beautiful girls. Winning the wealthy, the brave and the wise, 105 Conquering equally ploughman and earls, Princes who turn, though no glory denies, Careless of fame to rest Dreaming upon their breast, Lulled by the charm of their amorous eyes. Oh, the girls, beautiful girls. How they can solace the victims of woe That a hard fate from life's chariot hurls, Bring back the embers of hope to a glow. Give with their touch a peace_, By their soft voice release Men from all ills that they suffer below. Oh, the girls, beautiful girls. Turning old age from its sadness of heart, Leading it back from the thicket of churls Into the sunshine and joy of life's start. Scattering weariness, While they are near to bless. Rending ingratitude's shackles apart. Oh, the girls, beautiful girls. When my sere life shall have come to a close, Like a leaf fallen, that withers and furls. Daring to ask for the tears of a rose^ Then do I ask their sigh. Then would I have them nigh By their compassion to bless my repose, 1891 SONG (Written at Granada, Spain, June 9, 1881.) Where is the bird I gave, love, But yesterday to thee. The bird of sweetest voice, love, I heard in yonder tree ? 106 I caught it for thy joy, love, All treasurers thou should'st own, But now I see the empty cage And that fair bird is flown. Ah, yes, the bird has flown, love. Which thou did'st give to me, I let it from the cage, love. To seek again the tree, For all day long its mate, love. Was calling it in pain. And, as I yearned to have thee near, I made it free again. FOR COMPANY'S SAKE I went to my garden so early one morning To bind up my flowers, to trim and to rake And paused at a neighboring window with long- ing That Kitty would chance there for company's sake. Was ever my fortune so kind as to call her All blooming and fair with the roses awake ? She smilingly gave me a bright recognition And opened the window for company's sake. We talked for a while on the whims of the weather, I gathered a nosegay — the best I could make, And, giving it, asked her to enter my garden And with me explore it for company's sake. Then, all unsuspecting, she came and we wan- dered About in the paths that we happened to take, And quite unforeseen was my heart's invitation To walk with me always for company's sake. 107 No roses were fair as her cheek when she faltered And held me in trance that a whisper would break, No eyes were so bashful as her's when she yielded, To love me her life time, for company's sake. Philadelphia, 1866 RIFTS OF THE LUTE I won't dispute, even in fun, John, Contention is easy to start And too often when early begun, John, It ends in a thrust to the heart, 'Tis a taper that burns to the hand, John, A lash that recoils to the side, To the vision 'tis Winding as sand, John, And brine to the thirsting of pride. It shames all the past with regret, John, It darkens the future with fear And the gem on my hand that you set, John, Seems dull when dissensions appear. Then give me a kiss and a smile, John, Words tender as brought it to sight. That my heart may be joyful the while, John, And the diamond ever be bright. Philadelphia, 1871 JEALOUSY Oh heart, what a tyrant thou makest of me, I rule that all gates of my castle are free. That she whom I love may go whither she will With never a bond or a law to fulfil. But thou dost cry out thy impatient decree Of pathway or limit and govern me still. 108 Stern heart, how revengeful thou makest mine arm, I tell my beloved that no doubting shall harm, That she may meet all whom she willeth to know, And see faith but smiling, where'er she may go, But thou dost shout forth in a rage of alarm, "Count any one gaining her favor my foe." Mad heart, how I covet when under thy spell. In vain wisdom teaches the present is well, That pleasures now known should suffice for con- tent, That cares gather faster when joys are o'er spent ; Thou sayest^ "Give all to me or I rebel Until in my keeping all raptures are blent." A ROSE OF HERCULANEUM (Written at Naples, March i, 1882, to a fair Californian.) At ancient Herculaneum, i So long in death's repose. Within a rescued garden hung A lonely Winter rose. It mused, perchance, of golden days When every bloom was there To blush beneath the sun's full rays And perfume all the air, To win the choice of tender hands And over some fair face Glow, ruby like, in verdant bands. Due crown for woman's grace, While clear bird voices treble made To murmurings of the sea And lute and amorous verse arrayed Gave charming minstrelsy. 109 Then, as the lonely flower mused Of how its fate were cast, A maiden came whose face diffused A radiance of the past, The gentle ease, the winsome mirth Of balmy days of yore Revived in purer kindlier birth Upon as bright a shore — A shore beyond the dreams of eld Lulled by as bright a sea, With fame of charms and riches held And prophecies to be, A guardian of the sheltered place No longer willed to save The rose due to so fair a face And, plucking it, he gave. One moment on the stem it grew In pensiveness apart. The next exultingly it drew Life from the maiden's heart. But oh, how perilous the joy That new existence gave, The strange deep warmth that sought employ Its lovely bloom to save. Its panting petals swiftly spread, Infused with wild delight, A sweeter perfume from it sped, A rich glow met the sight. It lived transfigured for an hour On that fair breast complete, Then, lo, the petals of the flower Fell at the maiden's feet. no Raised from the memory of the past To all that hope could lend, Life was too rapturous to last And briefly reached its end. Thus, oft, when those indulged by fate Some unthought bliss attain, The heart's new realm is all too great And all too brief its reign. NO GREATER JOY Can there be any charm The stars above To every trouble calm Like the soul healing balm Of new found love ? Hath life the rapture here Of two, apart From every eye or ear, iWho pour their treasures dear From heart to heart? Can voice have any sound More pure and sweet In all the air around. When tender words abound With love complete? Doth aught resemble this On earth below, When every lingering kiss A rhapsody of bliss Doth long bestow? Dearest, we do not need To make reply III Lest any doubt succeed, We know love's truth indeed, Both thou and I. SEA DREAMS There is one whom I dream of when rocked on the deep And hilled by the tumult of billows and spray, Who comes, in her radiant face, to my sleep. Though lingering ever more distant away. Her spirit dwells near me and charms my repose, I seem to behold and embrace her again, To joy in the fragrance of lilac and rose As round me she weaves them in amorous chain. I speak to her, whispering softly her name. Half dreaming the while that she surely may hear, Half smiling, as if to my slumber there came Her ever fond answers in accents so dear. So lull me, strong waves, as I rest in your arms, Such dreaming is sweeter than vigil awake, Bring visions each night of enrapturing charms Until all the brightest are true for my sake. TO A FAIR FELLOW TRAVELLER As on the broad stream of Saint Lawrence de- scending, We surge through its rapids or mid its green isles Are lost but in joy while the labyrinth wending, How hasten the hours which pleasure beguiles. 112 We think not of perils in daring enjoyment And laugh at discomforts as fleeting and brief While thought becomes mirthful for lack of em- ployment And words dance to fancies in leisure's relief. E'en thus, my fair friend^ when young life is con- fiding And hope seems forever to dissipate fears, May pleasures continue and gain an abiding To stem the strong waves that must gather with years ; Such pleasures as always may bear thee above them. Such faith as is blessed with a mission divine. Then perils may foam but no more shalt thou love them, Then friendships increase but none surer than mine. Montreal, July 20, 1870 TO AN IDEAL Belle brunette, when I behold All thy charms of form and face, Every tale of Orient told Comes to thought in living grace. In thine eyes and ebon hair Moslem loveliness abides, Persian and Egyptian fair Wield the spell thy gaze confides, Spanish and Arabian belles, Stirring passion by a glance. Beauties of the Dardanelles^ Grecian maidens of romance, 113 Charmers whose ItaHan bl(X>d Sun and song and wine inspire, India's cherished maidenhood, Mystic sirens of desire; All, as I behold thee, rise As in day dreams and awake Love, stirred by thy long lashed eyei To distraction for thy sake. Zealously his art equips Every sweet perfection thine. Paints his bow on amorous lips. Makes thy breast his ivory shrine. With a smile thou dost command. With a gentle voice delight, Let thy lingering tender hand Bind me liege and faithful knight. Loved one, 'tis my heart that speaks But I ask no present word, Panting bosom, blushing cheeks Prove devoted vows are heard. Crown my yearning love's advance By the rapture of thy kiss. In emotion's sudden trance Pledging life's unbounded bliss. Guarded in my proud embrace. Thou shalt have no will to part, Thou shalt all the world efface, Dear sultana of my heart. 114 LOVE IN ABSENCE Merry and loving aild true Some one has promised to be, Faithful away, strong in delay, Joyful to hasten to me. Dawn on my sight, happy day. Bring me her bright eyes so blue Softly to say here she shall stay, Merr}'- and loving and true. Merry and loving and true, Why should my heart have a care? Brief is the night when such a light Makes life's horizon so fair. Come to my languishing sight. Each thrilling promise renew, Thou, my delight, queen in thy right, Merrv and loving and true. r Merry and loving and true, Ever so fondly again Still I repeat message so sweet, Crown of thy rapturous reign. Haste, tender lips I would greet, Haste, radiant face, to my view. Dear arms to meet, bliss to complete. Merry and loving and true. MY SPIRIT OF SUNSHINE My spirit of sunshine^ my fairy so gay, How much do I yearn for thy presence today, So gentle yet fearless, so trustful yet proud. In all thy blonde glory of tresses endowed. My nymph of the summer, my heart of the rose, How eagerly would I thy beauty enclose In arms strong with pleasure and selfish with pride To make thee a captive content at my side. 115 My muse of the hearthstone and fireside glow, How joyfully would T thy constancy know, Behold thy cheek answer the blush oi the flame At every endearment I link with thy name. My siren of starlight, my witch of the moon, I would thou could bind me in rapturous swoon With every dear accent love only can free To make me forget all existence but thee. TELL ME YOU LOVE ME Tell me you love me, dear, tell me once more, Echo the music again and again. Sweet as if ear never heard it before, Knowing I live on its blissful refrain. Tell me you think of me often by day, Peacefully, tenderly, deep from the heart, Wanting me, even if briefly away, Full of a trust that shall never depart. Tell me you dream of me fondly at night. Raising sweet lips for my kisses untold, Cherishing now every dear hope's delight When my aflFection your life shall enfold. Tell me, for each golden word is a bead Strung on love's rosary sacred and true. Joyfully counted at hourly need, To every pledge of devotion renew. THE DIAMOND NECKLACE Come hither, dearest, in thy rich array That I may see if any gift or art Or nature can enhance thy loveliness. Lo, as I lead thee nearer to the lamp ■ ii6 The diamonds of thy necklace scintillate As stars upon a saffron sky at eve, Or altar candles when the acolyte Doth touch them with a flame at vesper hour. Thus dost thou light these gems with downcast eyes Upon the snowy altar of thy bosom And at its shrine my heart doth worship thee. SUB ROSA (Upon knowing that a gift of rose trees would be kept at the recipient's bedside.) Thanks, my warm hearted friend, For the reply you send When you propose Hours of rest to spend Under the rose ; Under each branching tree Which, when you musing see. Oft may disclose Happiest thoughts of me Under the rose. Then, as you lie awake, May care its conge take, Each bloom enclose Sweet fancies for my sake Under the rose. And when in weary night Dark eyes repose, May, to your inner sight, Tenderest dreams delight Under the rose. 117 So, as at peace you rest, Life's petty woes Shall but in vain molest Trust of its true and best Under the rose. SLUMBER SONG Sleep, loved one, sleep. Charmed by the rest Love giveth best, It shall restore thee, Sleep, loved one, sleep. Sleep, fair one, sleep, Turn thy pure face Softly in place. Sure I adore thee, Sleep, fair one, sleep. Sleep, kind one, sleep, Close thy true eyes. Merry and wise. Victors so tender, Sleep, kind one, sleep. Sleep, dearest, sleep. Nestled so calm. Soft palm to palm, Sweet vows I render. Sleep, dearest, sleep. Sleep, true one, sleep. Cherish no doubt. Within, without, My faith assures thee. Sleep, true one, sleep. ii8 Sleep, brave one sleep, Striving alone, * Fate shall atone, Honor secures thee, Sleep, brave one, sleep. Sleep, fond one, sleep. Thy love is near Kissing thee, dear, Dream I caress thee. Sleep, fond one, sleep. Sleep, darling, sleep. Let any care Flee from my prayer, Listen, I bless thee. Sleep, darling, sleep. OF POEMS TO A FRIEND Scarce know I aught of verses I have penned, For sentiments have bloomed in words and died Full often as unworthy poet's pride, But what I write of thee, my charming friend. And to thee, thankful for thy greeting, send, I gladfully to memory confide As a perennial heart growth to abide. Whose branches with a clustered bounty bend, And though the fruit hath not the ripened hue On every stem of many a fairer tree, It is forever sweet in being true To every grace of womanhood I see And all perfected color doth ensue, As from the sun, when smiled upon by thee. IN HONOR OF A FAIR FRIEND Say not, oh lovely friend, that I am kind In doing what I may, thy will to please, 119 To give thy fancy food, thy leisure ease, To make thy laughter's music unconfined. Nay, kindness is a favor of the mind Serenely given, as one gives the lees Out of a wine cup when, on bended knees, Recipients may drink with pride resigned. But what I do comes from chivalric heart Which doleth not but urgeth of its best And richest vintages in grateful part For the confiding presence of its guest And, if the least I do hath any art. It shall to all thy noble life attest. HEART WEATHER When love abides I know not cloudy days Or hours of sunshine as I did before, I am not saddened when the rain drops pour Or joyful when I see the yellow rays Of earth's great lamp, but, dearest, when our ways From dawn to eve are parted, then no more Can any pleasure to my heart restore Faith that the sun is shining. Lo, I gaze Again upon thee and, though dark the skies Without to others, I behold them bright. For with thy presence happy love supplies A supernatural all entrancing light ; The weather of my heart rests with thine eyes And in their trust I know not clouds or night. BEAUTIFUL EYES Sweet eyes, O lady, mild and tranquil eyes Are those of thine, cerulean and serene As Como's liquid depths, when it is seen Beneath the morning joy of summer skies, Unconscious of the tempests that arise 120 On yonder Alpine peaks which intervene Between the pine and palm and, from between, Send down the paroled streams of victories. Do eyes so calmly arched merge with their peace The snows of chilling fate for every breast And prove that wisdom giveth high release To turbulent hearts, or, in the piercing test Of hate or love or sorrow do they cease To sooth the world and burn like all the rest? TO A MEXICAN BRUNETTE Thou dost not need to tell me, maid so fair, Thy blood is of a stately Spanish race. For I have gazed on many a lovely face In proud Castile, have sighed o'er raven hair Parted unequal, curtaining a pair Of eyes bewildering in all their grace Of ardent tenderness, have roamed apace Where beauty blooms in Andalusian air. And at thy sight my vision doth regain A rapture of that land beyond the sea. Yet, lest I muse a compliment in vain. And other likeness may poor homage be, Although, when thou art near, I think of Spain, When thou art absent, then 'tis but of thee. TO AN ARTIST'S DAUGHTER Fair friend, when once thy father gave The highest yearnings of his heart In youthful years of struggle brave To conquest in the realms of art, He also at love's bidding wrought His noblest picture in thy face, Giving it soul and gentle thought. Joined to a presence full of grace. 121 And Art this sweetest heritage Hath guarded with a tender care To make thy womanhood a pledge Of feehngs true and virtues rare, To make the spirit in thy breast A poem whispered in thine eyes, A charm to give the troubled rest, A joy to make the weary rise, For, princess of her blood, by thee And through a nature such as thine, She gives her faithful grace to see And further mount her path divine. TO A YOUNG ACTRESS Fair maiden, to a poet thou dost seem The incarnation of thy father's mind. Lifted in inspiration unconfined To high romance as in a noble dream Of true endeavor, and, as I may deem. Graced from fe. wedded love that well may bind. From years of faith and happiness behind, A full inheritance of earth's esteem. And, thus endowed, while thou mayst act in vain The guileful roles imposed at times by art. Thou canst but be thyself in richer gain When taking any gentle beauteous part. Since those who see thy life behold the reign Of every glad sincerity of heart. Denver, Col., 1900 LINES INTRODUCING A YOUNG AUTHORESS Prythee, mine ancient, by this script I send A maiden I would have ye holde as friende, 122 Seeing she hath so rare and choice a wit That of its arte are many bookes writ, Which, since I rede and have her goodly known Do leave me but with this confusion That, whilst I conned tales so fair bedight, I greatly wist to have the maid in sight, Anon, her knowing with such true liking, Her booke's laud I eke forgot to sing. Washington, 1892 THE COQUETTE (A Rondeau.) You heard me say it, "Must you go?" I surely did not mean it so. If thus you truly heard me say, I meant it quite another way And why I said it I don't know. Men talk so carefully and slow, They measure every undertow. But woman's talk is often spray And pretty foam and surface glow, They like to talk in voices low And men who hear it as they may Are very often led astray. I'm sure it was not "Must you go?" Yet — Can't you stay? New Orleans, 1892 PLAY, FOR I WOULD DREAM Play, my friend, for I would dream And thy music can dispel All intrusive cares that seem Often in my thought to dwell ; Play and, with a grateful heart, I shall for a time forget Every sorrow that my part Is to bear in patience yet. 123 Play, that I the while may rise From earth's all suspecting throng To a vision land that lies Higher than the clouds of wrong, Where each better thought can breathe Freer of ethereal air And restrengthened hands may wreathe Flowers over past despair. There my spirit still shall trust In the rare and sweet reward Of earth's noble ones and just, While they tread its sand and sward, Who can yet be so sincere That their presence shall redeem Hate and faithless passion here. Play, my friend, for I would dream. Philadelphia, 1867 A HIDDEN SONG BIRD (Verses addressed to a fair Charlestonian after hearing her sing.) O, why should such numberless blossoms exhale Their perfume where mortals can never attain, On mountains or fastnesses swept by the gale. Their fragrance all wasted, their beauty all vain? And why should deep ocean forever conceal Anemone gardens from wondering sight, Rose grottoes of coral no fay may reveal. Green traceries spread in an azure of night? Fair islands there are and vast forests unknown Whose matinal chorals man never has heard. Where Nature his struggle of soul may disown And bird give its joy but to ear of the bird. 124 The wise may proclaim that the God-wrought excess Of music, of beauty and infinite grace Suffices in wildest abundance to bless Humanity's toil in earth's loneliest place. But when, to some mortals, creation benign Accords its best favors with generous hand And wills, with an exquisite ease, to combine Gifts fitted our spirit and sense to command; When animate beauty makes higher appeal To vision than earth's choicest flowers unfold And melody comes to the ear to reveal A conquest of garrulous bird notes untold. When all is imbued with the spirit of art Concealing in nature the witchcraft it brings, When touch of the key board and mastering heart Stir lover or poet or saint as she sings ; Then all soulless charms of the world are forgot, The tint of the rose or the song of the bird, And earth seems a wilderness where man is not And man but an outcast with woman unheard. O give such a voice no unwilling retreat. Let life's brightest channels its affluence find, That all its pure fulness of melody sweet May gladden and solace the hearts of mankind. Washington, 1886 AN ACROSTIC TO MISS GERTRUDE GRISWOLD (Upon her success on the stage of the Grand Opera of Paris in the role of Ophelia in "Hamlet." Paris, July, 1881.) 125 G reat are the triumphs of the sweet today, E nthusiastic plaudits greet thy song, R ich praise from him who tuned th' immortal play, T hy voice sustains before the city's throng; R are vindication of a school of state U nused to favor^ now by thee repaid D oubly for honors rendered thee so late ; E ach of these joys is destined not to fade. G reat is today, but greater are past years R ipening the purpose of thy noble heart I n high resolve to overcome life's fears, S ustained and strong for an heroic part W hich makes stage fiction cede to nature's truth, O, of such zeal was Music's palace grand, L ost by an emperor, won by thee in youth, D estined to conquer in a foreign land. AN ACROSTIC TO EMMA NEVADA (Written in Paris in 1882 at the time of her suc- cessful debut at the Opera Comique in the "Pearl de Brazil." Published in Galignani's Messenger.) E ncompassed by the homage of the earth, M ajestic Cleopatra, Eg}'pt's boast, M ade mock of fortune, drinking in her mirth A precious pearl dissolved, a treasure lost. N ot so hath been the cup of thy true choice ; E ach melted drop of the Brazilian Pearl V ibrates, melodious, in seraphic voice A ttuned to nature's heart. Thou, — yet a girl, — D ispensest treasi-re thy true way along A nd makest earth the happier for thy song. 126 TO A LOUISIANA SOPRANO (Written while painting her portrait.) The bHss of art is not to strive for gold, Though serving it full often, but by song And brush and pen to right fate's daily wrong And gladden with their treasures manifold Those finer natures life can never hold Fully imprisoned in its weary throng, To greet those rarer spirits who are strong In art's diviner sympathies untold. So thou, fair lady, with a noble grace, Hast given joy of music's genius thine To countless auditors and while I trace Justly thy beauty, I do but combine Study of thy example with thy face And tell of others' gratitude with mine. New Orleans, 1892 SONNET TO A CHOIR SINGER When I behold thy countenance and know ' The life that helped to magnify its grace, To bring the spirit present in thy face And store thy mind so richly, to bestow Sincerity and meekness and the glow And balm of cheerfulness, I do but trace In thy enchanting song the fitting place And garden for such vocal flowers to grow. Thou art indeed a living temple fair, Thy voice its choir whose anthems never cease In memory, thy soul the altar chair From whence thine eyes do preach for good's release. Ah, such a temple, more than any rare Cathedral man hath builded giveth peace. 1894 127 A' PARTIN' FRAE MY DEARIE (Written in imitation of Bums. The theme taken from his one time intention of leaving his Highland Mary to better his fortune in America.) We stood sae dowie on the ship, My lass an' I thegither, Until the sughin' rope sud slip An' part us ain anither, I mickle soon to sail awa, Whilst she maun stay lamentin' Gin I war yet nae free to gae Where aye my heart was tentin'. I thought my achin' heart to screen By smile sae blythe an' cheerie, But tears cam tremblin' in my^pen A' partin' frae my dearie. The rope that tethered ship to shore, It owre the side was strainin'. But neist our hearts wi torture mair Was tighter bond remainin'. The croonin' rope would syne be cast. The rovin' ship be startit, But hearts maun houd thegither fast When claspit hands be partit. I thought my achin' heart to screen, etc. She stood sae lovin' at my side, My arm sae warmly pressin'. Her touch war like a risin' tide O' joy my heart caressin', I perrit in ilk gentle ee Blue as Loch Lomond's billow An' yearned to pu' her pow anigh An' mak my breast her pillow. I thought my achin' heart to screen, etc. 128 Why sud sic een to me be true Whase glint hae trapped sae mony, "Why sud ain lo'e me, tint to view, Wha ha a face sae bonny. I dinna ken, my heart is sair A broodin' o' its danger, It lo'es sae weel, sae fond, sae fair, can anither change her? I thought my achin' heart to screen, etc. But why sud eerie cares be spent? 1 lo'ed owre weel to doubt her When her dear lips their pledges blent, An' fain maun lo'e wi' out her. She canna lightly tak' away, A' that her whispers gave me, Nor stint a lo'e sae sweet and braw. This lassie sent to save me. I thought my achin' heart to screen, etc For I can gie a lo'e sae leal. An' mak her aye sae cheery, An' coddle her cam ill or weel, She'll tarry for her dearie. Sae, when I partit, fu' o' pain, Sic trust was a' cud stay me, I maun nae turn or keek again Lest crankous dool dismay me. I thought my achin' heart to screen, etc. 1890 A GASH Wr THE MOON. (Another imitation of Burns.) Sae I maun nae be ower free. Good e'n, auld vauntie moon, to ye, Risin' sae braw aboon the sea To fash the dark, Sae white as highland lassie be Wi' out her sark. 129 Ye charm the waters' wild commotion An', stretchin' hither on the ocean, Your siller brig aft gies me notion To rin mair near An', gin I gash wi' due devotion, Faith, ye maun hear. Like mony ither ane sae still, I hae nae doubt ye listen weel. An', for I hae a crack to tell, Ye'll nae deny it, An', gin ye tent me for a spell, Ye'll aye be quiet. An', sin' in mony a night ye ken Fu' well the leesome pranks o' men, Ye'll nae gang jouk ye in some den O' cloud aboon, Or smile ower crousely a' me when O' lo'e I croon. Moreowre, a' though I'm nae a ruein', Ye schemin' moon, 'twar a' yer doin' To get my heart in sic a stewin' An' pit o' pother, An' kap it yit sae lang a brewin' r lo'e's sweet bother. Ye ken, aiblins, that last July A mond ilk prudent chil' should fly, Twa times ye cam' aboon to spy, Sic rare proceedin' That' gin a heart maun gang awry, Tis a' your breedin'. An', syne ye set wi' muckle art. Whilst a' alane I crooned apart, A gleesome lassie young an' smart, Sae fu' o' beauty, Ye canna gar my yearnin' heart Ken ither duty. 130 Forbye the guid Lord weel did sen' her, Wi a' her grace, a heart sae tenner, An' sic sweet consolation len' her, Ye'll nae lang wunner Frae her een's lightnin' came surrender As gleg as thunner. But, faith, I canna weel deny That; spyin' her, I cud but try For sic red rose to a' defy An' weave a spell To dawt her aye sae tenderly A' to mysel'. Sic blythsome hours as syne we foun' Maun bury care deep i' the groun' An' gar auld airth go speedin' roun' In unco fashion, An' ilke canny star keek down In kind compassion. Oh lo'e sae puir, sae braw, sae leal Maun gie ane pow'r to shame the de'il An' saething baith frae angels steal An' tenner youth, An' through the dowie years reveal The heart's aine truth. An' thus we sailed awa thegither, Ye ken it weel, in sousey wether, Sin fairies had the waves in tether Baith day an' night, An' ye war watchful as a mither Wi' joyful light. But ye nae ken how, i' the shade, The twa three blissful nights we staid Sae lang wrapped in ain faithful plaid, 131 Fu' sweetly thinkin', An', aiblins, losin' maist we said Wi' dreamy blinkin'. Our peaceful hearts nae muckle mair O' joy maun spier, when at the shore, Our way thegither maist was o'er For yet awhile. Faith, ye war jealous o' your pow'r To sae beguile. An' syne the partin' hour came nigh, When thou, auld moon, my lo'e an' I Maun gang frae ither, twa to sigh For joy again. An' ye to steet your dowsie ee Anent my pain. An', sin' a mond ha" gaed awa, Ye come again sae white an' braw, Feignin' ye canna trow of a' The cants ye played me An' wi' your simmer visits twa Sic passion gied me. I rede ye'r nae alane sae charmin' An stark to wrack me wi' alarmin' That ony skaith my lo'e is harmin' By sair delay. But, gin she keeks ye now, how charmin' Your tenner ray. Hand her aye in your sweetest keepin' That leel awake or peaceful sleepin' She'll tarry for our harvest reapin' O' couthie bliss. Sae, whilst amang the stars ye'r creepin' Gae blink her this. 132 POEMS RELATING TO PAINT- ING (The author, upon the approbation of Cabanel, entered his class at the Ecole des Beaux Arts Paris in December, 1863, chancing to be the first American student of the school.) MEMORIES OF ART STUDENT LIFE IN PARIS O, friends who are yet in Paris, As I sit at the cool of day And rest as we rested together, I think of you far away. I rise in the early morning Again, as I used to do. And hasten adown the staircase. The darkened hallways through, Haste from my little chamber Under the roof so high And, bearing my box of colors, I pass the merchants by, The early and noisy merchants Of shop and crooked street, The coming and parting buyers With merry words as they meet, The fair faced buyers and children, The hungry buyers and old Out from their warm or scanty beds In the morning air so cold, The sturdy bearers of water. The porters and men of toil In blouse and clattering sabot, Passing in wordy broil, The pious seeking the altar. The "bonne" or the frugal wife With milk for the morning coffee Or, truly, the staff of life. The youth from an all night revel, 133 The squad with fife and drum, These claim in quick succession My glance as they go and come. So I thread the Latin quarter To the Art Academy gate Where the busts of Puget and Poussin Look down as if I were late. By court and corridor stately I gain with hurrying feet The spacious and warm atelier Where Cabanel's pupils meet, Where all the motley assembly Of many a land and tongue By generous France is welcomed To harvest her sons among. O, swelling seeds of ambition Which these desire to reap, Is it well for showers to nourish And soil to cover and keep ? Are these who mingle together, A strange and a reckless band, A frivolous rabble of children In earnest to reap the land? Be patient, sternest of mothers, O Art, for the few shall rise From the narrow sloth of the many And gain, to thy joy, their prize. Yet now the wise and the foolish Shall long in the crescent sigh Or toil as on taunting nature They gaze with exacting eye, And still the jest and story Their hazard of laughter raise. The wild debate continue With fitful scorn or praise. And song shall succeed to silence Until, in defiance, breaks The Marseillaise in a chorus Which ever the soul awakes. 134 Ah, bondsmen may cry for freedom Though conquered by bayonet red, But youthful spirit is humbled When by an Empire fed. So patriots heed their warning And hasten without to eat In many a table crowded room That gives on the narrow street. Then back to emulous labor With weary model to cheer, Perchance the Patron's inspection, Brief words for hope or fear, Heard in an awful silence. Pondered the week to come, Anon, the pose is ended We seek the lecture room , Where those who shrank from the patron Will now, untroubled, survey The surgeon's scalpel dissecting A suicide's loathsome clay. Then, class and lecture over An hour or two remain To seek the Louvre's rich treasures Across the ice bound Seine, To gaze at some rare "old master" Enthralled and try one's best, Heedless of passing stranger, To some of its charms arrest — Try until head is weary And hand would its task ignore. Till the sunlight ever decreasing Climbs from the polished floor And the visions of art, as weary Of standing in common sight Disperse to their time and story, At length, by the grace of night. Then back to my humble lodging I go at a freer gait. Lingering here at a printshop, 135 Stopping there to await The sequel to some adventure Or sad mishap of the street, The patient fisherman's casting, The passing of pretty feet. To see the artisan's witchcraft Where block built palaces rise, Or muse by dusky ruins Where many a history dies, I pause at the omnibus station And watch the whinnying steeds, I wait at any occasion When study no longer needs, Until the lamps of evening Divert from the toil of day And eager senses revel At feast and dance and play. Philadelphia, Feb., 1866 SKETCH CLUB SONG (Read in December, 1870, at a meeting of the Philadelphia Sketch Club, of which the author was long a member and for some years President, before leaving his native city. This song is but one of several compositions for special occasions.) When the Winter sunset fades In indigo and umber, Touch the lights and draw the shades And count our faithful number. Let no sight profane appal In our snug sanctorum. Brothers, let the hammer fall. Welding, now, a quorum. Hear awhile the blank reports Thundered from committees, 136 Then awake to brisk retorts, Arguments and ditties, Sharpen wits and pencils all, Now or never after. Those whose fingers make a scrawl Needs must draw our laughter. ^ ^ ^ Brothers, who can sing a song Joyful in its measure, Bearing all our hearts along. Grateful to our leisure ? Who can turn from smiles to tears, Hymning friends departed? On the tides of hastening years, Let his theme be started. No regret the circuit breaks Of electric feeling. 'Tis the missing link that makes Light, through love's revealing. Memories that fondly reign Bind us more than sever, And maintain our proven chain To scintillate forever. FIRST MEETING OF THE CRADLE CLUB (Among the members were Bridgman, Harri- son, Hovenden, Knight, Mosler, Pierce and other artists, and Richard Whiteing, James O'Galla- ghan and other writers.) Scene, Paris, a street lately "Washington" chris- tened, Americanized from the old rue Billault, A restaurant humble, but tidy and cheerful Seductively called by our host "Le Berceau." 137 The characters, — all are right jolly good fellows Who eat, drink and sleep during most of the time, But give to full brushes and pens the remainder And thaw out their genius in paint, prose or rhyme. The plot, — is that every round fortnight or better The characters meet at the scene of tonight To dine, talk at will, sing or tell a good story From seven to somewhere preceding the light. The larder's resources are rich to repletion, For two and a half francs, a good meal, at least, , Is furnished, and if to three francs we aspire, A banquet is promised like Belshazzar's feast. And now will the company kindly permit him, Who first stumbled into the cradle, to greet The children, by mirth loving motive assembled, In a short double shuffle of metrical feet. Perchance ye are somewhat reluctant to fancy The childish reminders of this our nest. Ye fathers who flee from the cradle distracted, Ye bachelors making its duties a jest. The torments of innocent childhood beset you No doubt with a keenness ye care not to keep. Mayhap an indignant digestion protesteth With those who have rocked in the lap of the deep. And, even, there may be complacent among us Some wanderer who, beyond far western plains, Has wearily shaken the cradle of fortune And found yellow sand but the sum of his gains. 138 Yet spurn not the cradle, we all there have rested And all may in some tender pleasure agree, Our infants from Boston may find this, in symbol, Their cradle of liberty over the sea. Our Yankees may all yield to jollity's impulse. With the name of their great fellow country- man near, The Washington opening good things from Britain, Not the Washington, this time, superb and austere. And those of our infants from mother Brittania Can find in our Berceau a patriot's mirth. For what is their ocean rocked isle but a cradle Of empire reaching the ends of the earth. Our Gallic good comrades, if any we welcome. Yield nothing to others in art to be gay. Or in talent to rock any sort of construction. Whether cradles or cabinets come in theif way. Then hail to our cradle, full oft may we throng it. In brotherly revelry rocking our wits. Again we shall take to the bottle contented. And cry for it hot, as the season befits ; Again we shall laugh at the toys of the moment. And break them when scarce our pleasure be- gins. Again shall the bon-bons of little diversions Suffice to distract us from life's hidden pins. Our chairman, instead of a mallet, shall flourish A rattle to summon attention to speech. Let all the good children then do their endeavor To cater the pleasure expected from each, 139 That life in its leisure may grow in good feeling, And we, fortune's children, full little may weep, While living our day of mixed care and rejoicing. Until death, in the darkness, shall rock us to sleep. Paris, 1879. Note. The writer was Secre- tary of the Cradle Club for the year it continued and then of the "Pen and Pencil Club," which succeeded it. TO A SUMMER COMPANION (In acknowledgment of Verses.) Your verses come as if they knew My mind and made a sweet reply, For memories of when I drew That mountain brook, which might defy My varied colors, often throng Upon me, dreams of when we sought A friendship, when your book and song And fancies added charm to thought. The sketch shall long to me recall The converse of those summer days, Such sympathies as gently fall On one who mounts Art's higher ways, Where genius oft is but a name For inspiration friends awake. So I may strive for greater fame From future pictures for your sake. White Mountains, 1867 PETER PAUL RUBENS "What king hath rule in Antwerp? Dost thou ask? Behold, good sir, two stately mansions there. Close rivals on a widening thoroughfare, 140 Beguiling history with a modern mask And empty in their dignity. The task Of kingship one may claim as lawful share For Belgium's living, gentle natured heir, Witless of what it is in fame to bask, But through the other do the echoes ring Of Glory's voice unceasingly to hold The long dead Rubens as the living king Of Antwerp's people and the red and gold Of his winged brush a world wide charm to bring A host of pilgrims to his city old. Antwerp, 1880 IDEAL AND REALITY Are they pure, those souls that revel On the glowing clouds of art, Do they live above the level Of the tempted earth apart? Are they in divine ambition, Cleansed from covetous desire. Guarded from the world's contrition By a spiritual fire? Do the painter and the poet And the singer of the song Seize the higher grace and show it In a knightly manhood strong? These, ah gentle maid, may render To thy hope a fair reply, Vowing Art a chaste defender Sent to earth to purify. But they are the slaves of beauty And, athwart their higher will, What her charms provoke is duty. She can loose or bind them still. Washington, 1892 141 BARREN TECHNIQUE Words, pigments, notes ; notes, pigments, words again, By long haired garrulous egotists are taught In juggled combinations, meaning naught Without majestic purpose of the brain In pregnancy ; yet vapid rhymesters strain, With mystic medieval phrases fraught, And daubers gloat o'er trivial subjects sought And music's mimics exercise in pain, All laboring long, and some with nimble skill Of technique gaining plaudits, but the blind To Art's high need swarm through her valleys still. Their treasure in a napkin's folds confined, Their toil an empty craft, without the will Or power to vitalize her noble mind. 1903 THE APOSTLES OF ART Were Art her chief apostles to define In realms of glory, color would enthrone Titian, Paolo, Rubens, Georgione. Neath Angelo's and Raphael's rapt design Di Vinci's and Del Sarto's works combine. While, for consummate atmosphere and tone, With Rembrandt and Velasquez nigh alone, Corregio and Murillo next in line Complete the twelve immortals, all confessed Mighty in skill of individual hand And each of other's grace in part possessed ; Yet, most beloved of Art, supremely stand Titian, Velasquez, Rembrandt, fully blessed. With all her magic power at their qommand. 1903 142 BEAUTY'S GIFT TO ART A painter, at his easel stood One morning, in a troubled mood. He strove to nurture far apart From its own clime, his growth of art — That precious graft upon his soul Intrusted where Italian skies Invoke each budding plant to rise And make all severed branches whole. About him in profusion spread Were gleanings of his absent years. On every side and overhead Rich trophies of his journeyings led His mind to all that art endears. Here, patient studies of the past Its triumphs to his gaze restore. And photograph and dusty cast. The dingy books of artist lore. And rusty arms, and such refuse Of other times and other lands As long had passed beyond the use Of changeful nations to be prize For antiquary's eager hands. Or esthete's color loving eyes ; These things, through each escaping glance, His sometimes weary soul sustained, Inciting it to fresh advance Beyond the hills already gained. He sat alone on cloudy days. An earnest analyst of art. To follow out the subtle ways Of beauty, to control the rays Of fleeting light diffused apart In shade and penetrate their gift Of glowing color. He would sift The surgeon's lore to comprehend Man's mysteries of form and force 143 And ponder, as the pallid corse Revealed how Art Divine could blend The means of action and of grace ; He studied types of age and race, The varied fullness of the brain, The varying features of the face Sufifused with joy, intense with pain, Controlled by love, revenge or care, Serene in piety or hope. Transmitting all throughout the scope Of thought and feeling everywhere. He drew but added care to ease Of observation, for the rule And plummet taught him that, to please The wise in art, he needs must school Presuming eyes to servitude Of just proportion, as imbued With reverence for embodied right, And gather from the architect The Grecian's genius to erect Those monuments that charm the sight. As he persued his volumes old Their pages seemed of beaten gold From luminous and precious lore Of art bequeathed by men who gave Their pen scant leisure to explore When pencil had so much to crave, But every charm of manual skill And due relation of all lines, Forms, shades and tints that art combines To make its higher work and will A truth or sentiment unfold As chosen nature might fulfil The task, his treasured volumes told. Then would he rise with newer life To guide the rude and swollen stream Of Inspiration, he would seem Again to dare a charming strife That skill might overtake his dream. 144 But now, as baffled by the flight Of nature, he remained inert Before his canvass, while his sight Coursed over it as one at chess Studies the battle to exert Some masked reserve and speed success. His subject was a Christian maid Who, led by soldiers to her fate In Rome's arena, at the gate Had paused, in all but soul afraid, And knelt to pray a moment more For strength to meet the woe in store, Her nakedness in faith arrayed. A model of a charm refined To fill the vision of his mind The painter for his work required. But such a form as he desired He sought at every hand in vain. Since willing girls of humble birth Or wearying toil or sensual life All witnessed mournfully the dearth Of nature's loveliness when gain Or reckless pleasure or the strife With hardship foiled her fair intent. True beauty, in the love of praise, Seemed, by all inclination, bent To court dishonoring desire Rather than willing to inspire Pure Art's disinterested gaze And higher tribute reverent. Ah, why should woman best endowed, Of no timidity possessed Or diffidence of charms confessed, Yield much to passion and its blight In darker hours and not be proud To trust to higher thought avowed Her virtuous glory in the light? 145 II. While such sad meditations flocked Upon the mind, a caller knocked And then the artist saw a friend In years of early womanhood Who came on frequent days to lend The thoughts of a congenial mood To his companionship and gain A glad return as all his train Of gentle fancies broke away From their seclusion, pleased to find, Inviting them to airy play. The radiance of a youthful mind Reliant, keen and unconfined. The close companionship began When she, a year before, partook Of the long trance of those who look From day to day upon the plan Of ages in majestic Rome. Her feet had wandered from the aisles And galleries where all the past Of sainted art the sight beguiles. To seek with restfulness at last The studios of modern zeal And those whose tenants might reveal The sympathies of race and home. Thus, far away as she had come, She chanced one happy day to meet This artist from her native town Who there was striving for renown, Who told her there its vision sweet And said that, if it never came. Unwearied love of art would fill The cup that he had chosen still With joy of life in praise or blame. So then, perceiving that his heart Was strong, she at their parting gave To him a hero's place apart 146 And journeyed back across the wave And inland from the sparing sea, To home and to its level life. But this, as newer interests grew, Became, by Cupid's high decree. Earth's fairest garden when she knew The influence of one whose strife With worldly craft had brought to view A hero in a native field — A city banker's clerk impelled By honor who, when chance revealed The proving of official guilt, Disdained complicity and held Exposure sheathless to the hilt To force atonement. Like a flame A counter accusation came, Law gave it audience and broke The evil foil with full release To him it threatened. To revoke Suspicion, self renewing friends Then found it joy to make amends By placing him in high increase Of fortune. For a while he sought Composure from the battle fought Through change of scene, a week he staid With distant friends and, taking part In their festivities, his heart, Through meeting oft our lovely maid. The capstone of its altar laid. The dreamful week sped on by stealth, They pledged their love and parted, he To labor in the mine of wealth By sweeter motives prompted, she, Remaining, to no longer see A hill of distant hope or doubt Confused before her, but to stand In dizzy joy upon it, hand In hand with Faith and gazing out With dreamy eyes upon her way. 147 Months passed ere home reluctantly The painter came, whom she re-met As those who do not soon forget A friendship true. Then, to comply With all that such a trust imposed, She soon in confidence disclosed The history of Cupid's sway, For love needs friendship as a song Needs harp strings, as a soaring bird Needs rest. The streamlet, urged along From cliff to cliff, doth gain unheard In quiet pools its purity; So love, by friendship's judgment blessed And honored in its depths confessed Doth grow in calm security. The girl, thus, with the artist found A peace of spirit never bought Where worldly thought is closely bound. His sensitive perception gave A sweet translation of the brave And broad man-nature which she sought To comprehend, while in her heart She mirrored out, through many a dream, The attributes which best would seem To clothe her love in noble part. This sunny day she came to spend The last of many genial hours Of converse in the haunt of art. For soon her life at home would end, Since Love stood eager to attend Her passing to his vernal bowers. Another week and she would greet Her lover, fretting at delay, Who then would hasten on to meet And bear her as his bride away. Amid her reveries, she felt In this last interview a pain At parting, for her friend had dealt Only in knightly thought. In vain 148 She mused of how to testify Her high regard, the while he glanced Upon her with awakened eye To beauties which might now defy His heart, if ever yet entranced. HI. A gentle knock the silence broke And, entering when the painter spoke, A girl of timid mien appeared Who looked about with hasty eyes While uttering confused replies, As if before some sage revered. A comrade, with the artist's need In mind, had marked a certain grace Of person and, with thankful speed, Had sent the girl to search his place With hint of service fully paid. The painter, using due reserve. With free permission of his friend Explained the way that she could serve His purpose, if her maiden nerve Were equal to his study's trend. And bid some relative attend If this would make her less afraid. But quickly did her crimson cheek Reveal uncomprehended shame. She hardly knew why Eve should seek The vine leaves to dissemble blame. Yet shrank to stand as Eve had stood, Before the race had tasted sin, With no accusing sense within. In fearless guileless womanhood; As still, in any tropic isle Unfound by "civilizing" zeal. Would many maidens stand and feel No modest fear or sense of guile. The painter deemed that it were vain 149 To urge her service, for the maid Attended but in vacant pain And, drawing down a veil, she sought To leave his presence when a thought Of his impulsive friend delayed, Who, rising with impressive air And strange authority of will, Directed her to linger still And bid the painter not despair. She said her influence might win The girl's assent to his request. Might give her strength to serve him best, Despite the fear she felt within, If her thick veil could serve as mask, If, further, he would do his task In silence and at distance keep That she might feel the less alarm. He pledged all that his friend could ask Who, as the girl began to weep In fear of some concerted harm. Bolted the door and took her arm To go behind a sombre screen. The artist, great as was his need, In pity thought to intervene, Yet wondered if such zeal indeed Would sooth the terror he had seen Or find entreaty still denied. He waited, as one waits betimes At midnight for accustomed chimes, Then whispers in the silence died But faintly rustling garments told That he might yet his hope behold. One moment, with discouraged face, He saw his maiden sketched reveal In every way the need of grace For which she doubly made appeal, The next he watched, with startled sight, A form appearing from the gloom Beyond the screen, a shape so fair 150 That Psyche seemed transfigured there Advancing softly in the room. Yet, when it gained the fuller light Resplendent in each tender hue Of vital nature, though from view The stranger's veil its face concealed, The artist shrank as if he knew The movement of the form revealed And uttered, with a vague dismay, "Oh, Agnes," but in firm reply A feigned voice answered, "Do not lie. Paint worthily and I will pray." Then to the covered dais went That beauteous form of womanhood, Stept lightly up, an instant stood As muse reflecting ere she bent And knelt, an earnest suppliant, down, One knee her clasping hands sustained As if dependent shackles chained. While lifted head its anguish lent, Though girt about with sombre brown. From his brief trance the painter woke As. if some stern magician spoke — ■ "Lo, nature here fulfils thy need. Seek what thine art can do with speed." He caught his palette, piled its rim With colors, gleaned with eager hand His supple brushes and the dim Suggested figure seemed to gain A freshness, as in parched land Reviving flowers greet the rain. While still his eyes in swift command Would turn to prompt his touch again. Well might they oft and gladly turn. By such enchanting vision bound. As ceaselessly content to learn From beauty ever newly found ; Well might they gaze in purest joy. Redeemed by faithful art's control 151 From evil spell to sweet employ As messengers before his soul. The invading light of that glad day No fairer lodgment found. It sped Adown the maiden's neck and spread On beauteous shoulder where it lay Encroaching gently on her chest, Yet ever swaying with the shade That told emotion's deep uprest, That rose as jealous to contest The daring of the light cascade, Delighting oftentimes to fling Itself along the undulous steep And rest where pillowed love might sleep, Where rose the shrines his poets sing. As -mounds of apple blossoms made By fairies in life's fragrant spring. Upon the maiden's arm the light Swept downward to her clasped hands. The magic of the prism's bands Tinting the skin's effulgent white, Again its happy pathway led From ample shoulder and it fell Upon her gently rounded side, Caressive ere it sought as well About her supple waist to glide. Then outward flowed, with glowing pride. Where full impassioned beauties spread, With charm that could all art defy. Their bounty over hip and thigh In larger light which might compare With that upon the bosom thrown As a magnolia flower rare And two white roses partly blown. Three snowy blooms together tied To figure female loveliness When riper youth's perfections bless. Then did the studious painter see The grace of dimpled flank and knee, 152 Of tapering limb divinely wrought In lines no other form beside Had ever to his vision brought. What need the dainty feet to praise, Sustaining on their arches slight A frame so just in form and height And treading earth as to enforce Control, yet leave for subject's gaze Light emphasis of beauty's course? All this the zealous artist saw- In gratefully inspired mood, For those of worthy heart who raise Their thoughts to bound creation's plan With deeper sight all beauty praise As heaven's sweetest gift to man And see it fade, decay and die But as he mars its majesty. The artist breathed the purer prayer That tempting day and, in the brief Endurance of his vision fair. Still painted on when, for relief. His model sought, at moments rare, A change of attitude and filled- His mind with groups of loveliness Which would in future days impress His reveries as, in the past. The art of Greece had deep instilled Its charm through many a stately cast. At length the short delightful toil Came to a close. There passed away Three blissful hours of the day When, rising with alert recoil Of patient knees, the maiden met His final gaze of vain regret And stood, an indolent nymph in sweet Transition from enforced repose. In witching grace from head to feet. Ere springing, at a moment's close. From the high stand, she crossed the room, 153 Still veiled, and vanished in the gloom. The spell was broken. In his place The artist sat with pensive face And put his implements aside. His heart throbbed that so fair a friend Could thus her unclothed beauty lend, His long-despairing hand to guide, The while he wondered if she came Before him in adventurous pride Of loveliness defying shame That his mute heart might burst in flame And perish ; if she meant to taunt His sight in reckless challenge given To love, for which he had not striven ; Or might she, drifting onward, vaunt Without restraint of maiden fear, By new and turbulent passions driven, The triumph of her nuptials near? In haste these bitter fancies passed And higher thoughts of firmer tread Ensued, until the doubtings massed About her daring impulse fled And, in his mind, he saw her kneel Again^ in all her loveliness Of form and pure intent, to bless His honored calling and reveal A friendship that could live and trust In very scorn of turbid lust When Love had almost won his right Of sole possession and delight. He saw her bravely recognize With noble will his dignity In art's scant priesthood and devise. Through uttermost benignity, This homage to to a mind and a sight Directed in life's journey long By purpose true and honor strong. At length the stranger and his friend Appeared as they had left his sight, 154 The latter bid the girl attend Until the painter should requite Her service, which, with generous hand, He did, unquestioning the demand. The doubtful girl but glanced and knew The order of the fair one's look, Her ears the word "Remember" took Ere, gladly turning from their view. With air bewildered, she withdrew, — Withdrew to leave them in the pain. That no dissemblance can dispel. Which true friends know who smile in vain Before they bid a long farewell. But words were due. The maiden broke Strained silence with a woman's art. "Though they should live," she said, "apart In future, she should oft invoke The memories of genial days Which, there and in far distant ways. They passed together and revive The all illuminating rays Of culture he had kept alive." Anon she to the painting led Their steps and, in extolling, said That by her wish it would become Her purchase, to in future rest, The inspiration unconfessed, A keepsake in her parents' home. She gave her hand. The artist took And held it but could hardly speak. All eloquence of words seemed weak In refutation of her view Of his refining aid. He willed All debt his own, all gold undue. A covert adulation filled His utterance that his were gain Of friendship in such final trust Magnanimous, of faith to seal His purest pledges and reveal 155 All that was in his purpose just And equally to manhood true And woman, as his soul was due To heaven. Thus he might atone For feelings art might fain disown, Beyond its golden gates dismissed. He bent, at length, and humbly kissed Her parting hand; — then stood alone. IV. A wedding drew the eager town And promised more for theme and sight Than it had ever known before ; The pealing bells called gaily down To all below, the day was bright And many came the sacred rite To view and thronged the chapel door. The moments hasten. Free the way Ye latest and, with friendly pride, Let all, on this fair nuptial day, Behold the now approaching bride. The lovely willful child of yore, Who enters with a stately grace. And note his honorable face Who follows, soon to lead her back From hallowed blessing as his wife. Let nothing in your favors lack And wish them both a joyful life. So did he wish, with truest heart. Who stood retired in the throng, That lonely zealous son of art Who lingered in his place so long, While last congratulations fell Like flowers m the fair bride's course, While lovers, who had found their source Of hope in wedlock's blissful spell, Were dreaming what their fate would tell. He stood while yet the organ waves 156 Of melody were faintly swaying Between the sombre architraves And to his soul were softly saying — "All carnal love shall briefly end, All beauty of the flesh attend Age and decay and death, but grace Of spirit shall forever give The beauty of creation place Above all base desire, to live In lofty thought with equal part, Abounding, joyful, perfect, free To every pure and grateful heart. And they who thus all beauty see And cherish, are, by heaven's decree, The loyal sons of noble art." Philadelphia, 1868 157 POEMS OF RELIGION, SORROW AND SERIOUS FEELING A MOUNTAIN HYMN Almig-hty God, when evening leads Me from the haunts of men To think, responsive to our needs. Of all that from Thy hand proceeds, Wilt Thou be with me then? Wilt Thou, these mighty hills that rise Before my sight, pervade As, veiled in azure from the skies^ They catch the sunset glow that dies From valleys dim in shade? Imbue my heart with all the peace In which they wait the night, Convince me Thou shalt never cease To care for those whose wills increase As Thou dost give them might. Bid faith attend, through spreading gloom, The coming of the day That hath no ills to whisper doom, That hath no chill to close the bloom Unconscious of decay. These eyes, which find such glad relief When evening gives them rest. So strengthen, far from sin and grief. That, high above this dwelling brief. The light may please them best. Then shall no late intention turn My lonely steps to Thee 158 But there forever shall I learn Thy praise 'mid saints whose garments burn Above the jasper sea. White Mountains, 1868 THE BETTER OFFERING Oh let us not only in time of affliction Draw near to the throne of our Father above When fear of His judgments may be a restriction And quench the faint flame we would kindle to love; When brain is yet fevered by doubting or terror, Distracted by sorrow, impatient in grief. Bowed down by remorseful conviction of error Or swept by emotions to heaven's relief. Not only in tears let us near him assemble Who made us to smile and be happy in praise. Not only approach at His footstool to tremble Whose mercy surpasseth the might of His ways. Shall He who hath fashioned in strength and in beauty But see His creations as shattered and stained. Be sought but when trials remind us of duty And, wearied, repent that His work was or- dained ? Oh, rather come we as His hand hath perfected. Complete in the glory of life at its prime, An offering vital in efforts directed To purify now an existence sublime ; Come we with each faculty eager to witness The gratitude due for such bounty and care, 159 E'en daring- the hope that He trust our fitness To scatter fresh blessings His grace may pre- pare. Live we in the faith of His goodness, not fearing His gifts lest, ill used, they should cause our fall, But humble and watchful and by them endearing Our thoughts of the Father and Giver of all. That, when this brief life at its utmost attainment Is past and the soul on eternity's shore. It may hopefully plead at its final arraignment And cast off its armor to battle no more. Philadelphia, 1866 CHEER THEE, DOUBTFUL PILGRIM Words adapted to the air of the duet between Patience and Grosvenor in the light opera "Pa- tience"— "Prithee, Pretty Maiden." Cheer thee, doubtful pilgrim, on life's weary way. Earth hath no pleasure worthy of delaying. Let thy spirit urge thee to the radiant day Where pain ends — evermore. Here is not thy pleasure, here is not thy treasure, Then follow loved ones gone before. Bear thy troubles meekly if the way be long. He who redeemed thee counted not affliction. Let His love sustain thee and revive thy song. Why linger — wearily. He who bore thy sorrow made for thee a morrow When, blissful, with Him thou shalt be. In thy toilsome climbing through the stormy night Thou art but learning what doth best prepare thee For the joy awaiting, for the Savior's sight, 160 Still watching' — tenderly. Trust a little longer. Love shall make thee stronger Till, ever, shall thy sovil be free. Paris, 1881. THE SWEETER REST "I will give thee rest." — Exodus xxxiii 14. • When, in this life uncertain And full of changing scenes, We pause before the curtain That often intervenes To hide our cares oppressing, Then come these words so blest, "My presence shall go with thee And I will give thee rest." These words, ah, who shall hear them With gladness on his face? Not surely those who fear them, Unworthy of their grace. But he who, least transgressing^ Hath striven long and best; "My presence shall go with thee And I will give thee rest." Yea, we, Thy children grateful, O Lord, supreme and pure. Who know Thy love and, hateful Of sin, would seek Thy cure, Thy grace, Thy strength. Thy blessing, We wait Thy sweet behest: "My presence shall go with thee And I will give thee rest." New Haven, 1880 161 ROCKING THE CRADLE Written for the paper of a Home for Infants. Poor little children, so needing protection, Outcasts from many a desolate street, Here, by true charity's tender selection. Rest may first come to your wandering feet ; Sheltered from danger as One in the manger, Here angels joy in your slumber so sweet. Pure little spirits, to earth uninvited. Knowing but grovelling want and distress, Here shall your wakening eyes be delighted By all surroundings that comfort and bless ; Here shall your beating hearts know the greeting Of the world's first sympathetic caress. Ah, but you cannot see all who are tending Every bright day of your happy release For, though a few are so faithfully lending Daily their aid, that your sorrow may cease ; Each hand in giving balm for your living Gently is rocking your cradle of peace. Washington, 1903 GENEROSITY "The Lord Loveth a Cheerful Giver." Rich are the valleys and plains of earth. Out of their growing gold Giving man's labor and care and dearth Bounty an hundred fold. While, of the cloud given gracious rain, Rivers are sent to the sea Which giveth its waves to the clouds again In a league of largess free : The sun all guiding through gifts untold And asking but harmony. 162 Deep is the lesson that nature suggests Thus to the soul of man, If he ungrateful and selfish rests, Marring its gracious plan, But when the generous heart bestows Freely of blessings sent, Then it alone all pleasure knows. And the Omnipotent, Lovingly giving since earth began, ^ Asks but the grace He meant. Philadelphia, 1869 A CHARMING SUNDAY IN DECEMBER Oh, radiant morn of balmy air That smileth in the winter gray. Thou art a rescued sister fair, Storm driven from the choir of May. Peace wreathes her lilies on thy brow, Hope shineth from thy gentle eyes, Life's gladsomeness thy lips avow. Love's spirit in thy bosom lies. On such a morn the skylark sings. The bare twig yearns to bloom again And earth, of her delivered springs, Doth new baptismal hope ordain. In every vale the patient toil Of man and beast hath sweet parole, They fret no more the pleading soil And grateful bask in rest's control. On such a morn compassion's hand Doth silently uplift distress And teach the heart to understand An inner glow of happiness. 163 In its pure light, the poet sees Some fair ideal, clear to view, Clad in the state his soul decrees, And knows the joy of dreaming true. On such a morn the artless maid And hill-bom youth of virgin life May fitly have love's faith repaid And blissful, whisper, "Husband," "Wife." And, in as radiant later days. May rapture bless the mother's prayer At the glad cry of eager praise, "The babe is perfect, strong and fair." On such a morn the little child Is set again above the old To teach life's gospel undefiled And all its sunniest truth unfold. It is the living, breathing day That brings a wanderer home, that frees The prisoner, that puts away Long debt or gives the sufferer ease. On such a morn the mind forgets Its enmities and griefs and cares, Its sins, its weakness, its regrets, And seems transported unawares To some new Eden fair and bright In loyalty to sweeter truth Than earth decrees, to pure delight Of endless and exalted youth. On such a morn the priest may close His creaking gates and hush his bell. For nature's bliss gives more repose To heart and soul than he can tell. 164 Yea, such a morning, festal free, The angels open heaven's doors, While all its peace crowned jubilee On earth celestial glory pours. Oklahoma, 1896 THE GOODNESS OF MEN O mankind misunderstood In its toil and in its care ! What a multitude are good, What a host who shout no prayer In the temples sought of pride And forget to wail for sin. Have an impulse sanctified. And a faithful heart within. Some are evil, but behold All the thousands of the street, In their duties manifold What a throng of virtues meet. Patience, honesty and love. Courage, honor of command Seem to fly beside, above. And to lead men by the hand. See the factory and the shop, Mark the furnace and the mill Where the toilers never stop Until busy wheels are still. Where the young and old alike. Whom the needs of labor drive, As they sew or plane or strike, With their best endeavor strive. View the multitude of those vServing every household need. Toiling low, with brief repose 165 Where the highest stairways lead, Thus by faithful service done, Faithful care of others gain, Humble strength sustains the throne Whereon idle ease doth reign. Nor the fortunate deride, Lo, how many give excess Of their wealth to hope denied That the world may suffer less, Give with seen and unseen grace Precious hours, acts and gold. That, as they have won a place, So may others climb and hold. 'Witness steadfast thousands toil On the railway, on the mast, Over hard and stony soil, Upon buildings tall and vast. They who guard the city's peace, Who maintain the nation's right ; Do our obligations cease With the wages we requite? No, for goodness every where Is a bond of unsung praise. Common debt to soften care, Common joy our hearts to raise To achievement of life's best, That each one's allotted skill May, by fruits of toil and rest, Mighty purposes fulfil. Men by want or wealth depraved May full oft, where thousands dwell. Make a host appear enslaved Which they for a season quell_, As the reckless fish that dare Deadly perils of the hook i66 May encloud, in their despair, All the shallows of the brook. So the rash who venture wrong- May be hidden to the sight Of the patient and the strong With their purposes of right, But, from deeper channels led. None the purer flow can stay. Ever clearing, it will spread And the fate of guilt betray. Let a wrong without disguise Seek the highway to defy. And indignant hosts arise To remove and purify, To assure the poor relief And the weak or wounded aid, To abate the pangs of grief. And to see the robbed repaid. Yea, from innocence of youth To the mercy taught of age, Good abounds and love and truth Are mankind's great heritage, And surpass by many fold In the wider stream of life All of evil briefly bold. All the hates and sins of strife. Test the erring, the unwise. The forsaken and the weak, Those who fail of any prize. Smitten hard on either cheek, Mind or flesh enduring pain. Heart or soul bereft of love. And how often crime in vain Strives a conqueror to prove. 167 Yes, the weak do testify To the goodness that abounds, The unwise cannot deny When their fooHshness confounds. And the evil feel within That their suffering is just After turning unto sin From the richness of life's trust. The creative Soul Sublime Hath inscribed on nature's breast Perfect law for endless time, Hath in man His good impressed, And its mighty teachers known Through the ages are the yield Of a seed perfected, sown In mankind as in a field, Washington, 1891 TO HOPE Fond Hope, how light and fragile Were all the gifts I sought When youth seemed long enduring And fancy mimicked thought. How often would I welcome Thy phantom and await Some miracle ungranted To burst the doors of fate. Then did I deem thee faithless And would have cast aside The benefactions granted In grief of prayers denied. Love sought to find thee gracious And mourned to seek in vain, It blessed thee in the rainbow But trembled in the rain. 168 Now, as a dream made vital, I find thee ever near And smile when thou art smiling, Nor lose thee in a tear, For fancy hath the raiment Woven by graver truth And bears a hidden armor Unsought in reckless youth. Were thy face turned from me, I would not think thee cold. Could night's deep gloom conceal thee, My arm would still enfold, Should some disaster blind me, I would not then despair And, wert thou wrested from me, An angel would be there ; For, not the careless servant Of every fond desire. Thou, Hope, art guide of spirits Whose ways have passed through fire, Art messenger of mercy When souls courageous rise. Thy grace is here abiding, Thy home is in the skies. 1869 NO KING BUT CAESAR "We have no king but Caesar." Dost thou hear That cry of bitter triumph in the past Which through the centuries assails the ear As the sad .wailing of a winter blast. As the lone shriek of maniac outcast Which will not die away? "We have no king But Caesar." Dost thou hear it? In the air Its wild reverberations onward ring With fealty begotten of despair. 169 "We have ho king but Caesar." Crucify The noble conscience of our hallowed days, The days of limpid innocence which lie In valleys of the memory, the ways Of riper virtue, wide strown with its bays. The rapture of pure love in which the heart Flies to and fro between its earth and sky; Away with these, let crosses upward start On every hill that lusts may crucify. "We have no king but Caesar." Ah, the tone Of the fierce cry is muffled not in years. Or in unopened Testaments alone. It vibrates louder for our hidden fears And through the present haughty passage clears. The king is he who lets an evil heart Have its own will, who claims no other sway Than this beguiling world. " 'Tis Caesar's part, Away with any other king. Away," Princeton, N. J., 1877 THE ARENA Fret not thyself because of any foe. Thou hast two weapons like the bondsman set In Rome's arena, one the ample net And one the trident for thy strength to throw. If thou hast done a wrong thy net should be Thy deep contrition cast upon his rage Thou fearest, that he may not disengage His hands made weak by thy humility. Yet, if the fault be his, then is thy right A mighty trident. With it be thou bold. Not to provoke thy foe but to withhold Until his onset giveth cause to strike. 170 And, smite not often, if he flee or fall, Armed with right, thou hast but to defend Thy way to freedom. Hold it to the end In patience and thou yet shalt conquer all. Washington, 1891 KING DAVID Thou shepherd king, not of the lotus land But, as a flame the sacrifice along, Leaping anointed on Philistia's wrong From Judah's woe; Thou mighty of soul and hand, Leaving the sheep-fold's vigil to command Thy flocks of men, and, in Jehovah strong. To temples of the ages by thy song Marshalling singers from his heavenly band ; We hail thee glorious, but we behold With vassal joy, a strife amid thy breast Beyond the wars of kings, the manifold Yearnings and throbbings of a heart's unrest, Seeking the lovely, with desire untold. Incarnate or through regions of the blessed. Washington, 1891 IN MEMORY OF MISS M. T. Can it be true that her sweet face has gone Whose overbrimming gladness seemed to show But half the joy her spirit held below For every friend on whom its influence shone ? Have her skilled hands their earthly duty done That from their touch no melodies may flow Or form delight or limpid colors glow Henceforth for many to her smile unknown ? Ah yes, the brightest stars must still descend Before the morning cometh, but her soul 171 Is surely of that host who yet attend To with glad tidings of great joy extol In heavenly song the Christ Child who doth send Gladness for grief and make the stricken whole. Washington, 1892 IN MEMORY OF C. E. M. (A valued friend of high Christian character.) "Farewell, good friend." It is not long ago Since from thy sight I journeyed o'er the sea Saying these words and asking thoughts of me Amid the joys thy life deserved to know ; It is not long since to the genial glow Of my own hearth I welcome wrote to thee, When thou shouldst ask of duty to be free To take the voyage hope had cherished so. But now I bow, for, suddenly, thy soul Hath made a voyage meditated long. Hath reached secure a far more distant goal Than seas may compass and, amid the throng Of saints, hath joy which earth may feebly dole ; There thou dost bid me share thy home and song. Paris, 1879 LIFE'S BRAVEST Who are a nation's bravest in its wars? Not those spawned in the mire of the town Whose very names are lies, whose deepest scars No battle stamps, and whose tumultuous charge Is irony to fortune in renown Which patriots blush at, lest the blessing large Should shame the tainted sacrifice. The crown Of oak give rather to those youth who stand Persistent, when the tremor of defeat 172 Comes from the smoky front, when every hand Grasps its due weapon and the many feet Are firm, though hearts fly home to distant val- leys sweet. And when the onset of domestic woe Afiilicts the heart through persecuting hours Or lingering years, if heaven wills it so, Until bright eyes grow dull and tresses grey. The bravest are not those whose nature sours Amid the storm, whose feet are turned away To distant carnivals and sensual bowers That thought may taste oblivion of care. The brave are those who true of soul endure The gaze of quiet neighborhoods and dare In lane and field to keep their hearts secure Through love of nature's God, whose healing touch is sure. Princeton, 1877 HOW LONG? How long, my burdened heart, how long Shall sorrow its discordance make In zealous life and hush thy song, Disclose thee faint who wert so strong And in the dead of night awake Thine anguish for another's sake. How long, oh yet how long? Like some neglected harp unstrung And tuneless in the evening damps When only wailing notes are wrung By pitiless winds, when sad words sung Flicker and die as wasting lamps, Like some dire ghost where grief encamps, Thy voice cries, "Oh how long?" Philadelphia, 1869 173 LIFE'S CRESCENDO Men dwelling in a valley sigh Upon a tempest darkened day To see the long wrought ant hill nigh Flooded and quickly washed away ; Those dwelling on a mountain height Sigh for the valley folk below Who know not that the clouds are bright Beyond as plains of purest snow ; The angels, souls of those we love Departed, look down on our cares From all the joys of heaven above And send us courage in their prayers. While He who guides and governs all. Ants, men and angels, whose behest Letteth no flying sparrow fall. Shall wing each zeal that would be blessed. 1903 VICISSITUDES I asked, with venturing heart, for love to guide me In early wistful years, Unthinking that so speedily beside me Sweet love would come in tears. I had full many a dream of high ambition And felt her regal sway, But now, oh sad and pitiful transition ! How pass those dreams away. Fain would I turn aside from gathering trials And reconcile in sleep Life's promised joys and arrogant denials Which strive the path to keep ; Yet time hath no oblivion for the weary Beyond the dark to-night, And then its cares unwatched, when heart is dreary, Appall the awakened sight. We need attend each day some testing sorrow And undergo some change. That reckless and misguided hopes tomorrow Be led to higher range. We need in truer estimate of living To reconcile our will, Disputing not the way or means of giving While gifts continue still. But, trusting to attain some compensation In life's perplexing course. That faith and hope may have one destination And pride a true resource. So shall bewildered love in future smiling Forget its present tears And veiled ambition yield a balm beguiling The peace of happier years. Philadelphia, 1868 "FOLLOW THOU ME" When friends prove false as earthly fortune wanes. When kindred prove corrupt for selfish gains, When sanctimonious men are Pharisees And know no brotherhood that mars their ease And no religion putting hearts to test, The soul might doubt if strife with wrong were best Did not Christ's all ennobling presence shine And strengthen it to mount the path divine, 175 THE HIGHER LOVE My love, put thy fair hand in mine, Our pathways are the same, We yearn, at an enduring shrine. To Hght the heart's true flame. Beyond this brief imperfect way A happier life we see. We love not what we are today But what we strive to be. It is the strength, it is the peace Of that supernal life Which prompts us nevermore to cease The soul persuaded strife, Which leads us up from earthly things And selfish trivial ends To such a flight on stronger wings As heavenly faith attends. Far from the present and above Its interrupting fears. There dawns a sweeter realm of love That amplifies with years. That in its purer joy prepares Our truth, more dreamt than known, For regions where the spirit shares The bounty of the Throne. May influence of that higher trust In grateful souls abound And turn our vision from the dust To where all grace is found, That love may ever mount in bliss When plighted hearts agree And heaven's life begin in this. Through what we strive to be. 1869 176 SOUL LOVE Fair and fond one, now we give Happy hearted love indeed But, if we would blissful live. This is not our only need. Mocking faith by fairest arts, Seeking tyrannous control, Vain is oft the love of hearts If unguided by the soul. Hearts are bubbles in the hand, Fragile things on life's steep shore, Breaking, drifting from the land To be held again no more. Girlhood's first unvalued trust. Woman's oft regretted dole. Hearts in time but turn to dust; Love endures but through the soul. Passion fed and madly gay, Hearts are rash and proud and blind, Mocking love's devoted sway. Tempting sin to lurk behind. Bowing to each gilded throne, Pressing on through fair or foul ; Trust not then our hearts alone, Joy is truest through the soul Hearts can harden and betray. Hearts are covetous of gain, They can bloom a sunny day. Fading in distress and pain. Like cut flowers, soon to die, But love can all fate control And the heart all ill defy If unsevered from the soul. 177 TIME'S CORRIDOR O Time, thou sculptor none may vie, How are the swift Hmbed years So modeled by thy restless hand To bind our joys and fears. In thy long echoing corridor A little space I stray To view the statutes thou hast wrought Of seasons passed away. Some, far behind, are fondly carved Of alabaster pure, Some in the deep veined marble cut Where hopeless flaws endure. This stands expectant, with a hand Upraised to gain its crown. That, wounded by a broken faith, Sinks pitifully down. One year reveals thy joy of youth, A wine cup at the lip. The next confronts some taunting woe While all life's jewels slip. And one at hand in armor clad Abides austere but calm As patient to await and strong To bear life's chain or palm. Make thou, O Time, the years unwrought Which in my path attend So goodly that my heart may praise Before thy work shall end. 1876 178 PERFECTION Perfection, golden idol of mankind^ Our sensuous love is thine, for thee in pain Of years we all consummate arts attain And foster nature's miracles but to bind Upon thine altar ; for thy praise we find The flawless gem or flower, the rarest strain Of bird or beast and vaunt all beauty gain, Whether of human presence, hand or mind ; But, when one strives in higher Soul to mould His life to its ideals true and pure. Then is the common conscience faint and cold, Unpanoplied to struggle and endure, And he of heavenly zeal must needs be bold To mount alone and Christ's reward secure. 1903 NATURE'S GOSPEL The book of Nature leaveth scanty need For tomes of revelation to the mind Loving so well it cannot wander blind To living gospels. In the patient seed Bearing miraculously tree or reed Which struggle on to fruitfulness and find. Beyond their sleep when winter's shackles bind, A life renewed for greater growth and deed; In all the subtle powers of earth and air And multitudinous suns that shine above ; In instincts of creation everywhere Passing our wisdom, showing laws that prove Man's oracles ; abideth praise and prayer, Hope, faith, redemption, aspiration, love. 1903 179 AFTER DROUGHT. Welcome, O thirsting earth, the pouring rain, Rejoice, thou withered herb, and mock the tree Whose roots deep fixed can not yet drink with thee. Be glad, O dusty field and ripening grain, The Maker hath compassion of thy pain, His clouds of mercy come in jubilee To fill the throat of nature with their free Pure draught of life and win her smile again, And, O my heart, if thy long drought hath passed And showers of hope and faith, of love and joy Atone for desert journeying, if at last The world hath gifts for thee, do thou employ Thy life renewed in every purpose fast, Let neither drought or flood thy path destroy. Stonyman Mountain, 1900 THE TRUE TRINITY There are three Gods in One, the churchmen say, Whose diadems unnumbered tomes prcxilaim. No mind, howe'er inspired, can justly name Their likeness, throne, eternity or sway. Yet, in exalted trust, our hearts obey A Rule creative, Love's self-giving flame And resolute Zeal for good, — a finite frame Of spirit infinite. The heavenly ray Our purest souls may solve in colors thus Like crystal prisms, but the intolerant might Of Arius or Athanasius Degrades : One hue of faith may harm the sight. While in rich order all have grace for us If we but live and grow by their co-operate light. Washington, 1901 180 IF I WERE JUDGE If I were judge, thou sayest, or a king, Long shackled right should sooner rise again Triumphantly, and wrong endure the pain Its craft evadeth. Equity should bring Torture to crime and make the good to sing. But thou art judge and king of wider reign Than throned men, for thou art nigh the strain Of humble life and unplead suffering. Thou hast about thy path the seeds of wrong, Thy foot may crush, ere they grow in the night To thorned trees. Thou canst make justice strong In hut and lane, thy mind its court and light To freely give more speedy bond or song Than law's slow grinding Juggernaut of right. Paris, 1 89 1 DEVOTION 'Tis not because thy God may strike thee dead For crime that thou, O mortal, shouldst obey, As, in the leash of sin, thy every day Is stained before the Vision thou dost dread ; Yea, in thy toil, thy pastime and thy bed Offences foul thy service and betray The hearts of others from the loftier way To eat of food on which ne'er angel fed. God pities thy debasement and he spares. Loving the little thou dost render Him, And so not fear, but gratitude for cares Countless, should nerve thee. Lust no more should dim Love for the suffering world, which lifts its pray- ers For daily Saviors and earthly seraphim. Madrid, 1881 181 LIFE LINGERING As when a bird of passage, having reared Its tender brood in some far northern nest And found a pleasure in its place of rest Which every fragrant, fruitful charm endeared. Reluctant lingers, when the leaves are seared And gradually fall before the test Of the rude northwind conquering the west, Flying but when its home hath disappeared ; So do'th the heart, in life's decreasing days, Seem loth to turn from pleasures of the past; In Autumn's glow it marks not Time's decays, Persuaded fondly that its joys will last, Till, suddenly, the season of delays Is ended under Winter's killing blast. 1880 TO M. L. O. A presence of a beauty rare and high, A mind of keen activity and power, A courage that could years of toil endower ' With cheerfulness, a heart that could deny No need about her, pride that could defy And hide her cares, a nature that each hour Grew in nobility and was a bower Of blooming love and faith and charity ; These were the attributes of one whose sleep Doth now so soon a life of honor encj — A life we glory in, the while we weep And, for its gentle influence, grateful bend. Since God her soul doth in His bosom keep And angels all her loveliness attend. July 28th, 1904. 182 POEMS OF PATRIOTISM STAND BY THE FLAG When the flag that has sheltered us many a year, In whose shadow we knew not the meaning of fear. Is straining before the wild tempest of war And rocking the staff in its treacherous base, Shall we let it be swept to the earth in disgrace Or sustain it as our brave fathers before ? Ah, still in its shadow, we give the pledge here That this fair floating sign of the free shall ne'er drag In the ditches of shame while our nerved arms are near; In our right, in our might, we will stand by the flag. When our forefathers, daring to throw off the mask. That a spiritless servitude carried to bask In the favor of royalty, took by surprise The earthworks of liberty, they on its crest Erected their standard and went to their rest, Leaving to us a State that the world's wonder eyes. But they left a work for us to do. Need we ask Is there any behind would unworthily lag? Let gratitude prove we are proud of the task ; In our right, in our might, we will stand by the flag. Our work is to take up the flag once again And place it, where tempests may batter in vain, On the stronghold of liberty. Rally once more, Our destiny's task should our spirits impel 183 And the unbeguiled hearts of the world wish us well. On, on, hath such glory e'er called man before? What loss is too great? How well worthy the pain. If, standing at last upon liberty's crag, We should plant our trust, a full pledge of her reign ; In our right, in our might, we will stand by the flag. Can the intrigues of party e'er cover our eyes^ Or hamper our efforts to reach the high prize? Shall the pratings of peace clog the duty of war ? Is it best to seek motes in the calm eyes of state When it strives for a nation unitedly great And endures what no other dominion e'er bore? In patriot brotherhood let us be wise And every dismembering fallacy gag. And, until undisputed our proud banner flies, In our right, in our might, we shall stand by the flag. With a future so hopeful of heaven's behest Of all great and good things, shall we fail to contest With a spirit resistless in filial love, All the fierce oppositions infesting our way But to prove our worth for the crown of the fray? Ah, never, but seeking all help from above, We will fight on to victory's cheaply bought test And, fixing our banner on Liberty's crag, Till the sun strikes it last as he sets in the west, In our right, in our might, we shall stand by the flag. Philadelphia, 1862 184 PATRIOTISM (Part of a poem printed in the Philadelphia 'North American," Oct. 26, 1864.) O, spirit of earth's noblest souls, When rights and laws and homes are dear. Fill up our hearts like brimming bowls And flood the emptiness of fear. When dangers threaten and despair Pleads weakly in the face of right, 'Tis thine the nobler cause to dare. To nerve with hope, to thrill with might. Born 'mid the throes of lands oppressed. No terror chills thy heart's full flood. Undaunted when wrongs unredressed Demand fields crimsoned with thy blood. Unfainting when long years of pain Or heavy trials bend thee low, 'Tis thine to proudly rise again And gather grander strength froim woe. Insult and scorn but nerve the heart To bear the judgments that oppress And dauntless to accept thy part Till forth from grief shall mount success. When to thy lips the bitter cup Clings till its bloody draught is spent, Thy dripping hand shall lift it up And God ordain it innocent. II When in the nation's forum meet Her councillors in deep debate, And, heavy browed, the most discreet Revolve the perils of the state, Sift out each lonely voice in vain When impulse breaks the solemn spell. Or, if seditious factions strain. 185 Reprove dismay they cannot quell Then, should some nobler mind arise, Born for the troubled hour's weal, — Soar up, amid the mute surprise, In swelling tones of daring zeal, Awake dull honor, stir the heart With strong and self reliant right, Prompt each one to his higher part 'Till all that hear partake his might, 'Tis thine, proud spirit, to inspire His courage in a fearful time, 'Tis thine to touch with mystic fire And teach man eloquence sublime. Ill War riseS; like an angry cloud, At outraged reason's sad command And men with heaving bosoms crowd Toward the centers of the land. Stand soberly in war's thick Hne, Once thoughtless viewed in peaceful show, And with strange earnestness combine To learn its arts of strife and woe. Some hurried weeks of glad relief Mid duties new, mid new delay. One parting hour of choking grief. And marching numbers pass away. Ah, well for anxious hearts behind, That distance were so kindly mute, That no sad whisper of the wind Can startle with a pain acute, That no deep smothered groan can come To tell of care and pain suppressed. Lest all unguarded hearts at home Might faint with burdens unpossessed. For far away^ O spirit strong, Thy weather beaten children toil In ladened weary march along Through slipping snow or dusty soil, i86 And, the broad width of day no more, The stars have seen the barren plain All dark with heavy sleepers o'er, By nature mercifully slain. At length, before the drifting cloud Upon the sanguinary field. Concealing, as a dreadful shroud, The perils that the moments wield. They wait in frantic thought the shout That gives them to the battle's fate, In hopeful zeal or anxious doubt, With lip compressed and eye dilate, They watch the charging columns fade And see the bleeding burdens come, But still spreads out that dreadful shade. Still rolls the bursting thunder on. IV. At last the sudden summons comes. The column starts, the spirit wakes. In heavy tramp to throbbing drums Fate's plunging road it fearless takes. Wild phantoms throng the smoky air. Unearthly shocks distract the brain, Hoarse rage contends with mad despair And passion frees her horrid train. A fevered dream of reckless strife. Of glaring eyes and clashing steel, Of reeling forms and tortured life. Of faces raised in woe's appeal, Of breaking foes in panic flight, Of shout and eager progress on. Of the fair banner on the height Telling the winds of victory won. And then thy sons, O spirit grand, Can count their trials all repaid. As with dim eyes they see a land Redeemed by their undaunted aid ; 187 Redeemed for all one loves the best, — For weary manhood's happy home, For feeble age awhile to rest, For little ones in years to come. And all the bitter thoughts that rack The anxious heart flee quite away, And peace and joy come gently back To heal the woundings of the fray, While on the breathless message flies, From mouth to mouth its joy prolongs, Mid dancing hearts and brimming eyes And pealing bells and happy songs. V When, for our undivided land, Such sons as these thy cause avow, We wonder not to see thee stand With confident and tranquil brow. Before their high pure creed of right. Before their fearless leagued array. Unfaithfulness shall sink from sight And all its bHghted schemes decay. Live ever, spirit, in their life. Forever draw their hearts to thee And joyful they shall meet the strife To hail true freedom's victory. They shall discern with steadfast eyes The highest good of thy rich trust. Shall guard unselfishly and prize A course unswerving, firm and just. i88 THE MUSIC OF FREEDOM (Written in Paris, 1864, on reading of Lin- coln's re-election.) Over the deep there comes a song Swelling triumphant on wave and wind, Gathering echoes from far behind, 'Tis a wild strain and its full notes roll Into the caverns and clefts of the soul, What may the music be? Surely it comes in its notes so strong From my beautiful land of the free. This is a song that kings know not, This is a chorus that millions sing. Shouting triumphant till mountains ring. Forth from the land of the west it flies, From the broad land where all tyranny dies Sweeps it across the sea, Joyful proclaiming the glorious lot Of a nation redeemed to be free. Hail to the land with voice so clear Rising aloft from its mighty toil, Singing the width of its wild free soil. With a brave heart and a fearless zeal Prompting the strength of the echoing peal Thus, like a bold decree. Flung to the winds that oppression may hear That a nation shall live and be free. Hail to the men of mighty youth. Born to the land of a wealth unknown, Mid its rich hills and its ripe fields grown. Putting the problems of age behind, Moulding the laws of the world's new mind. Laws that in proud agree Stand and ordain by their conquering truth That all nations shall live to be free. 189 A SIGH IN A FOREIGN LAND Ah, when, in the day of a nation's rejoicing, The patriot, far from his country apart, Finds no friendly spirit to aid in the voicing Of all the brave anthems that swell from his heart, When no one shares with him the joyful emotion That grows from the thought of a prosperous past And bursts into flowers of pride and devotion As the day comes again, so propitiously cast ; It is then he longs most for his country deserted. Its altars so freshly adorned by the hands Of his friends and compatriots, gladly diverted To honor the birth of the fairest of lands ; It is then, like a brother detained from the bridal, A soldier unable the conquest to share. That he sorrows without the relief of confidal To friendship attuned to his love and his care. Then the heart, all encompassed by throngs of the stranger Who prize not its treasure yet seek to despoil. Withdraws in distrust to its stronghold in danger And sighs as the portals behind it recoil. But though the long vigils are oftentimes weary And sad with the lingering yearning for home. They shall not forever be lonely and dreary. The day shall dawn brightly, the festival come. Inverness, Scotland, July 4th, 1864 190 COLUMBIA'S NIGHT WATCH (Written in description of the author's painting belonging to the Pennsylvania Historical Society.) Columbia wanders forth at night Among the clustered graves That multiply upon the sight Where lie her fallen braves, The deep wound in her breast is healed, The fell blow turned aside. But by their blood that wound was sealed And for her life they died. And she shall nevermore forget, But, restless in her sleep, Will rise and pace full often yet In sad patrol to weep. Not bitter tears, for all their work Is gloriously done, Nor bitterness nor hate can lurk In the great future won. No fate the happiness can check That Higher Grace endows. Immortelles shall their green graves deck, Wreathed laurels bind their brows. But, to pathetic memories She deep embosomed keeps. Her yearning, grateful heart complies. And still she walks and weeps. Philadelphia, 1865 191 THE 14th OF JULY IN PARIS One loves to see the Stars and Stripes aloft in every street When France rejoices in her day of liberty akin, For, when our sister scoffs at thrones and scep- ters, it is meet The greatest of republics proud should greet- ings true begin. Yea, well may patriot be glad so often to behold On mighty palaces of trade in many a thor- oughfare, A recognition of the States, or see his flag un- rolled At many a lower balcony of wandering million- aire, But most he loves, in narrow streets, remote from pomp and power. To see, at times, from gray mansard or window small and high, Where youth or maiden, yet unknown, await fame's golden hour, Some little flag of freedom blend its colors with the sky. 1 891 192 THE GRAND ARMY PARADE AT WASH- INGTON, SEPT. 20th, 1892 Often, amid the fantasies oi art, Have we beheld, above some darkened field Where war had its cyclonic fury spent, A ghostly host exalted on the clouds In dim array with banners all outspread Like fiery blooms amid its barren spears And mounted chieftains who with waving swords Flashed wrathful lightning at the opposing foe To wrest a victor}^ on earth denied. Thus art with fate hath striven, thus the grief Of patriots hath turned defiantly And bade the armed glory of their hope Of yesterday to live forevermore. But ah ! how vain this vision to the sight When Truth must still, with her impartial hand Point to the silent spectacle beneath Of war's dark wreck and say "Here was the end." How vain the vision and how passing brief Its balm to many nations of the earth Who sit within their walls and mourn the past. Yet if this cup of woe were put aside. If by achievement of a Power Divine The clouds could melt away, the phantom ho'St Could march once more upon the earth again In life and strength rejoicing 'neath the sun With flags exalted still, though time had sped Three full decades of immortality. What would the world exclaim? Of lesser things Have miracles been woven, but to thee, Thrice conquering land of mine, there comes today This marvel in its proud reality. Here at the heart of its herculean frame, This Capital of welded states in one. Hath Loyalty her legions gathered in As from the hallowed silence of the grave To quicken for our gaze. Time far recoils And History in glad amazement turns 193 Full many a page behind to find the deeds Of heroes who confront her yet unbowed, Whose heir she is in countless treasure now, And, as they speak, she casts her volumes by For love of gathering a richer lore. Yea^ from the fastnesses of thirty years In time's dark canyon, where the thunderings Of war's wild cataracts re-echo still. There cometh, like a mighty river down, A blue clad host of sixty thousand men To tread again as comrades, side by side, The highway of the glory of their youth That here, once more before the final sleep, They may renew the rapture all their own Of this loved land's redemption from its ills And see the wonders by their victory vvTought, Singing the thrilling chants of dauntless war With a new gladness in the peace ordained. Well may they sing, for they can now behold How they have fixed by their cementing blood The loosened stones of that immortal arch Of liberty our fathers builded up. Making its broad foundations true and sure. So sure and equal in integrity That none is slave but he who seeks his chain Through idleness and squandering and vice And none is master save the man who mounts By hand and brain to right of leadership Using his powers wisely. Well they sing In witnessing the nation's love renewed For all its wide dominion. Such alone Is patriot faith wherein no selfish part Is dearer to the heart than all the land From sea to sea united, hand or foot Being but dead if from the body cleft. Serving but when co-ordinate and true. So may this living army from the past Muse as it treads again our Appian Way, Gazing upon its banners proudly borne 194 And fondly on its chieftains leading still. The men are whitened with the dust of years, The flags are tattered. All the mightiest Who led this valiant host live only here In hallowed memory, and moulded bronze. Their loyal souls abiding in the realm Of that great chief and father of our land Who ever strove for union and abhorred All narrower love and thought, whose monument Touches the fleecy clouds that drift above The city's gathered festal multitude. But, though the patient strategy of death Hath wrought a greater deed than earthly foe In taking captive fame's first chosen band, Our hearts have nothing to abate of love For this enduring army in our sight. No single valor now doth give eclipse To every soldier's loyal knightliness. For they are of the people in whose faith. Honor and wisdom, freedom hath its life, This prosperous land its strength, and we, the blessed, May now survey in every wide platoon Of hardy veterans, not the mournful dream Of pictured valor in disastrous strife Upon the fields of cloudland dimly traced, But the proud victors of a righteous war To save our nation, equal conquerors Who lead the onward march of human hope. Who hear and see the blessings they have wrought And know the fulness of their great reward. Washington, 1892 19s HUMOROUS AND LIGHTER VERSE, INCLUDING NUMISMATIC VERSE A SUMMER MISHAP I'll tell you how it came to pass, Sit down ten minutes more. John, take away Miss Lucy's glass And shut the parlor door. Well, dear, in Summer time we went To use, a year ago", A cottage papa could not rent. It always happens so. Our usual tour we could not take, Oh, it was such a shame To wear the gowns you helped me make About a place so tame. I tell you, I had need to pout, For sister had a beau She caugbt that Spring, and I without, It always happens so. I did not like him, I confess, At first, but one June night He entered late. You'd never guess It. I sat dressed in white. He swept upon me like a hawk, Embraced me ! Do you know Why lovers kiss before they talk? It always happens so. What could I do? Before I spoke The wretch had kissed me twice. I could not scream, 'twas such a joke And, dear, so very nice. 196 But sister, I should feel for her, I thought, and said "Forego, What mean you by this freedom, sir ?" It always happens so. He started, but he lingered still And begged me not to tell. I promised, for I felt no ill And all went very well. Save when a few soft words he'd say, A "brother's" love to show. Until a cousin came to stay, It always happens so. Maud then was quite a pretty girl And looked, they said, like me, But such a flirt she made men quirl ; Well, one night, after tea. We girls apart had settled down, Our chat was dull arid slow. My music had been left in town. It always happens so; When sister's beau came quickly in. We had turned down the light, Maud sat somewhat apart in thin Checked muslin, almost white. He saw no others in the dark And, ere she half could know His purpose, kissed her. Spark met spark. It always happens so. She, full of laughter, broke away And hurried out of view. He saw me, said "Forgive rne, pray, I thought that it was you." My sister screamed. He knew the cost. 197 "Perfidious villain, go/' He heard, retreating. Thus was lost. It always happens so. Philadelphia, 1871 FUMIGATION The Summer closed and Ethel's heart Indulged in frequent palpitation, For one young gallant seemed to smart With prickly heat of love's creation. The day of parting came and yet. While Horace wore a face dejected. His words of diffident regret Were not at all the words expected. And why? Her father's skillful work As chemist marked rich portion pending And Horace, though a stately clerk At bank, might still be condescending. The fair one at her rural home, Passed some days in protracted musing, While joys and fears like sea side foam Dashed fitfully, to hope's abusing. But suddenly the door bell rang rang One morning and the servant, smiling. Brought Ethel, as she upward sprang, A gift of roses most beguiling. A card the hoped for name revealed And, mutely, its address requested Some dainty note, securely sealed And by her jewelled signet crested. 198 A dozen efforts met the flame Ere one acknowledging the flowers A rival in perfume became 'Mid her sachet for several hours, Whence, odorous of violet, It issued, without more delaying. To bear by mail fair Ethel's debt Of thanks in words much more betraying. Thus to the city quickly flew The note and with a host awaited Delivery, but, ah, how true The danger of a thing belated. An epidemic spread abroad Made disinfecting methods needed That very noon, nor could afford The town to let them go unheeded. The postmaster left naught in doubt But, with a resolution placid. He had the letters all spread out And fumed them with carbolic acid. Alas for love in such a test, Alas perfume of sweetest flowers. Well may poor Romance beat her breast And let her tears descend in showers. Fair Ethel's fumigated note Was given to her heart's desire Who briefly read the words she wrote And sniffing, threw it in the fire. No saving impulse bade him stop, As oft when loving feeling lingers, He simply interjected "Shop" And went to wash his dainty fingers. Washington, 1885 199 A QUESTION OF TEMPER 'Twas in a shop^ a year ago That first I found my charmer, Nor did, as I was glad to know, My unkempt face alarm her. Soon was I daily with her seen And she behaved so sweetly, She was so polished, bright and keen. She yielded so completely, That oft I held her slender waist. Oft to my lips I drew her, And my stern visage, care effaced. Grew smoother as I knew her. Until her habits made me take To personal reflections, For oft she caused me many a scrape By cutting my connections. Her temper was not always meek. Slights sharply were resented. Though when I turned the other cheek, She frequently relented. I bore with much I won't reveal Of faulty inclinations, For long I thought her true as steel And prized our close relations. If blood at times was in her glance And got her in hot water, I knew 'twas but a circumstance By inattention taught her. And ventured now and then to use A leather strop in season, 200 Although one truly may abuse This mode of teaching reason. Whether from this or other cares Her temper quite forsook her, She was forever splitting hairs, I could no longer brook her. She grew so dull I broke the pledge And when, no longer trusted, She kept me on the ragged edge, I shut her up disgusted. Another man, to end my woes, At length with her departed, And to the grindstone kept her nose. Nor was I broken hearted. For if, in uttermost despair, I can no longer praise her. Think not I slander woman fair, I speak but of my razor. Washington, 1886 THE YANKEE TWANG (Tune, "Yankee Doodle.") The Yankee has a nasal twang And everybody knows it But not the nose from which it sprang, So this narration shows it. There was a very early Yank Of pure Mayflower breeding, And for a maid of equal rank His heart with love was bleeding. One night they sat on Plymouth rock Before her parents missed her, 201 When, lo, he gave her quite a shock As suddenly he kissed her. He reckoned on "How dare you, sir." She couldn't make a wry mouth, And he could honestly aver He fairly came to ply mouth. The blue laws then were very blue And such an act was frightful, But soon their mouths were fast as glue, The sin was so delightful. Alas, one mouth did not suffice To kiss and tell his pleasure. But when did Yankee lack device To all his wishes measure. He couldn't take his lips away And, as his heart grew bolder, He wished her to be his for aye So through his nose he told her. His accent proved so very sweet That, since she couldn't shake him. She made his heart's success complete By nodding that she'd take him. Then, when the honeymoon was past. He at a codfish dinner, Confided to the boys at last How he contrived to win her. Thus all enamored Yankees since. When ardent love disposes, Give sweethearts not a chance to wince By talking through their noses. And, whether Yankees kiss so much Or are so imitative, The nasal twang 's a local touch Of each down eastern native. Washington, 1900 202 ADVENTURES IN SOUTHERN SPAIN AND TANGIER Once more in Paris, we again Have met, who jogged along in Spain Together, happy to recall Adventures which united all. At Cadiz met, we were not long Enchanted by its dance or song. Its whitewashed walls or dear hotels, Its pealing or appealing bell(e)s. We wanted but to get away, And innocently down the bay We started in a little boat To search a steamer far afloat. Can we forget our little crew, The boy, the aged man who grew So weary toiling at the oar, The stalwart one who mildly bore Us to a floating hulk to wait All hungry the decrees of fate, The chase renewed and then, ah me. That steamer going out to sea. And hours on the hulk again Ere it returned to soothe our pain. Think of the modest little tip Demanded for our pleasure trip. And then forget in pleasant course To England's rock established force. With Afric's distant mountains grand And Spain's green hills on either hand. But what peculiar welcome met Us at Gibraltar's parapet. John Bull stood with his watch, await And one hand on the iron gate. "If you're not in," he seemed to shout, "At seven thirty, you're shut out, I go by military rule," It seemed like getting late at school, But time was short and, all intent 203 To reach the shore our boatmen bent Their oars with vigor. On we flew At twilight, o'er the sombre bhie Of tossing waves and reached the pier. All tumbled out twixt hope and fear And ran as fast as legs could go To reach the gate desired so, Our luggage borne by noisy men. At length we stood within the den Of England's lion, out of breath. About us ramparts whispered death To any foe but, fearing not Their guns, we sought for something hot Of other quality and came To pay our welcome to the same. Two days we wandered in and out On donkeys and afoot about The barren rock. All human kind We saw, but could not monkeys find. Then, dauntless, sought their native land In steaming to old Afric's strand. Five hours on the troubled wave White Tangier to our vision gave, And all about our steamer drew Boats dancing their barbaric crew Above, below, behind, before. They bore us helpless to the shore Half drenched and left us several days To learn in peace the novel ways Of native negro^ Moor and Jew, Of women draped from impious view. To scan their costumes, camels, shops, Content, meanwhile, to fill our crops About a Frenchman's ample board. Too soon we all again were stored Upon a steamer's crowded deck, Escaping momentary wreck In seeking it, and then again Upon the channel's angry main 204 We rolled about in reckless plight, Men, women, cattle, all affright And sprinkled by the dashing spray ; Then in Gibraltar's harbor lay, There separated, some to press On to Granada's loveliness, And others to await a squall By sea which rivalled that Saint Paul Once kept a log of. Then a day At Malaga was whiled away, Despite a downpour. All at last Together in Granada passed Ten days of sentimental bliss As if by some magician's kiss Restored to youth and days of old And Moorish pleasures manifold. May, 1881 THE EAR OF CORN, A FABLE (Written for children.) Beneath the sunshine of a summer day And nigh a farmer's often trodden way. Low on the stalk, an ear of Indian corn Hung silently, dejected and forlorn. Although no blight or insect conld be seen Upon its tasselled cone of tender green And, in a rift, the rows of pearly grain Resembled more a maiden's smile than pain. Hard by, an aged tortoise came at length Along the furrow with an awkward strength, Craning his wrinkled neck and staring out Upon the world with philosophic doubt. The ear of corn could not restrain a sigh And, when he winked with sympathetic eye, She cried, "O, tell me, venerable friend. Wherefore I live and what shall be my end. 205 Thou hast so hard a husk I may surmise That many years of Hfe have made thee wise." The tortoise answered, "Thou and all thy kind The toil of man hath reared that he may grind Thy kernels into meal when thou art dry, Or feed upon thee green, or give supply Unto his cattle. This shall be thy fate." "O," moaned the ear, "Am I bom but to sate The appetite of hungry man or beast? Is all my beauty formed but for their feast ? Shall they all higher aspiration rob?" "Yes, they shall eat thee all except the cob," Replied the tortoise bluntly, "Even this They sometimes find for smoking not amiss." "And is there no existence sweetly dear Where I may live in spirit?" said the ear. "Why, surely," snapped the tortoise, "If you're frisky. They'll take the still out, turning you to whiskey." "Ah," cried the tender ear, "Ah, woe is me, Who oft have drunk the dew and sunshine free. Who once was kissed by butterfly so fair And loved him as he floated off in air. Who once a locust wooed in green array As this I wear, and sang the live long day Upon my bosom, until, when he flew, I sought to spread my leaves and flutter too. Canst thou no sweeter fate to me assure, Who long to be idyllic, mystic, pure ?" The tortoise groaned. "Alas," said he, "my age No brighter future for thee can presage Than to be nutriment for toiling man. But, lo, there cometh hither one who can Perchance inform thee better. 'Tis the child No grasshopper can match in gambols wild. The farmer's little daughter. We are friends. We play at hide and seek and when she bends To see if she can find my horny nose, Do thou thy troubles unto her disclose." 206 It happened even as the tortoise said, And when the child bent down her curly head, She heard a gentle voice upon the stalk. "I never knew before that ears could talk," She cried in glee. "Mamma has often said Tongues must be still, when putting me to bed. And I have minded her. Now, pretty ear. Do teach mine how to talk as well as hear." The ear began. "O child of beauteous face, Thou little fairy of the human race. Tell me, I pray, what men shall do with me?" "Are you so green as that ? Well, let me see," The child replied. "I really must say That if they came and gathered you to-day. They'd pull your clothes off and your silken hair And then, when you were shivering and bare. They'd put you and your sisters in a pot And cook you all in water, boiling hot. Or else, and you might like it more, I s'pose, They'd roast you on a fire in your clothes With clams and things, and if you understood How to behave, you'd come out awful good. And there are other things which you might be, Now you are green. If you could only see The hoe cakes and the fritters and the pies And puddings Mamma, when she really tries, Could make of you, you'd let me take you home. — Ah, well, I see you do not care to come." "Oh, thoughtless child, how cruelly you speak. Is there no other end that I may seek," The ear exclaimed, "to bitter fate defy?" "Oh, yes, a lot of things when you are dry. Like great big people when they lose their wits. If you are broken fine you can be grits, And hominy if you are broken big, Then you are very good to eat with pig. Now, don't you mind, for if unbroken, sweet, You'll not be with pig but for pigs to eat And sheep and cows and horses." "You will break 207 My heart," the ear sobbed. "O, then, you can take A little choice. You can be ground to meal. Fine, soft and yellow, and you might not feel So very badly if you knew what good Cakes, puddings, bread and other kinds of food Were made of you. And then, O, there is mush," The child cried joyfully. "In mercy, hush," The ear replied. "It goes against the grain. It fills the center of my cob with pain To hear this dreadful word. Is there no lot. Condition, situation, state, begot Of gormandizing man that may fulfil My need and leave me consolation still, Where I shall not the fires of woe endure So long, where I may be transfonned and pure, Unsatisfying to the appetite Of carnal things and mystically white, No refuge from the breezy crib that waits My dry old age, no hiding from the fates?" The child reflecting, seemed to comprehend These earnest words, and said, "There is an end Which may be just the thing. The fire is hot. But you are in a cage, not in a pot. And then they shake you, you don't mind a bump, And very soon, you only have to jump When you are burning. Then you change so much You wouldn't know yourself. It's just a touch, And then they pour you out so nice and light And twenty times as big, as snowy white As any feather from a fairy's wing. Without a taste of any earthly thing." "O," cried the pearly ear, "thou lovely child, To such a lot I can be reconciled. What is the state which thus my hopes exalt?" The child said, "Pop corn, but vou'll need some salt." 208 ENVOI. The tortoise added, "You may strive in vain A spiritual being to attain, For though you pass through fires round about And turn your dry existence inside out, Without some earthly salt to make you right You will, however pure, be tasteless quite." Cincinnati, 1890 THE HERD OF SWINE (A Satire) A city, as Gadara knov/n, existed long ago Beyond the sea of Galilee, as ancient maps will show. And note ye, busy countrymen, from "Frisco" to New York, Chicago had a rival old that cultivated pork, Which also flourished near a lake and o'er the hal- lowed line Of Jordan's stream, as may be best for those who deal in swine. Well, proudly lived Gadara when a Rabbi famed of men Went over, every home to save, nor thought of every pen. He passed a graveyard near the town when, lo, a madman came Upon him from the tombs, his eyes with demon rage aflame. His tenants found they had to quit the frame they racked in sin And begged, as in bad odor held, some swine toi enter in, — A herd of many swine which, on a hillside by the sea, 209 Were feeding, witless of disgrace or forced ac- tivity. No man can say why they were doomed to carry human woe Or down that pleasant mountain steep so reckless- ly to go. Perchance, possession of man's guilt was quite too deep a stain. And from life's muddy happiness a death, tho' clean, were gain. At all events, historic page, suffused with noble deeds And fragrant with the sacrifice of life for human needs, Has no more moving spectacle of abnegated pride Than those two thousand swine afford upon that mountain side. The keepers, deafened by the squeals and splash, as all went down, Cried out, "The devil's in the swine," and hurried into town. There every dealer in the crowd upon the market place Heard of the sharp decline in pork with pale and frightened face. They hastened to the graveyard straight, a mob upon their track. To see if they could not obtain a possible draw- back. Regretting, on their troubled way, that limpid Galilee Was not, for once, as good a brine as the Judean sea. They reached the fresh disaster's scene .md there, among the best, They saw the late demoniac quite well and nicely dressed. He, who had been the hardest case of all the coun- try round, 2IO Stark mad, stark naked in his sprees, sat tranquil on the ground, No more defying the police or closing all the roads About that graveyard to mankind, or lodged in its abodes. They took him just a step aside, when somewhat free of fear. And said^ "You precious lunatic, you've cost us very dear. We didn't mind if family tombs were rather badly used Or country relatives were slain or otherwise abused. We overlooked indecency and all the noise you made, But now you're past endurance quite. You've killed the season's trade. Already we have spent enough for damages and chains. And now you cost no end of 'pig' to taunt us for our pains." They turned them to the Rabbi then who made the madman whole. Who thought but of the precioiisness of every outcast soul. And humbly unto Him they said, "We reverence your skill In curing the demoniac of his condition ill. But few if any citizens in our town's confine Are worthy of your grace and, if you can't restore the swine. Such cures as this are profitless, so. lest your heal- ing art Should treat more unclean spirits thus, we beg you to depart." The Rabbi saw the town possessed by that fierce legion Gain And, willing not a greater task, he left in mute disdain. 211 The man restored sought passage too, as chances in the town Xv'^ere poor, but he remained and grew a preacher of renown. 1877 AN AMERICAN GIRL'S MAIL IN PARIS O, concierge, something for me, do you say? In that dark little nook where I eagerly look When I go or return, be it ten times a day. No, those are but circulars, throw them away. How in the world do the modistes all know That I am in Paris and bother me so? Aha ! now you smile. There are letters indeed. A flock of my precious white birds of the sea Have come to the nest and are waiting for me. Quick, let me take them. I'm dying to read. But first for a look as I go up the stairs. Addresses and postmarks I know at a glance. Here's a note from Papa, which responds to my prayers, I am sure, and contains what he calls "an ad- vance." My stars ! what a dress I shall have for the dance. And here is Mamma's, — a good, heavy one, too. Which will tell me of all that is passing at home, Of calls and oi companies past and to come. And the best of it. Mamma tells just what is true. For you cannot trust everyone's gossip, you know. Then her last good advice, I am sure she'll renew, And, truly, I'll keep it, if only to show Dear Mother her girl can be trusted away. Why ! here's one from Joe. What has he got to say? I'll venture he wants some more gloves or a hint Upon gentlemen's styles, or some news of Kate Sweet 212 Touring somewhere abroad whom he wants me to meet. I buy all his gloves, for I know just the tint. I hope he will mention that classmate who came Last summer to Newport and was so poUte. Oh ! a letter from Belle and another from Sue. She'll tell her engagement or give me a cue. But Uncle shan't see them. He says he can name A score of my very best friends who will write, On the least provocation, four sheets every week, Too heavy an export of paper unpaid Which will certainly injure the balance of trade, Whatever that signifies, but it's a shame That thus of my letters he'd venture to speak, If only in fun. Yet I quickly forget, As I read all within them, my eyes sometimes wet With tender affection or longing, my lips Oft twitching with mirth or in laughter released. My cheeks even flushed with the wine of my feast Of compliments brought over sea by the ships. Ah yes, my dear letters, like seabirds you part From the shore of my dear native land and you come With every loved message and story of home And your safe place of rest shall be down in my heart. Paris, 1879 VERSES (Written to and of a clever young English girl in the bureau of a Paris pension. A parody upon a song in the light opera "Patience.") A jocular eyed young girl, A witty "aside" young girl. Whose electrical mind keeps the hair in the wind Of this sharply defined young girl. 213 A go-as-yoii-list young girl, A partie at whist young girl, Who can win it alone with a pack of her own, This imperfectly known young girl. A very profound young girl, A clever all round young girl, A good at a spell or a bell or a swell Or a "regular sell" young girl. A charcoal and peppermint girl, A marron glace young girl, A walk in the dark for a feminine "lark" In the shade of the "Arc" young girl. Paris, 1881 MIDSUMMER (A parody) The day is hot and close and dusty. It glares and the town is cross and crusty. The locust shrieks in the midday heat. The cows rebel as they stamp their feet And the day is hot and dusty. My life is hot and close and dusty, I sweat and my temper's cross and crusty. My collar wilts from my dripping skin And the flies, confound them, buzz like sin. And the day is hot and dusty. Dry up, wet mortal, and banish sorrow. Your clothes will come from the wash tomorrow, Your shirt is the common shirt of all, Into each bosom some sweat must fall. Some days must be hot and dusty. Reichenhall, Bavaria, July, 1884 214 THE HERRING AND THE LONG CLAM (A parody on Scheffel's "Herring and the Oysten" (German poem.) The herring whom so sadly rash love could dis- appoint^ Whose nose the cruel oyster had put so out of joint, To flee humiliation across the ocean swam And, as he wandered aimless, beheld a long necked clam. Quoth he, "Though I intended to yield to love nO' more And, in its passing weakness, could ever clams ignore, I never in my roaming have seen a clam like this With such a neck for suction and such a mouth to kiss." The flattered clam received him with neck out- stretched in pride ; So ardent was her passion, she sucked his nose in- side, And now at home the herring must with his clam repose Or, if he seeks to wander, must bear her on his nose. 1896 WOMAN'S STRATEGY Oh! what a hat was on her head As she came down the theatre aisle, That woman of provoking smile, While everybody gazed with dread 215 Lest they should never see the stage If she should chance to sit hetween. She took her place with smile serene, To one old man's despair and rage. For such a hat no plea presumes, It had no blinding little things Or wild array of pigeon's wings But was a mass of lofty plumes ; It towered like a mighty stack Of harvest hay, an isle of palms ; No cloud of August's sultry calms Was e'er so ominous and black. To him behind all hope was lost And every other man around In sympathetic anger frowned, The women wondered what it cost. The orchestra began to play And still the wearer of the hat In maddening complaisance sat, As careless what the world would say. At length the curtain upward went; The woman then, her triumph made That all should see her well arrayed. Took off the hat, as she had meant. And all within the theatre said, Even the man who sat behind, We surely have been most unkind. She, after all_, is quite well bred. Denver, 1897 216 NUMISMATIC VERSE Note. — The inexperienced reader of these nu- mismatic poems should be informed that the coins specified are rare and that rarity and value result from the small obtainable number of a piece and not from age or denomination. The writer is a life member of the Archaeological and Numis- matic Society of New York, a member and Ex-President of the American Numismatic As- sociation and author of "Mint Marks." THE AMOROUS NUMISMATIST An amorous numismatist Met a fair damsel in a grove And when he saw he sighed and wist To have the maid return his love. Said he, "A precious '99 Light olive cent I have in store I treasure much but for thee pine And feel I love thee almost more." Said she, *T now am quite content, My heart and hope are in-no-cent." The amorous numismatist He wept that she could thus repel. "There is no coin upon my list That I could love, I think, so well. I have a charming 1804 And both together would I give, I'm nearly sure, to thee adore, Accepted, and with thee to live." Said she, "You dwell upon the cent But not upon the cent-I -meant." "If," said the sad numismatist, "My cents were bored and linked with wire, To form a bracelet for thy wrist And prove the worth of my desire, 217 If all the rarest of my gold Were strung, thy tresses to bedeck, My silver pieces most extolled Were hung about thy snowy neck ?" "Ah," laughed the maiden, "Tell me when I'll be an acquies-cent then." A MISS TAKEN SCENT I have a friend who loves a joke And knows my taste for copper coin. One day we met and, with a poke. He said, "Come, Harry, won't you join A fellow at his lunch to-day? I go where little need be spent And, if you'll meet me, I'll repay You with a strong light olive cent." Although the weather was too hot To warrant one an appetite, The promise drew me to the spot Where sat my friend with visage bright. A plump mulatto maiden brought The food in such perspiring haste That, as she hovered 'round, I thought Her odor rather spoiled its taste And, pushing by my plate, I said, "Come, now, old boy, I want to see That strong light olive coin instead Which you this morning promised me." As Susan to the kitchen went. The scamp replied, "Coin? Not a bit. I promised a light olive scent And there goes all you'll have of it." Washington, 1904 218 THE OLD LADY WE KNOW One day I was studying coins in a shop Where the good natured butcher my interest knew, When an old lady passing out happened to stop, Remarking, "My grandfather left me a few." I never dropped money so quickly before To talk to a woman of any degree. I picked up her bundle and opened the door And said, as she limped, she must lean upon me. Of course "1 was glad to be going her way," More purchases made I was eager to take And, when she was weary, I hastened to pay For a lunch and a nosegay and cab for her sake. She thought she had never met one so polite. When we stopped at her cottage, and asked me to call Next week, as at present she could not invite Her friends as some painters were doing the hall. I said that old persons were always my joy Since being of grandparents early bereft, And I longed to know more of her middle aged boy And her grandfather's life — and the coins he had left. She believed that a '94 dollar was there, A '96 half and a '99 cent And asked if such pieces, uninjured, were rare. I said I was sure they had often been spent, 219 But they might come in somewhere or do for a trade, I carelessly hinted, and hoped none would see Or hear of them. Kindly the old lady made This promise until she could show them to me. Then, in my temerity, all of that night I pictured these gems in my study beneath All snug in the fireproof and, at the sight, How Johnson and Jones would be gnashing their teeth. The next week I, surely, of callers was first But, much to my sorrow, the lady was out, And the day after that, but a gas pipe had burst And then for a while she was down with the gout. At length, when I found her, she said with a tear, The coins were too sacred. Was I in the lurch ? Ah, not if I knew it. I made them appear By giving a "Ten" for the debt of her church. t t The hoped '94 was a poor '99, The '99 cent was a fair '94, The half was a quarter, but nothing to mine, And the rest — if a pedlar's, I'd show him the door. When gently I gave the old lady the name Of both Johnson and Jones as the men who should see Her treasures, she said their advice was the same On the previous month, in referring to me. Published in the "Numismatist" of August, 1892. 220 THE NUMISMATIST AND THE BURGLAR (Published in the Numismatist of May, 1894.) Old Jimmy Snap the cracksman had begun To sigh for spoils. He had but little done Since last a lodger at the county jail And thought of reformation, but the frail In moral strength are very easily bent And Jimmy had a big temptation sent To test him in a certain Dr. Green — A neat young bachelor of modest mien He chanced to see before his door one night Receiving from the postman with delight A package registered and sealed with care. Old Jimmy watched again and often there And still the packages and letters came. And colored pamphlets stuffed the narrow frame Which Green unlocked for mail when at the Post Where Jimmy also rambled and could boast That he so closely dogged the doctor's track He knew that rarely packages went back, And then were much reduced, as he could see ; So what could this accumulation be? A pal suggested "Hunks of quinine pills Or patent medicines to fix the chills. Or stacks of every herb and powder known To make some patent mixture of his own, And pamphlets might be catalogues of drugs Or knives for carving stiffs and poor house thugs. And letters might be bills or urgent pleas For early calls to watch some youngster sneeze." "No," Jimme said, "Doc hasn't such a flush In curin' folks, I haint observed no rush About his place. In fac', it has the look Of lighter trade most ever since he took To this here package game." "A genteel crib," His comrade then exclaimed. "Don't be so glib," Was Jimmy's answer. "Doc don't know enough. He's clear as seltzer, hasn't got the stuff 221 For shady work. He looks with all his eyes At every package, sometimes half unties The strings and breaks the seals while in the street. No, he's not in it. Doc is mixed too sweet." Soon after this debate a climax came And Jim was much more hungry for his game, For to the doctor's door a strong team brought A safe one morning and the porters fought And tugged at planks and pulleys in and out Amid a mile of rope or thereabout. And nicked the steps, the hallway carpet tore And took some splinters off of every door, Toiling like ants about a grain of corn, While to and fro, exultant or forlorn. The gentle doctor ran and failed to see Intended callers turn or hear the free Remarks of the assembled populace. "He's a safe doctor now, in any case," Said one. "Yes," quoth another, "For his pay He's got a fire-proof to put away The dollars that he gets for sugar pills." "No," called a third, " 'tis for the folks he kills Till he's a chance to plant 'em." Idler's jest Did thus with workmen's expletives contest Until the evening saw the safe disposed Within his study. There its doors enclosed, Before the daylight came, the gathered store Of those mysterious parcels, lingered o'er By the young doctor with the silent bliss Of some fond mother giving kiss by kiss To her first child in midnight wakefulness. Old Jimmy marked the light and had no less Observed the safe as it was taken in, A second hand one, plates were rather thin And might be drilled. The kind of lock it bore Was troublesome, he'd picked it once before. Some little patience was in order then To learn the details of the doctor's den. 222 A visit of his pal, pretending pain, Brought observations of important gain In knowledge of the fastenings of the room And further, he had noticed in the gloom Some scattered coin and catalogues of sale. This put the eager burglar on the trail And now the secret of the doctor told. So Jimmy felt that packages of gold And silver would reward his dark intent. But then to choose the time. The doctor spent His evenings often far into the night Before his treasure, judging by the light. Jimmy at length resolved to do his task In boldest fashion — shooting gear and mask The first night that the servant should go out. An opportunity soon came about And when the doctor left his open trays To serve the door bell he was in a daze At sight of the intruder. "Not a word/' Cautioned the burglar, as his victim stirred As if to raise alarm, "and no pretence Of fightin', you'll be safe without defence. But show me them there drawers. I want to take The medicine that keeps you wide awake. I'll make my own prescriptions, all in one, And take a good big dose before I've done." The doctor, in a torment, groaned and sighed, He pulled his tray of half cents open wide. There, sleeping in symmetrical array. The dates complete in high condition lay, — His '93 and '6 and 1802 And all the precious restrikes. What a stew For a collector ! In a moment more. He thought, this brutal fellow here will pour The lot into his pocket but, perplexed. The man behind him simply muttered, "Next, You can't fool me with these here little fish." The doctor turned indignant, "Do you wish To question " Here the burglar said, "Dry up. 223 Show me the next." This was a bitter cup For the collector, since the next contained A hundred cents so rare that they had drained His profits for a year — ten '93 Varieties and other '90's free From injury and strictly extra fine And, best of all, a handsome '99, Then 1804 and '9 almost as good And '23 quite fine. The burglar stood A moment ere he shoved the treasure back And said. "Doc, you are ofif the center track. I haint come here for truck the like o' this. Now, durn it, man, be quick." The Doctor's bliss A moment held him as if petrified, Then half in doubt, he, from another slide, Drew out his sets of 2's and 3's and 5's, All proofs or nearly so. "Some Doctors' lives Seem cheap as patients' does," old Jimmy said, Rapping his pallid victim on the head ; "Keep these for organ grinders, bigger loot Is what I'm after, or you'll hear me shoot." "But really," said the Doctor, terrified, "I haven't any better things aside. My half dimes, which I wish so to perfect, Have very few that one might call select. My dimes are poor in every early date, My quarters are not yet in any state To show, my halves I have but just begun. Of dollars, I'm ashamed to say I've none. Look at these trays of silver, if you will. But all the rarer gaps I've yet to fill And others in condition are below The standard that I yet intend to show ; Then I shall search for mintmarks, since in these Alone can modern coinage surely please, And keep an eye to patterns, gem by gem ; Have you, sir, ever chanced to study them?" "Study to hell," the mouth behind the mask Concisely said. "Pray, what is it you ask," 224 The startled Doctor uttered. "Just shell out Your halves and quarters. Mind what you're about, And now, unless you want to lay there cold, Get onto somethin' in the way of gold." "But I have nothing even scarce in that," The Doctor said, as in the burglar's hat He poured the halves and quarters he had kept From circulation for a start. There crept A bitter pang of unmismatic shame At such confession. "1 am not to blame. However," he remarked, "so far away From auctions and with little means to pay For coins of every series really rare. I feel that I can only give my care To minor coinage first, but later on These lesser pieces will not have alone My interest and study. Soon I'll take My silver up in earnest and shall make Each series strong in early dates and fine As may my funds permit, throughout the line. Then I shall turn to gold." "You cussed fool," The burglar said, "If you don't raise the pool With somethin' yellow now, I'll lay you straight. Get down to work, I haven't time to wait." "Why, all I have in gold," the Doctor cried, "Are five half eagles that I put aside Because the date was that when I was born. But it's a common one, and two are worn So as to be but very good and three Are somewhat scratched and nicked, as you will see. I hoped no visitor would know about Such specimens, but, if they'll help you out. Take them, and, if there's any thing you've got I need, why we can trade, or, if there's not, You can, no doubt, improve them by and by." This mild abstraction ended in a sigh. The burglar listened with a puzzled stare. 225 At length he said, "If you've the shiners there, Just chuck 'em in me hat and no more gab." The Doctor promptly did, then with a grab Jim took the lot and in a handkerchief Rolled up his plunder. Next, as for relief Of any doubt about the Doctor's word, The contents of remaining drawers he stirred About with clumsy fingers. "What be those ?" He asked. The Doctor hastened to disclose The fact that they were copper pieces called Colonials. "And them derned things ?" Appalled, The Doctor murmured they were Jersey cents, But uttered not a word about expense. "And these here?" "They are tokens." At the last, When sundry empty envelopes had passed Old Jimmy's brief inspection, he remained A moment in reflection, then exclaimed — "Well, Doc, I never felt so cussed mean At any job I've done. From what I'd seen I reckoned on a sweep that I could brag, A big jack pot of shinin' yellow swag, But, if the copper rot you've spread about In these here trays is all you've dickered out Of hefty envelopes and bundles stuck All over sealin' wax, and if such truck Has made you such a lot of letters write And kept you spoonin' on it half the night. And soaked you for that safe to keep it in. Why, either it looks like a kind of sin Agin men of my callin' or you be The greatest loon I think I ever see. I'm goin' now and, Doc, you'd better stay Just where you are 'til I get well away." With this, the burglar glided from the door And, fifteen minutes later, 'round the floor The doctor danced a hornpipe in delight That, after all the perils of the night. The precious sets that made his leisure sweet Were still his own, uninjured and complete. 226 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 007 379 950 8 Hl'iM'i m0 life:: pi' mm iijljliljii-" [|j:t|!:;||ii ;|li:}"f!iii;!ii'' ''•v>',k-ii'^i,h i-f^iUi'^is^H ^\m ■iSiiiiiiii .: im^^ fHu J/- -it' t-U i-m ^^- 'WM J:lit;'!;M:;"iH':!!i' ■i fiH ''(&!; l'"'^*^ ■iiiliiiiiiiiliiiliii