^oV^^ ^ kPv\ ^o>^. C'T ^ ^c v.c«55.\.^'. o 4 ^ ^v-^* 5- >^ -0^ '^^^'v ^ov* :^^.^ ^*Aot j'-^^': -^ov* &0, *'. o ^ ^ # >V 1 o. ^,^/P^. '^o V •^. ^ ^ «.„ % '-' '^o^ BRAIN RAMBLES. BY JUNIUS L. HEMPSTEAD. Auttior of EFIESTA ; OR, THE CASTLE OF SILENCE. NEDETTE, THE ARCAD- IAN MAID. REGINALD; OR A FISHERMAN'S LUCK. AFTER MANY DAYS AND OTHER STORIES. THOMPSON, THE DETECTIVE. MUSINGS OF MORN (.Poems), PAR- NASSIAN NICHES {Poems). THE DESCHANOS. A CHEQUERED DESTINY. F*ulDlisl::iers : Ben-Franklin Publishing Co., NO. 45 TO 5 J ROSE STREET, NEW YORK CITY. A. D. igos. TS. ^CV4 UBRASY of wONGRHSS AUG 8 1905 iJop.yri«nx cuiry GUI Copyrighted 1S)05 By JUNIUS L. HEMPSTEAD CONTENTS. I Am the Frost King 7 Too Late 9 I Ask No Vow 10 Call Back 11 When the Last Bugle Shall Blow 13 Thou Can'st Not Cheat the Earth 14 The Baron's Last Revel 18 I Am Lonely 20 Every Year 2.2 Love's Reverie 23 The Little Brick Schoolhouse 24 The Ship of State 25 The Silent Gray Army 27 Spring 29 Summer 31 Autumn 32 Winter 35 The Sword of Justice 37 In the West 38 Neptune's Harper 40 Wine Bubbles 42 Silence 43 The Gray Sea Wolf 46 The Stone King 48 Hymn to the Sungod 49 Books 50 Eternity 51 The Bride of Time 53 The Old Woodpile 55 Gerty 56 Poor Brown Hands 57 Alas! Proud Spain 59 June Love 60 Ember Reveries ^^ Drifting 63 Israel 64 I Saw a Ripple ^ Stranded 67 The Curfew Tolls 69 Carmen 70 The Forty-Niner's Return IZ Words 75 Life's Antithesis 11 Echoes of Memory 79 We Will Drink 80 The Broken Pitcher 82 The Sweet Face at the Door 84 Pioneer Graves 85 Wanted — A Friend 87 To Junius L. Hempstead — A Reply 88 Only a Confederate Soldier 90 Contemplation 92 Faith 94 The Trusts 95 One By One 96 Fate Is a Flower 98 Autumn's Brown-Robed Queen 99 Thought's Empire loi God Has No Creeds 102 Emotions 104 Laugh ! Laugh ! 105 An Ancient Death Mask 106 UNPUBLISHED POEMS. Temptation 107 The Witch's Cauldron 109 The Country Girl no The Slanderer 112 Weave, Old Dame 112 There Is a Line 114 Who Would Barter— 116 4 Let There Be Light 117 The Spider Vice 120 Death's Banquet 122 Time, the Iconoclast 123 By the Sea 125 Creation's Doom 127 Twilight Reveries 129 The Last Man 130 Ecce Homo 131 The Soul of a Star 132 My Dream Star 133 Daughter of Fate 135 The Castle of Kismet 135 What Is Man? 140 Truth 142 Old Age 144 The Song of the Type 146 Life's Undertow 149 What God Saw, Sees, and Hears 151 God's Temple 168 The Waif of a Wreck , 170 Grandpa Is Dead 185 An Ode to Human Rights 186 Christmas at Col. C. H. Aliens, A. D. 1899 187 Little Spanish Papite 189 I AM THE FROST KING. I am the pale frost king, I am the year's autumnal ghost, I color ev'ry living thing With shades that suit me most. How skillfully I trace My gnomelike designs, In ev'ry vacant place You'll find my zigzag lines. No one has seen my face, My breath's as light as down, My veil of frosted lace Turns vegetation brown. Who hears my noiseless tread? I steal on summer unaware. The forest trees are dead, Their branches brown and bare. I weave with wondrous skill Cobwebs for the vanished years. On ev'ry glade and hill My dainty crystal spears Gleam from the upper wod, Their martial-Hke array So sHm, so white, so cold, Sweep autumn's hosts away. Spikelets, angles and leaves. Needles that deftly stitch The patches winter weaves In ev'ry moss-grown ditch. With each pale brownie band I etch in autumn's night. With winter's chilling hand My tapestries of white. I breathe, and all in vain, They brave my chilling will, The brooks with gentle pain Flow never more from vale and hill, I hush the brooklet's song, The song that summer sings. With gyve, and icy thong, I bind autumn's crinkled wings. I make a stealthy raid, Eolus sings to me From his borean icebound glade Beyond the Arctic sea. Red autumn trembles when My henchman pipes his lay. For well I know that then The year has passed away. 8 TOO LATE. I read your letter, and I write As I sit by his shrouded bier, Could you but sit with me to-night, And see the anguish written here On this white suffering face; If your false heart could know, Your soft, white hand could trace These lines of aging woe, That death could not efface, I know your tears would flow. Poor trusting heart, his faith in you Was the faith of the angel's God. Ah ! could you, with me only strew Some lilies o'er his hallowed sod, Broken-hearted life would well Up from this chamber of the dead ; His dumb, cold lips could gasping tell To me — the cruel words you said. When you, with love's enchanting spell. Crushed this dead heart that humbly plead. I washed the crimson, clotted stain From this round deadly hole, The bullet in his maddened brain Freed his immortal soul. Oh, how he loathed to go, He checked life's ebbing tide, And hushed his sobs of woe. Lest you, his promised bride, Should feel; and anguished know How love lived, and how love died. You can do him now no harm. Your letter came too late, This lifeless head upon my arm Belongs to death's estate. His last lips breathed your name. The last look in his eyes Absolved you from all blame. I caught the gurgling, ebbing sighs That gasped for you a prayer. For you, I closed his glazing eyes. I read your missive through. In God's great judgment day What anguish will be meted you. How will you wash the stain away? His g-and soul, for your little life, How shall the debt be paid ? When gentle mercies pale Have been justly weighed In God's eternal scale. Where will you stand, oh, heartless maid ? I ASK NO VOW. I ask no vow, nor bind thee With pledge that lips may break ; I dream what faith should be, Oh! let me never wake. 10 No doubt shall feverish leap Thro' pulse and throbbing vein, All my soul shall sleep And dream, and dream, again. O, fond heart beat and know, 'Tis of my life the whole ; Why do I love you so? Dream of my unfettered soul. Swear not always to be true, For hearts like seasons change; The years that come to you, May yet be cold and strange. Thus happy hours that seem So true, so loyal now. May vanish like a dream And leave a broken vow. CALL BACK. Call back this fleeting breath From the dark chambers of the dead ; Call back from painless death The young soul that heavenward fled. Disturb this sweet repose. This godlike, peaceful rest; Disturb one fragrant rose On this dear, pulseless breast. II Call back the sweet young face, So pallid and so still, With all its comely grace, And feel these pulses thrill With red, feverish life again. Nay, nay, why should it be? Call back the olden pain, When her pure soul is free. Call back this dreamless clay To this vast world of sin, To fret another life away In its eternal din. Call back the loving heart Once wracked with harrowing pain, To weep, to moan, to start. To live this life again. To crush once more this heart, That silent and alone Played life's allotted part Without a plaint or moan. A bruis'd and shaken reed. This casket of dead clay. From which the soul is freed, Will soon be laid away. Arouse thee from this sleep! I would not have it so. Nor ope these eyes to weep — Great, loving God, no, no! WHEN THE LAST BUGLE SHALL BLOW. Wheft the last bugle shall blow, Then riderless over the plain The horses shall heedlessly go, Where heaps of brave troopers are slain. Where the glint of the saber's clash Is red as the glow-worm's dim light — War's sabers, that savagely slash, With all of war's furious might. Till the sullen and merciless foe Slowly, but stubbornly, yield — Gun for gun, sword for sword, they go, Leaving their dead on the field. When the last bugle shall blow For the dead that are scattered around In the twilight's vanishing glow. That darkens the shadowy ground. And night, with its slipperless creep, Like a dismal and merciless pall, Covers the dead, and their silent sleep Is beyond the last bugle call. The wounded stare up at the sky. Parched with a feverish thirst — Thickly these brave soldiers lie Where the shells fell thickest and burst. How sullen the roar of battle, Horses and riders down; They gasp, and death's solemn rattle Is a step to some soldier's renown. When the last bugle shall blow, Earth's tattoo will fall on each ear; 13 The dead to their resting shall go Without a shrouding or bier. And all the hushed air is still Above the long rows of the slain — They lie by the grass-trodden hill, Who will never hear tattoo again. When the last bugle shall blow, And sound for death a retreat. The riderless steed will not know The corpse that lies at his feet. Never again will his rein Curb the proud, nettl'd steed. As he tosses his tangled mane And increases his wayward speed, "Boots and saddles" shall nevermore Prick up his small, dainty ears — The trooper you gallantly bore Has answer'd the roll-call of years. THOU CANST NOT CHEAT THE EARTH. A monarch, in his pride, Sat on his gilded throne. And standing by his side Were those who worked in stone. "Alas! I am growing old And have no child or heir; My jewels and my gold Are weighty and a care. 14 "Carve me a crypt-like vault All in the solid stone, Without a seam or fault, Where I can hide my own. "I wish to cheat the earth, Where all things swift decay; Not in its rotund girth Shall my bones be laid away. "Build the vast walls full high, Where the glad morning light Will fill the eastern sky, And banish dismal night. "Build me a tomb divinely grand On yon towering crest That overlooks the land Towards the east and west. "Emboss each polished stone With vines that climb and cling, Where wreaths of lilies blown Shall guard your silent king. "Carve fluted shafts of white And angels on their knees, Robed in fine raiment light, Above the sculptured frieze, "No damp and marshy ground Shall hold my last remains. No grass-grown, humble mound. No frost, or chiUing rains, 15 "Shall beat upon my breast. Or level the rank sod, .Where I might silent rest, A dark, forgotten clod." **0 king, thy august will Is thy servants' gracious law, Our best, painstaking skill, Without a break or flaw, "Shall carve with steady hand A mausoleum white. By square and compass plann'd. On yonder frowning height." They carved the granite base, And fashioned the marble rock With balustrade, and vase Hewn from a solid block. They polished flower and wreath. Each bud, and carven spray, Until the space beneath Was light as gladsome day. "King! That which was begun In years now dead and past. Behold ! our work is done, And thou canst sleep at last "Within the eyried tomb. Far up the vaulted sky. Where no eternal gloom Shall make thee moan and sigh." i6 The aged king was pale, A specter, dark and grim, With groan, and gobhn wail, Leer'd through the gloom at him, "What, ho! Sir King, you mock Pale Time: I am the Earth. Your tomb of carven rock Fills my dead soul with mirth. *T was before hoar time began The genius of the underwold. What then to me is mortal man, Who mines for gems and gold ^'Within my Protean loom. That he may carve and mold A lofty marble tomb. To hide his sordid gold ? "Your bones shall turn to dust. Your marv'lous carven pile Shall sink beneath the crust Of yonder tow'ring isle. "All ! All ! Shall yet be mine ! The free-born winds shall kiss The ocean's seething brine. And all shall turn to this. "The rains shall, gnawing, beat Where thy dead form is laid. Thy insecure retreat, Thy polished walls, shall fade. 17 "And not a carven stone Shall mark the kingly spot, .When I shall claim my own, *" My own, that time begot. *'I am life, my Protean womb Teams with a thousand births; I am my God's eternal tomb, First born of buried earths. "Dust, O king, thou art. Within thy marble urn. Thou art of earth a part, To dust thou shalt return." THE BARON'S LAST REVEL. A reveler sat in his hall alone, Where torches flared from walls of stone ; Halberts and lances, swords and shields. Embroideries of gold, with crimson fields, Empaneled the baron's walls. Alone he sat at the banquet board, His mailed hand on his good sword ; A look of contempt swept over his face. As each knight reeled in his chosen place. And slept on the oaken floor. i8 He filled the beaker to its golden rmi, He pressed his lips to the flushed brim, And quaffed every drop with its ruby shine, While he blessed every grape on the fruitful vine. Then he stared at the wide-open door. Welcome, brave Rudolph ; my knights, you see, Have drained too deeply of the flagons three ; I alone of this doughty throng Can hum a ditty or sing a song To the maidens of the Rhine. Not Sir Rudolph ? Then who may he be That stands in full armor in front of me ? Sir Baron, I drink a bout with thee ; Here's to the maiden sisters three, That dwell 'neath the Rhine. The black knight laughed a mocking laugh As he watched the baron slowly quaff The aged wine, with its beaded shine — The wine that was brewed 'neath the Rhine By the maiden sisters three. The baron drank his bout and stared — The knight was gone, the torches flared, His icy breath filled the dankish air, The sound of steps on the terraced stair Died faintly away. A phantom hand, a goblet old. Green with age from the underwold. Flitted before the baron's face. Then melted into empty space With a mist-like glow. 19 A bubble from the phantom cup Flashed and glimmered and lit up The trophied walls with a blood-red glow. Then grew and grew, now fast, now slow. Till its brightness filled the hall. The baron gazed with stupid eyes ; The bubble grew to monstrous size ; It burned into his rugged soul, This bubble from the phantom bowl. Blown by phantom lips. With half-drawn sword, armed cap-a-pie, His life went out in this crimson sea ; The soul so wilful, brave and proud, Wrapped in the wine cup's ghoulish shroud. Was claimed by the maidens three. I AM LONELY. Am I lonely ? Go ask the bird That cleaves his gloaming flight. When drowsy tinklings of the herd Fall on the ears of sable night. Flitting through the shadowy air That broods o'er bosky eve. Poor lone bird, tell, oh ! tell me where Does thy mate pine and grieve ? Is it full far to her soft nest ? And does she pine for thee Upon some woodland crest Within some sheltering tree ? 20 I hear thy unanswered call, Shrill pipings that awake Love's echoes, that so softly fall On mead and marshy brake. Speed thou the hours that are Drifting like thy low mellow note. Which trembles in the hushed air From thy wild plaintive throat. Lone bird, oh ! friendless one. Where shall thy sad thoughts find Such echoes, when the day is done. So soft, so lingering and so kind. Through tangled mists that shroud The full moon's fretted rays. Hid by a bord'ring cloud That muffles thy receding lays. Speed faster, speed afar, Bird of the fleeting wing, Who would thy homing mar. Thou panting, weary thing? In twilight pale and grim. Stay not, sad bird, to rest. Perchance upon some swaying limb Thou'lt find thy own dear nest. Far o'er the starry sea A dark speck speeding by. This lone wanderer soon will be Lost in the distant sky. 21 EVERY YEAR. We grow grayer every year, Colder seem the waves, The prospect seems more drear As we toil like galley slaves. We bind the heart of youth With Saturn's silent gyves, We see more clear the truth That rounds our little lives. We hear the echoes of the years That haunt the aisles of time ; How their music sadly cheers, How solemnly they chime. We heed each mournful stroke That tolls for other days, As if an angel spoke, Or sang celestial lays. We bend lower every year. And childish is our talk. The trials more severe. There is a totter in our walk. Yet we linger every year, And live in the shadowy past, So old, so brown, and sear, Like a leaf that dreads the blast. 22 We are more patient ev'ry year. Hence more willing to go; There's naught but sadness here ; We welcome life's dread foe. Our wants are fewer ev'ry year, A little less to do. We feel the end is near, Though hidden from our view. Our hearts beat slower ev'ry year, Our pulses grow more chill, Our sight grows dim and blear. Our voices grow more shrill. There are fewer every year ; The forms that lie so low Have naught to rue or fear From years that come and go. A new headstone every year, In the company of the bless'd ; Why should we shed a tear. Or disturb their peaceful rest? LOVE'S REVERIE. Gloaming shades surround me. Pale stars their lamps renew. Knowest thou where my thoughts would be ? Sweet one, with you. 23 How do the dusky shadows creep Through the still halls of eve. Then I my lonely vigils keep And fancies weave. If I am lonely, ah ! 'tis then I steal from day's last beams — Steal from the haunts of men, To live in dreams. Dreams dear, sweet dreams of thee. That hallow old memories true. Then I gaze o'er the star-lit sea And waft my love to you. THE LITTLE BRICK SCHOOLHOUSE. In the shade of a crumbling mill The little brick schoolhouse stands. Near by is the grassy-grown rill That twirl'd the broad leathern bands. No water runs through the race That turned the creaking wheel; Only a moss-grown trace, And the pinions of rusted steel. The master, impartially just, Who ruled with a birchen rod. Has mingled his mortal dust With the silent dust of the sod 34 Where are the brown-eyed Annies Who sat at their desks in school? The bewitching blue-eyed Fannies That learned every lesson by rule? How have the little feet traveled Down sorrow's unending way; How patiently time unraveled The past with its yesterday. High hopes were pebbles to lie On time's far-reaching beach, Whose shore was sandy and dry, With its pebbles beyond their reach. Search through old papers well, Read over the faded news Of death lists that mournfully swell The mounds that enrich stately yews. We see by the other dim light, The light of the years that have sped, That time, in his noiseless flight, Has numbered them with the dead. THE SHIP OF STATE. Mariner, do not sleep, The storm is almost here; Over the angry deep With caution bravely steer. ^5 Bold mariner, awake ! Trim the bellying sails, The storm will surely break ; The breeze in fitful gales. Already stirs the deep ; The waves are running high. And with each sprayey leap They seem to touch the sky. Hold hard the trusty helm ; We are roughly tossed Upon this wat'ry realm Where thousands have been lost. Alas ! we cannot see, Night has captured day; Across the inkish lea The lightning's flashing play. The night is dark and wild, The storm is thick'ning fast, The clouds are wrathful piled Above the tap'ring mast. Ah ! still you calmly sleep While clouds in heavy banks. With vault and twisting leap, Rise up in somber ranks. The wild winds roaring howl, And thunders awful crash, With low and rumbling growl, The lightnings vivid flash. 26 O, mariner, what hope ? Must this good ship go down ? Can human wisdom cope With the storm king's angry frown? Of wind and wave a sport, Can you see the crested reef? Or the far distant port That promises rehef ? Oh ! will this stormy sea ? This somber, leaden sky, Bring sure death to thee When help is almost nigh? Bold seaman, do not sleep, For other lives than thine Oft trusted thee to keep Thy watch on the treacherous brine. THE SILENT GRAY ARMY. Behold vast armies of the dead, Where all the sentries sleep ; They march along with measured tread, And onward silent sweep. They fear no mortal foes ; With ranks well closed and dressed They glide along in phantom rows To their eternal rest. 27 They make no noise or sound, These spectral armies vast, No sentries pace with solemn round To guard the vanished past. A Southern legion with pale ranks For time's far distant goal, Nor spur or sword forbidden clanks, No sergeant calls the roll. No shrilly bugle braying breaks Their slumbers dead and deep. No mount'd guard or corporal wakes Then from their dreamless sleep. No inspection, no dress parade, No brass accoutrements to shine, No gen'ral of this brave brigade To pass along the line. No stern command to forward march. No halt, no bivouac for the days, But on, and on, thro' Fame's gray arch, With steady tramp they move always. No martial music thrilling cheers This army without arms, Their reveille the vanished years, No long roll sounds alarm. They heed no quick command To promptly fall in line. No distant woods by glasses scann'd Of sturdy oak or swaying pine, 28 No volleys thund'ring roll, From muskets trim and bright. No charging up the frowning knoll. No enemies to smite. Their compact ranks with drooping plumes Move ever onward by, We see them vanish in the gloom With pennons streaming high. SPRING. What coy young goddess peeps Through winter's crystal gate, Where each bud numbly sleeps In winter's dead estate? 'Tis spring, and well we know That Pan will surely smile, The brooks will gurgling flow Through vale and shaded aisle. Spread thy soft carpets down, Fasten them with flowers, Hide winter's sombre frown With April's refreshing showers. Peep from thy cheerless beds O shoots that darkly sleep, Lift up thy tinted heads And sunward shyly creep. 29 Fear not the storms and cold. But open wide thine eyes. Leaf and petal unfold For brighter, softer skies Shall make thee soon forget The downy banks of snow ; Then beds of mignonette Will sweetly, coyly blow. Clamber, O fruitful vine, Let snow-imprisoned sap. Loosed by a Hand divine, Enrich summer's ripening lap. Be vigorous, dear maid. Deck summer's royal brow With emeralds display'd From stem and barren bough. Fresh vigor give to life, Numbed by the winter's chill. Unlock conditions rife. O'er meadow, vale and hill; Lay by thy downy shroud That covers ridge and plain, Then verdant spring uncow'd Will broadly smile again. 30 SUMMER. Where is thy court, O queen? In some secure retreat Where walls of leafy green Shut out the midday heat? How indolent the hours that creep So sultry and so still, While vagrant shadows sleep. Lulled by each murmuring rill. Spring-tinted buds are blown For summer's naiad train, Where bees and insects drone Their lazy-winged refrain. Mirthful Pan, with his mellow flute, Guards summer's rosy throne ; Listening herds are mute While echoes whisper from their halls of stone. How lazily the droning bees Seek sweets from fragrant flowers, And hide their wealth within the trees For winter's chilling hours. Sweet songsters from cool woodland aisles Sing with a riper strain ; Lazy Time, with ardent wiles, Woos wide fields of ripening grain. Welcome zephyrs, grateful, cool The sun god's golden rays, While summer sits beside some pool Crown'd with her fading bays. 31 Apollo peeps from cloudless skies With yellow spray-like beams, While morbid summer sighs, Lost in her nuptial dreams. Fleecy sheep doze beneath the shade Of summer's verdant wing, Or browse in woodland glade Where shadows coyly bring Some freshness to the heat That parches mead and plain. Their lambs with plaintive bleat Pant for the cooling rain. Be proud, O queen, for soon Will thy green kingdom pass ; The dial mark of noon On Time's bright plate of brass Is shadowless and clear; Soon shall high hot hours creep, And westward slowly veer; Then, then, good-night and sleep. AUTUMN. I. Who is this flaming miss, Whose lips so redly bum? She comes to wanton kiss The leaves that slowly turn. 32 A crimson, shameless maid, With Hmbs so brown and bare. And yet so chaste and staid, With jewels in her hair. II. Flowers withering feel Her hot and fatal breath ; She tramples 'neath her heel Crinkled hostages of death. How she changes everything In her drear realm of woe — She woos the aeolian king When zephyrs softly blow. III. The whip-poor-will's plaintive call Echoes thro' each lonely glen ; The rays of the rising moon fall Aslant of the low-browed fen. The white breath of the frost king glows On fallen autumn leaves, Forerunner of the chilling snows. That will hang from the crystal eaves. IV. The huntsman's matin gun Rings through the sunburnt vale, Ere the peep of the lazy sun Greets the song of the timid quail. The hazy air is chill. As it hangs in the leaden sky ; The sun creeps o'er the hill. So round, so red and shy. 33 V. What sad notes vibrant ring With ev'ry phantom gale ; What song is this you sing Through meads and crimson dale? What strange, wild minstrels play On harps of sapphire gold, Then sadly steal away, Because they fear the cold. VI. Rich jewels brownly glow In your thorn-woven crown ; ^olian breezes blow On robes so thin and brown ; Your veil of translucent hues Hangs from your haughty head, Enriched with pale opal dews, That sparkle in every thread. VII. Goddess of each withering year. With victory elate, With flame, and torch, and spear, You come to devastate. O proud be jeweled dame, Your banners flaunting wave. Like some dread oriflamme, O'er summer's rustling grave. 34 VIII. Child of the fading year, Who will lay your dead robes away. That autumn's tinted bier May rest on its cold bed of clay ? The crimsons, sapphires, gold, Must melt in the diamond dew ; Your robes shall shrink and mold, When the snow shall bury you. . WINTER. Winter throws his white gauntlet down In autumn's purpling list ; Over the heather brown He spreads a chilling mist. Borean winds must blow To hide the buds of spring. Till winding sheets of snow Hide every dormant thing. O Erlking, all unseen. You stay deft nature's hand With your glittering sheen. Spun in some northern land, Where frigid Norsemen hold Vigils in their ice palace halls, Where all is bleak and cold. And snow forever falls. 35 O crystal king, your crown Is the aurora's flashing light; Your ermine robe of down Was woven in a night. Within the arctic zone. Where ice eternal drifts, And winds forever moan Through slowly melting rifts. The wild bird pipes his call From brown and withered heath; Clear brooks no longer brawl; Sad autumn's crimson wreath Hangs on the fading brow Of numb, despairing spring. Tall leafless branches bow To winter's killing king. Crystal fringes loop From limb and low-brow'd roof To shield the befeathered troop That shyly hold aloof From hands that scatter crumbs Over the crisp and downy snow, That shrouded, noiseless comes, Like some unwelcome foe. What are these ghostiy shrouds That leave a deadly sting? It is the voice beyond the clouds — The voice of gentle spring. Though leaf by leaf may fall, The frosts of winter's glow, There is beneath this all The season's deathless flow. 36 There is another frost that sears Our brown and golden locks ; It is the frost of fleeting years, That grimly, sadly mocks The springtime of our youth And summer's golden prime. When the Jewish gleaner, Ruth, Is the embodiment of time. THE SWORD OF JUSTICE. Hail to Justice ! for thy good sword Rusts in its tarnish'd sheath ; Behold corruption's horde Woos to this Nation's death The liberty our grandsires gave. And for this right they bled. Does might make right a slave? Has Astrea meekly fled? Unsheath'd do thou uphold All the power of legal might Unbought by mammon's gold; Bind the cankering blight That heralds greed and shame ; Follow the dragon to his lair With torch that gleams aflame That Hope may not despair. Strike thou for human right. Place Justice at the helm. Blaze thou, oh ! beacon light, That naught may overwhelm The liberties our fathers bought When honor held on high The flag that freemen sought By death to deify. The sword of Justice sleeps, For mankind is unjust; Blind Astrea in silence weeps, Foul greed and its attendant lust Trample freedom into the mire And mock the law at will. Great wealth with its insane desire Is Pandora's box with naught but ill. Flash thou, dread Nemesian blade. The Nation yet shall quake When human right betrayed Shall from its trance awake. Its frenzied stroke shall smite With destruction's shackl'd hand, Till justice, truth and right Shall redeem our suffering land. IN THE WEST. We sit, dear heart, in the gloaming, Looking out to the West ; Backward thro' sweet vistas roaming We recall all that's best In our lives. 38 Side by side we gaze on the sun Creeping adown the flushed sky, When the day is undone, And the stars hang on high Their bright lamps. The clouds gray and golden Gather in a luminous heap ; While days that were olden Their dear, dear vigils keep In the sky. Oh ! how fondly we gaze Through the blue tinted rifts, That gleam like vanishing haze, As each cloud gently sifts Its resplendent rays. Away over and beyond What visions we so dimly see ; They seem some dear bond That binds you forever to me While we drift. Our trials are dimly blended While we face the gray West, Our sorrows and hardships ended Have died in each breast Long ago. The evening of life Comes gropingly apace. The years of earth's grim strife Have softened your face And mine. 39 Together we sit Looking far westward now, Your face with love is lit, While your dear peaceful brow Marks the years. Thus we journey so, hand in hand, Looking for the ever to be In the shadowy land That our visions so plainly see. In the West. NEPTUNE'S HARPER. A harper from his cave of stone Looking far westward now ; He sits like a god on a Titan throne Lost in the sea's wild minstrelsy. What do the waves of this wide sea Fling back from the chords of my lyre ? Are they echoes of vast eternity That resound from my vibrant wire ? Ah ! woe is me ! the sea's refrain Is the music of circling spheres, Ah ! could I but catch the immortal strain That mocks my list'ning ears. I am but mortal, woe is me ! The soft chant of the ages flown Is the song of the restless sea, A song that is ever a moan. 40 Perchance my eyes are clouded, dim. With the aeons that are no more I vigil the ocean's horizon limb Of its crumbling, dark-browed shore. I have listened through all the ages To catch the sea's lulling refrain ; I have turned the century pages, Yet I turned them all in vain. My ear is yet too young To gather the god notes so weird ; Mayhap my lyre's not truly strung. Or the notes by time are bleared. Then came more clear the song Inspired by fingers deft, His touch was proud and strong, From discord swift bereft. His notes with gladness well'd From the depths of his mortal soul ; The music with rapture s well'd As he sped to his astral goal. His cold, white hand, his silent lyre. Lay lightly on his knee ; The gods had granted his desire, His minstrel soul was free. He sat there then ; he sits there now. Like an image of carven stone. Ah ! he will sit forever there, I trow, Until the sea shall cease to moan. 41 WINE BUBBLES. Wine bubbles for those who are gay, Dregs for the sorrows we have had, Let us sip Hfe's wine while we may, To-morrow our hearts may be sad. Moments are jeweled beads on the wine. They sparkle with mischievous mirth, Like stars they twinkling shine To banish the gloom of this earth. Here is to the butterfly gay That sips the fragrant flowers, To the moments that melt away Into summer's indolent hours. We will bury the world-worn past But live in the joy of to-day, Then smile at untimely sorrow — Let it pass like a shadow away. We will bury the world-worn past Within the depths of its infinite night. On the shores of oblivion we cast The madness that broodings invite. Here is to foamy wine bubbles. Panaceas for every ill, A balm for the morrow's troubles — Troubles that earth's phantoms distill. 42 SILENCE. A mortal stood on the marble pave Of a temple quaint and grand, His trembling eyes gazed on its nave, As he knocked with a faltering hand. The priestess of this templed shrine, With vestal votive altar vows, Her robes entwined with rays divine, In solemn silence humbly bows. Her acolytes in spotless white, With censers waving fume, Are kneeling round the central light, Of the shadowy full orb'd moon. The perfumed air is heavy, With the oppression silence flings O'er chanceled aisle, and archway. And speeds with noiseless wings Where chiseled marble sings the sad refrain Of Angerona, mute tongued goddess, Of ancient Roman fame. The mortal looks in wonder At the portal's pillared arch, And sees the long procession, As they slowly countermarch, To leave the sacred fire. On each alabastered urn. Its incense mounting higher, Its vestal lamp to burn. 43 Alone he stands by the vestal flame Of the altar's quenchless fire; He breathes aloud the sacred name, And his heart's unchanged desire. Go ! mortal, 'tis not for thee to know The lessons that flow from the gods. Drink deeply of Lethe's deepest flow, Where Pluto so dismally nods; Then seek among the mighty shades, That roam Elysian Fields, Anaxarchus, who to save his trust, Bit oflf his tongue to shield The secret that no torture could. Nor tyrant make him yield. He threw the severed member, In Nicocreon's hated face, While all Cyprus will remember The noblest of his race. Seek the servants of old Plancus, That encountered every pain. But ne'er revealed the secrets, Though life's thread was cut in twain. Kneel before Athene's statue Of molten burnished brass. Its tongueless mouth a lesson To the thoughtless as they pass. 44 Bow down to Harpocrates, Egyptians silent god. As with moveless marble finger. Pressed on each lip of stone. He tells us of the secrets That should ever be our own. Go seek the grave Lycurgus, Far famed for gifts of law. And he will truly tell thee Of this jewel without flaw. Then seek the wise Pythagoras, Who instilled in youthful minds. That five years of studious silence Was wisdom's band that binds The golden sheaf of knowledge And the scattered thoughts of gold. Which the ripening frost of winter Gathers in the harvest fold. Then take thy willing footsteps Along the aisles of time. Along the starry pathway, To the gods' abode divine. When thou hast truly worshipped At each votive altared shrine. And sipped from golden chalice Great Jove's immortal wine. Drink deeply of the water That fills the Persian spring. That you may not fill the heavens With Icarus* ruined wings. 45 The mute unbroken silence, That nature ever flings O'er her grand and lofty temples, And all created things, Is the anthem of the spheres As they sail in endless space — Their strains too grand and lofty. For Adam's earth born race. THE GRAY SEA WOLF. Sea foam gods hooded and cowled, Chanting the song that Boreas howled Over the dark, turbulent waves, Beating the shore where water laves The base of each towering fold ; Scaling battlements brown and old, Hiding in the grot underwold The white fangs of the grim weir-wolf. The moontide sharpens the ebb fangs Of this weir-wolf, whose spray coat hangs Shaggy and bright with opals fair; His blazing eyes from out his lair Burn into the soul of the sea Till the chant of the furies three Rouse from the aisles of the dark deep His fierce cub-wolves that sleep. Wolf-cubs that chase the hours away. Writhing, lapping, forever at play ; Restless cubs from sea caves so deep. Why do your hungry vigils keep 46 Sharp eyes on the green-ribbed rock? Is it only to gnaw and mock The crumbHng walls of each cave hall, And wait for time to gather all. They come in gruesome wolf packs, Churning the deep with white foam tracks, Their frothy manes bristling and gray, Sweeping forever on their wave way. Tumbling ever a billowy heap ; What would you do? The rock is steep, Rugged and high, so bold and bare, Would you drag it hence to your lair? Their wolf fangs are sharp, their flaming eyes Snap with the glow of wing'd fireflies ; Their tongues are red as the red glow Of Pluton flames that burn below. Their hungry howl o'er the moontide Echoes from caves where they prowl and hide, And wait for the hag furies three To rise from the bed of the sea. Each wolf's hot tongue vividly laps The blood of the sea, where storm caps Grow dark, where the thunder's deep roll Clangs to the storm-king's hidden goal. List! to the wolf-king's phantom howl, While the hoot of Nox's fierce stygian owl Turns day to cimmerian gloom. Echoing the surge's sullen boom. 47 THE STONE KING. Many millions of years enfold Your layers of terraced stone, A sentinel old, a sentinel bold. Dark eons have silently flown Since your rain-washed rocks Hurl'd back the Laurentian waves Your igneous base received the shocks Of Neptune's plunging slaves. Looming ice-crown'd in the blue sky, Entangling the cloudlets that drift With snows, that shrouded lie In each weather'd and wrinkled rift ; Battlements frowning even to the base, With mossy-grown lichens and caves, Frettings of lilies, a network of lace. Debris left by the vanishing waves. Your gray crest is rugged and cold, Where dim centuries grimly peep, From your sides so crusted with mold ; Cataracts silver-sheened leap. Through valleys and high-breasted hills, Cascades murmuringly pour Flushing a thousand laughing rills, On your heights so solemn and hoar. Your adamant heart, crown'd Stone King, Buffets the fierce tempest that raves. Backward your glacial fortresses fling The foam of the sea's plunging waves. 48 Defiant and grim you armored stand, O'ertovvering the fretful sea, Guarding the crumbHng land With your walls of immensity. HYMN TO THE SUN-GOD. Peep, dawn, open thy gates of pearl. Flood the pale sapphire-tinted east With reds, and grays, and beryl. Let day's full rob'd high priest. With chant and sacrificial fire. Renew the flame, and incense burn. With acolyte and lyre. Pray for thy glad return. Peep, dawn, into every place; Make glad all life, and then, With thy gray-veiled face. Make glad the hearts of men. Shouldst thou not coyly peep From out the eastern sky, All the flowers would weep And earth herself would die. Sing thou, O Mother Earth, of morn ; Behold thy enrapturing king, Else thou wilt weep forlorn, A dead forgotten thing. 49 Peep on the woodland rills, Peep o'er the mountains high, Peep on the everlasting hills, King of the ethereal sky. O, King, from thy full cup of gold Richest libations pour, Then earth an hundredfold Will all thy gifts restore. O, great celestial King! Adoringly we bow ; Let all creation sing As we do now. BOOKS. Friends, in our hours of ease. When time seems a laggard, a bore. What dear friends so constant as these, Ah! who can their pleadings ignore? Friends, when life is all wrong. And we look on hope with distrust; Like the echoes of some sweet song, They creep from their cobwebs and dust. They peep from their oaken cases. So trim in their orderly rows. How bright are their titled faces. Panaceas, for all harrowing woes. We live in a world that is strange, Romance, history, philosophy, lore; Thus our fancies, like Ariel, range O'er time and her vanishing shore. 50 Aladdin, Crusoe, Arabian Nights, Friends of our youthful days, What strange visions, what entrancing delights E'er came with their fragrance always. Books for youth-shy lover, whose sigh Was lost in a romance or dream, While his dainty mustache — oh ! my ! Was a joke of the cat and of the cream. Then manhood, ambitious and bold. Sought treasures from science and art; Friends that he nourished four-fold, Filled the head, but emptied the heart. Wisdom came with old age. One book was e'er his friend ; How carefully he turned page by page, And conn'd its sweet truths to the end. These friends and companions are mine, How truly we always agree ; Firm friendships and love thus combine, Ah! this is the friendship for mx. Books have no faults to find, As restless we cast them aside ; Always patient, gentle and kind, No matter what fate mav betide. ETERNITY. A realm where time is lost, Dread silence reigns supreme Where all the aeons holocaust Seem but a vanish'd, dream. 51 Unseen grand king of mystery. Lord of lethean sleep; What unrecorded history Thy mute Hps dumbly keep. Pale discord with her jangling bells Ring from time's gray tower ; They toll for death a thousand knells For evVy fleeting hour. The presents that alluring came On hope's resplendent wings. The pasts, the fleeting fame, Are time's forgotten things. Eternity, a measureless abyss. Where waveless oceans flow ; Elysian fields of heavenly bliss, Or black realms of torturing woe ; Thy hidden crypts conceal No dust of mortal clay ; No seneschal shall e'er reveal The closely guarded way. The centuries shall watch and wait To usher in the years ; They ope the jasper gate For all the circling spheres. A goal where time is lost, A labyrinth of Crete, Where all the ages tempest toss'd. Die in this maz'd retreat. 52 A starless, vast stygian plain, Where dark Nox's reapers reap, And gather the immortal grain In one almighty heap. Star-studded door of night, Far beyond oblivion's deep, The priestess of death's solemn rite Shall death's dark secrets keep. THE BRIDE OF TIME. Thou are Time's empyrean queen. Ruler of the star-domed sky ; Majestic, cold, serene. She holds her court on high. Among a maze of stars. Hers are all the eternal years. Blue-robed, stately dame; Queen of wide space's circling spheres. She wedded and became The bride of aged Time. In her calm face behold The dead eons' almighty grace. With grandeur manifold ; No passing ages can unplace Her statuesque repose. 53 She sexed and tmsexed spheres, That ether's cosmic pollen dust Might fructify the changing years Of each planet's protean crust For most strange fashionings. Her calm, unwrinkled face Is young, yet over old ; In her fairy features trace That which the eons hold Unchangeable and unchanged. Forward she wistfully gazed When crimson morn awoke ; His jeweled sapphires blazed When purpling Eros broke From the golden palace of the sun. Upon her graven tablets gray, With great Krono's recording hand, She traced the pale milky way By drifting stars that dimly spann'd Her arching vault. A sybil whose begirdled belt With zodiac signs is starred ; Ancient ages silent melt Where Time's gate is barred With bolts of mystery. O deathless pale Queen, what ages Since thy changing empire arose By slow and measured stages From space and Time's repose To form all vaulted bounds. 54 THE OLD WOODPILE. The woodpile lies just where it did, The logs by rank green weeds are hid, The rough-hewn gaps are dark and faded, The marks of the ax by leaves are shaded ; The little mounds, where the little stacks Of chips flew from my well-worn ax. Are loamy, rich, black mold. The worm-worn barks enfold Loosely the log's firm trunk The cross-grained, stubborn junck That resisted my boyish will Lies embedded near the old door still. The space is narrowed by grass and weeds. On the rotting log a wild bird feeds On the burrowing worms and bugs, The crawling things, the beetles and slugs. That have honeycombed bark and tree, And left the pile a memory. How well I remember the toilsome drudge None but a boy can fathom or judge; I swung the ax with a youthful vim, I chopped in pieces the sappy limb ; How thick and how fast the oak chips flew. Covered all over with sparkling dew. Life was so dear and morn was clear. The great sun brought me only cheer ; The days flew by so soon, so soon, Then came manhood's resplendent noon ; Gouty age came creeping along — Now I and the pile to the past belong. 55 GERTY. I am dreaming of Gerty, so true, And the flower-grown garden gate ; How we drifted love alone knew, Rocked by the cold waves of fate. How redly the coals' dying glow Creeps into my sad heart to-night, Softly her footsteps come and go In the dim and uncertain light. How full was my life's mournful cup, Every drop that encrusted the brim Was a fountain that welled up From misfortune's most dismal whim. Loyal Gerty came to me then, With a woman's impulsive way, Shadows of the dark might have been Were banished forever and aye. She only drifted back to lay Dead roses at dear memory's feet, Where firelight shadows play With a touch that is soft and sweet. Here's a health to the dearest girl, To her eyes of heavenly blue, To the soft winsome auburn curl. To the heart ever warm and true. S6 POOR BROWN HANDS. Peeping from this dark satin gown Are these hands, so wrinkled and old, How pitiful still and brown, So clammy, so shrunken and cold. Their poor, thankless work is done, Forever and ever at rest, These hands, that toiled from sun to sun Are crossed on her peaceful breast. How often these motherly hands Rocked the dear babies to sleep, Adjusted the infantile bands Before the cherubs could creep. They soothed every childish tear With a gentle, sweet caress, Or chided with look severe Some token of stubbornness. An angel to anxiously keep Watch on the low trundle bed. Where her treasures in peaceful sleep Were tucked 'neath the woolen spread. These pale, silent fingers mended Rents in the juvenile clothes. So often the tired back bended To darn holes in the children's hose. 57 What vigils and sleepless nights, When the children were dangerously ill. They turned up the shaded lights To give them a powder or pill. She made such amusing toys Of paper and other things, A kite to please the boys, Or a dragon with painted wings. She taught them to read and write, Before the boys went to school, As she stitched by the lamp's dim light, And explained each confusing rule. Then her Doys went ofif to college To learn Hebrew, Latin and Greek, They stored up useful knowledge, And wrote to her once a week. How often her heart sadly ached To see the dear children grown, As she tearfully brewed and baked In the homestead all alone. The boys have drifted away Far from the low-thatched nest ; Strangers and neighbors to-day Folded these hands on her breast. 58 I ALAS! PROUD SPAIN! What is the sound I hear From over the western sea? The acclaim is loud and clear From God's land of liberty. Hurrah ! for the ships that bore Down on the Spanish fleets. List to big guns' deafening roar ! See red, bright, sulphurous sheets Belch death from every throat. The pride of Spain is wrecked ; Her crimson corpses float Where gory foam is flecked With Spanish blood. Her stranded ships no miore Shall flaunt with proud disdain Her yellow flag o'er our western shore, Nor plow our western main. *Twas the iron hail and the leaden rain That thundered from our fleet ; They silenced the guns of proud old Spain And overwhelmed her with defeat. O'er iron wrecks and ribs of steel And barbette's shotless throats — O'er each swift stranded keel Old Glory proudly floats. Again I hear the thunder Far over the Spanish main; I see vessels rent asunder — Mowed down with our iron rain. 59 JUNE LOVE. Ah ! my Rinaldo, so stately And tall, how temptingly sedately We strolled 'neath the shade Of the elms, and the everglade Glistened when the moon Coldly peeped ; 'twas in June, The flower-scented air Was heavy — the roses rare Distill'd their perfume, All in the month of June. Not a word of love was spoken. Every look was a truthful token, And the tender, hot sighs That beamed from his eyes Thrilled me with rapture untold. How each fluffy lace fold Quivered, for the crimson flush Deepened, and the rush Of my heart-beats were all atune, With my Rinaldo, and June. How each thrill of delight Swept with dreamy might Thro' every warm beat of my heart. I was nervous ; each little start Like a bird fluttered here When Rinaldo was near. How swiftly flashed the hours That chimed from the towers. Ah ! they fled all too soon. With the flowery month of June. 60 How could I say him nay? Dear soul. I asked him to stay Yet a while. Then he pressed A warm kiss to my mouth and confess'd How madly he loved me. The great, wide sea Wafted the kisses I gave — I was mad — each wave Repeated the elfish rune In the month of our happy June. He pressed his warm lips To mine — the tender sips Were wine, to fever our blood. How the moon's silver flood By the sea gave to me The love that was witness'd by three. My pulse was athrill (With the joy — not an ill) ; Only love's sweetest boon Drifted into the month of June. He pressed a warm kiss On my throat. And this, and this, As drifted our boat With oars all afloat, Drifted back with the tide. Shall such love abide? A deep hush fell. And its golden spell Was aflame with the rune, Of the sea, of our love, and of June. 6i EMBER REVERIES. I see in the ember's red glow Ghosts, from the vanished years, White and pure as December snow That melted with April tears. Fair young faces that enthrall My drowsy brain to-night; I see their shadows on the wall In the dim and weird light. There is Nan, dear girl, that I knew With tresses of brown rippling hair, Her eyes of cerulean blue Peeped from a face wondrous fair. The long silken lashes drooped Over mischievous, downcast eyes, Whose penciled arches enlooped The deep blue of a hundred skies. I see in each slumbering coal The bright face of Beulah so true. The smoke from my powhattan bowl Made wreaths that circling grew, And drifted up, up to the wall. How they lazily floated away Down through the silent halls, To mingle with twilight gray. I builded castles so tall Their turrets were lost in the sky, I saw the proud battlements fall That cost me only a sigh. 62 The firelight fitful gleams From caverns of fiery red, Where every dull flicker seems A ghost of some pleasure dead. I dream of the beautiful mouth Whose lips were made to kiss, A dark-orbed queen of the South Star-eyed and stately Miss, Whose glance was a witch to enthrall Dreams that wounded my soul. I drink this wine to each and all, And light my pipe with the last coal. DRIFTING. Drifting, away to the somewhere Where the sea girth's moan From caves of stone Breaks on the rocks so bare, Drifting always somewhere. Drifting, where night and gloom Ne'er break from the silent space, Only a white, dead face In the surges sullen boom. Drifting away to the stygian gloom. Drifting, a mite in the tide That sweeps with resistless force, Over its waveless course. Sullen and silent and wide. Drifting away in this awful tide. 63 Drifting, away from the past Into the future years, Drifting with doubt and fears Where thousands of wrecks are cast That drifted out of the eternal past. Drifting in soulful dreams Through halls so stately and wide, Where footsteps of those who died Are only the echoing gleams Of fleeting, vanishing dreams. Drifting away to the unknown, Locked in the arms of time Whose soulless ringing chime Is the song of aeons flown, Drifting away to the unknown. Drifting out in the night, Drifting away alone, The last bird's moan, The last bird's flight Into the deeper vale of night. ISRAEL. Where is thy vanished glory, Thy men of war so brave. Thy commandments sacred, hoary That Jehovah thundering gave? Where are God's chosen tribes, Her patriarchs of old. Her Pharisees and Scribes, Her vessels of pure gold? 64 Where are thy priestly kings From David's anointed line? Thy psalmist that divinely sings With prophesy divine? Through all the past dead ages David's harp has silent hung, Through history's storied pages His songs will still be sung. Where is Babylon's awful thunder When God's voice wrathful spoke, When he brake the tower asunder With the lightning's deadly stroke? He laid man's power low And leveled all his pride, Man wailed his song of woe And cursing God, he died. Miriam's lips have spoken, Grand prophetess of old, By God's holy token He will his plans unfold. Thy kingdom yet shall rise In power and earthly might, Where now the jackal hies, Where time has left its blight. The proud Jerusalem of old Shall on these ruins stand. With spires of virgin gold As Hiram nobly planned. Thy temple ruined lies, A mass of buried stone. Where silence solemn dies In wastes that vandals own. 65 I SAW A RIPPLE. 'Twas only a ripple on Time's vast sea. Some pulseful throb of years ; I wondered what the throb could be That puzzled mortal seers. Who threw the pebble down From the shore of Stygian night, From rocks so old and brown That crowned Creation's height ? The pale sea was stirred With the pebble's echoing plash. As if some ocean bird With glint and feathery flash Had broken Time's gray sleep, Whose wavelets circling swept Ever outwards on the trembling deep ? Thus first Life pulsing lept From Motion's vibrant hand. And this is Life, I said, By rainbow arches spanned. I looked, and lo ! poor Life had fled. How the widening circles grew, And rippling, died away, With naught that could renew. The dream of yesterday. 66 STRANDED. A dead woman — and can it be? — Cast upon this desolate shore, Where the rocks stretch out to the sea, And the breakers continually roar. Dead and stranded out there, Nude, forsaken, alone, With seaweed in her hair, On her lips a suffering moan. Why did the sea upheave such prey — A victim, whose sculptured form Is bejeweled with mist-born spray, Brewed by the lowering storm? Stranded, O God! on this low beach; Her bier the white and cheerless sand. Beyond the breakers' neap-tide reach, In a distant and foreign land. What has this wrecked soul done In life's great soulless swirl That she, 'neath a cold -rayed sun, This beautiful, brown-haired girl, Should lie so still and white, In the morgue of the heaving sea. Where the pale green opalent light Foreshadows eternity? 67 No wound, no mark, to mar The beauty of her angel face. Lying there dead and far From her home and her natal place. Was it a scarlet life she led In the haunts of varnished shame, Where sweet virtue is sold for bread. And fair honor an empty name? Was it some broken, blighted heart That madly loved in vain? Did she play her daz'd part In this cold world of greed and gain? Some lost love buried here. Some faith love that had been untrue, That haunt'd this shroudless bier. Covered with salt-spray dew? Perhaps she pined and sinned. And gave her life for pay — No name, mark, or paper pinned. To tell how she drifted away. Whatever her secret may be, 'Tis lost and stranded here, On this lone morgue-like sea, With no father or mother near. 68 THE CURFEW TOLLS. The curfew tolls, and drowsy Day Creeps to the purple west ; He lays his golden robes away, He pins the stars upon his breast. The curfew tolls, the fading light Grows darker o'er the lea, The swift-winged bat, with wavering flight, Supplants the honey-laden bee. The curfew tolls, gray shadows creep From eve with unshod feet, Lest they disturb the sun god's sleep. Cradled in some nocturn retreat. The silent stars, so cold and high, Peep from the sky's wide zone ; Each little orb, with twinkling eye, Guards Dian's spangled throne. The curfew tolls, earth's dark nocturn Is shrill with strident strains. The firefly's lamp, with fitful burn, Glows bright, then darkly wanes. The flowers, with heads adroop, Hang from their swaying stems. From glade and dell the brownies troop And dance beneath the elms. 69 The curfew tolls, the silver moon Sails near the red-hued Mars, The moonman chants his weird rune Amidst the aisles of drifting stars. CARMEN. Petit Carmen, you smile; You are a born coquette ; You live, betray, beguile, I know not why, and yet, I love madly, gladly. Your soulful eyes are brown ; They have some magic spell — Nay, do not frown At what I have to tell, I love madly, gladly. Others perhaps more bold Have kiss'd your lips so red, Have touch'd each tress of gold That crowns your queenly head — Yet, I love you madly. You are witty, Carmen, witty ; Your words have a cute, hidden sting- Carmen, have some pity, Accept this suitor's ring ; Say that you will be mine. 70 What loves treacherous shine In your dark, impish eyes ! Would that the loves were mine, And all the mocking sighs Were tender and true. Have you, my pretty sweet, A soul? Some say yes, yes, Upon your dainty feet. And yet I must confess That I love you madly, gladly. I know you're not sincere ; Too many ardent loves. Born of false hope and fear. Have soil'd your dainty gloves With love's adoring kiss. Some day. Carmen, some day, Perhaps with keen regret, The game of hearts you'll play, Then you will sigh and fret Because you plead delay. Love's rare wine sparkles now In your deep, mocking eyes ; Some day you'll wonder how Time swiftly flies To leave its ghosts for you. 71 Carmen, whate'er thou hast Of beauty's golden charm Will not, cannot forever last — Time's thin, wrinkled alarm Will ring the curtain down. Carmen, confess That love has touched your heart; Perhaps some coy distress Has left its poisoned dart Within your soul. Good-bye, Carmen, good-bye; You will never relent. Yet you so softly sigh — Your head is forward bent To hide the tears. How pathetic! Each poor token That dupes have given you, Mementoes of sad hearts broken, Which carelessly you strew On love's dead grave. Mayhap it is a woman's way — Perverse, yet loving still ; Exacting, willful, gay, Jealous of her sweet will, Nursed by fancy's whim. 72 THE FORTY-NINER'S RETURN. Stranger, it has been forty years Since I left this growing town ; Everything I see appears To be remodeled or torn down. Where is the shaded street Where my old home used to be? Every person that I meet Seems stranger-like to me. I vow things do look queer, Everywhere I go They ask me what I'm doing here; I swear I do not know. I was a fool forty-niner, I sold everything I had ; To become a crazy miner, I sold my duds to dad. Say, where is the Traveler's Inn, Where the old folks used to stay? It is a sure tarnation sin They have moved the house away. They have changed each precious name Of lane and village street; The names are not the same. They have become so obsolete. 73 Where is De Lorimer hollow, Where I used to hunt the cow? Where is the mare I used to follow Behind a Moline plow? Where are the homespun blouses We used to always wear? The old-fashioned gable-houses That fronted on the square? The fields I used to plow Are worth their weight in gold. I swear I feel just now As if I was growing old. Everyone is on a rush And haven't time to talk ; I'm jammed in this 'ere crush Till I can scarcely walk. If I could see one face That I once knew in years gone by. Where I could loving trace Some kindred or some tie, My heart would beat with joy, And I would feel again The pleasure of the boy That lived in Betsy's lane. I have traveled for to see The place where I was born, My elder brothers three, With trousers patched and torn. 74 Where is the apple tree, The rude bench where we sat, Where Tom, and Ned, and me. Would spin our yarns and chat? Where is the locust clump, Where the graveyard used to be? Excuse this awkward lump, That makes a child of me. I could sit and talk all day Of the things I used to do, Those days have passed away, And I am boring you. WORDS. Words, words, the swift wings of the world. Downy, dainty, powdered and curled. Masking thought with a cunning lie. Laughing to hide some smothered sigh. Smiling, beguiling, leaving a deep sting. Hypocrisy's slaves that cringingly bring Sodom's apples that seem so fair. Grown in the garden of bitter despair. Words, words, were jewels strung On the brow of morn, when the world was young, Halcyon words of joy and peace When grazing flocks with swift increase Pastured Arcadian valleys and hills, The golden age, when Pandora's dark ills Were short sorrows that died in giving birth To truth that blessed primordial earth. 75 Words, words, now dark venomous things, Flitting about on devils' wings, Merciless words, far more cruel than death, Minions of foul slander's polluting breath, Filching from honor her jewels so rare, Numbing the heart with fell despair, Marring hope, with a scarlet stain. Filling the soul with dull, harrowing pain. Words, words, what diplomatic things. Soulless songs that Pandora sings. Making of earth a veritable hell Under the bane of the Atean spell. Staining the soil with war's red blood. Sweeping away in its flush crimson flood Kingdoms and empires, races and creeds. Sowing for death the dragon's seeds. Words, words, that enviously breed Discord of race, and difference in creed, Filling the earth with cynic doubt. Marking for truth a Procrustean route. Making religion an ethical theme, Whose mystic waters, with Stygian gleam. Eternally glide where Charon of old Guards Acheron's shores of the underwold. Words, words, minions of fate, Weaving a dark web for pitiless hate. Disloyal slaves that subservient obey The master that fritters pale time away, Symbols of power, and children of thought, The ransom of fools, by wisdom oft sought, Wrinkling and smoothing the brow of care, Saving the soul by penance and prayer. 76 LIFE'S ANTITHESIS. We peer across the troubled main, Where every joy has its attendant pain — For every storm there is some calm, For every wound there is a healing balm. For every smile there is likewise a tear, For every pauper there is also a peer, For every love there is a mortal hate, Ev'ry courser has his running-mate. Some meet with failure, some excel ; Some mortals buy, and some contingent sell Some have one text, some have another, Not found beneath the Bible's cover. For every borrower there is a loan, For every laugh there is a groan, For every eve there is a circling morn ; Old age dies, a child is born. Each road has its dust, and also has its mud ; Each high-bank'd river has its seething flood, A deepening channel for one that's dry — Thus the short years go glimmering by. Each autumn has its winter sear, A winding sheet for each dead year; Each summer has its verdant spring; One lays down the scepter, and another's king. 77 Some limp, and some walk straight; Some push, while others wait ; Some loaf, while others toil ; Some sleep, while others burn the oil. One-half the world lives on the other half; Some sorrow, while some, fickle, laugh; Some pay too promptly what they owe. While others reap what others sow. Some barter what they, toiling, made ; Some beat you in a counter-trade; Some gain, while others lose ; Some walk bare-footed, some wear shoes. Some have rags, some have wealth; Some have sickness, some have health ; Some are doubtful, and some are sure; Some are fallen, and some are pure. For every life there is a death — Man is but a vapor, a passing breath, A sum upon some schoolboy's slate, A problem for the Master fate. A sum not worked by any rule. For wisdom is some arrant fool; Life is a problem far too deep — We play our parts, and then we sleep. So passes transient life away, While death exacts his usual pay; One comes, and one, departing, goes — What is life? Who, omniscient, knows? 78 ECHOES OF MEMORY. Echo, O babbling brook, That murmured all day long, And glided thro' glade and forest nook, Sing to my heart the same dear song, Sing, oh sing, as you flow along. Echo your flutings, O wild bird. Perched on the oaken tree; Sing back the past to me In the woods where I heard The sweet notes of your melody. Echo, O mooings that fell Like music at dying of day. When the lowing kine astray Gathered from valley and dell, And grazed on their homeward way. Echo, O bleating of sheep That pastured the old back hill. Where the buttercup and daffodil Brightened its side so steep. The sides that shade the dairy still. Echo the impatient neigh Of the horses so tired and hot. Homeward they went in a jogging trot, The horses that plowed all day. Rolled in the dust of the barnyard lot. 79 Echo, O sounds at evetime, When vespers rang softly for prayer. Our minds so filled with worldly care Heeded the dulcet chime That hallowed the evening air. Echo again the loved song. The song that my mother sang, Though each note be a pang, Give, O give me the lullaby song, The song that my mother sang. Repeat, oh repeat, every sweet, low note, That lulled your child boy to rest ; While the drowsy head on your breast In dreamland's rudderless boat Drifted away to its haven of rest. WE WILL DRINK. We will drink to the god that gave Grapes to the fruitful vine ; To Silenus, wine-bibbing knave, Who drowned his sorrows in wine. We will drink to comrades so true, Around this convivial board. Who recklessly scatter and strew The moments that penitents hoard. So We will drink to every whim on earth That bubbled since time began, To the rollicking, laughing mirth, That lightens the labor of man. Drink to the moments that have been ; Drink to the moments that are ; That limit the wisdom of men, And oft furrow the brow with care. We will drink to life's horoscope, That cold fate like a demon mars ; We will drink to the stout anchor of hope That drags in an ocean of stars. We will drink to the gnome Despair That flutters round sorrow's pale flame, Drawn by the feverish glare That makes joy a deluding name. We will drink to the gray lethian brink That shadows the red fading west. To the suns that majestically sink, O'er the world's procrustean breast. We will drink to the birth of man ; We will drink with a flowing bowl To life that is only a span, To Death and his mystical goal. We will drink to time's winged slave That hurries us along too fast Into the narrow, silent grave. Into the eternal, relentless past. 8i We will drink to those that come next When each comrade has passed away, Perhaps in their turn perplexed At life's wine, with its froth and spray. THE BROKEN PITCHER. Down near a sparkling spring Some china pieces lay. Remnants of a broken thing Molded from potters' clay. Too often it went to the well Shaded by elm and oak, No one living can tell How the olden pitcher broke. Perhaps some ragged boy Was careless and pranced along, Filled with an urchin's joy That broke from his lips in song. Mayhap, the song was hushed As the pitcher fell with a crash, Swift from the well he rushed Heedless, thoughtless and rash. Perhaps some rough brown hand Let the dear old pitcher fall, As it jarred the shaky stand By the gray old weathered wall. Hard, rough hands of toil That carried the pitcher to fill, Hands begrimed with soil, That washed in the gurgling rill. 82 Some school girl tripped perhaps On the stones around the well, That drifted from hillside gaps That shaded the rock-lined dell. Perchance some trickling tear Saddened her youthful face, Blanched with a culprit's fear, As she fled from the trysting place. Was it love's confusing daze, That fluttered her willing heart, Or a lover's ardent ways That made her flush and start ? Was she under the golden spell Of love's first dawning dream. Only the pieces can tell As they lie in the crystal stream? And never more shall time Mend all the scattered parts Patched with ^gg and lime ; Or mend the broken hearts That erstwhile famished drank From the pitcher's cavern bowl, Or mend the tired lives that sank In time's uncertain goal. There the pieces lie Banded with blue and gold, Peeping up to the smiling sky Half covered with loamy mould. Too often it went to the well As the scattered pieces show, But how or when it fell No mortal seems to know. 83 THE SWEET FACE AT THE DOOR. I remember, I remember, The smiling angel face That met me at the door, With all its kindly, beaming grace. How it cheered the heavy heart Of a toil-worn weary clerk. Who, like some galley slave. Bent to his thankless work. I remember, I remember. How gracefully she stood Watching, waiting, peering. Without a wrap or hood. Her face all in a glow. Wreathed with a thought supreme. So sweet, so tender and so true, She was an angel dream. I remember, I remember. How winsome was her glee, When her soft, dimpled hand Brushed the snow from me. 'Twas in cold December, So many years ago — How well I remember That day of jain and snow. I remember, I remember, My dear heart, when you came Like some priceless treasure. That hath no miser's name. 84 How many years have fled Since you waited for me there — All those sweet years are dead, And silver threads my hair. I remember, I remember, Ah ! bless me, what a day. When all the empty space Chided mem'ry's sweet delay — No face at the window, No bright face at the door — Sad, ah ! sad and dreary Will my heart be evermore. I remember, I remember. Ah! can I e'er forget? Your form and face, so fair, Linger in my memory yet. I see her at the door. With a welcome up there for me- Beyond the distant shore, In God's eternity. PIONEER GRAVES. What low green graves are these; What rude forefathers sleep Under these forest trees That crown this jutting steep? 85 No headboards mark these mounds, To tell their moss-grown tale ; No jarring vagrant sounds Intrude upon this vale. Who were they? and what did they do In this poor ephemeral life? Did they sweet blessings strew? Or were they harbingers of strife ? Were they bold pioneers That builded cabins rude ; Hardy, bronzed mountaineers In this vast solitude? Were they a sterner race, The redman's hated foe, Who occupied this place So many moons ago? These rich, great western lands, Where the long rifle's deadly crack In the trapper's practiced hands Blazed civilization's track. Calmly they sleep and well ; No headboard's faded name. No moss-grown stone, to tell Who settled this wild claim. Pale death has laid them low ; Only the wild bird's song, With ever its warbling flow. And the river that brawls along. 86 WANTED— A FRIEND. This "ad." to your paper I send, Perchance some answers I will get. Oh for a grand, noble friend, Who is not, like a tenant, *'to let." I will wait for a day, or a week, The answers that will come to me ; The friend that my impulses seek Will a Damon or Pythias be. Some have answered, some called, The terms are exacting, they say ; Some I have black-balled, While others object to my way. Some, mere summer-day friends. That shrunk from the dark storms of life, Their rainbow of promise, whose ends Cut like the edge of a knife. Some were so human, and so weak. True friendship was only a name, A cloud-riven, shivering streak. That scorched my heart with its flame. Some came and promised too much, They bowed and bended too low ; My soul was wounded with such ; I told them so plainly, no ! no ! 87 The sign is still over the door, The place is neglected and old, There is dust on the carpetless floor, And the walls are spotted with mold. Friends were, alas ! so rare, The "ad." never paid me a cent; I have still a corner to spare That is vacant, and still for rent. Some dear tenant come in And look at the room set apart. Then the price will be due and begin When I send you the key to my heart. TO JUNIUS L. HEMPSTEAD. In reply to your "ad." of September the first, Where you mention the want of a "friend," Will you listen a while, and perchance 'twill beguile A dull moment, and happiness lend. You are asking for a treasure Which comes straight from heaven's store; 'Tis a pearl of untold value, Found but rarely on life's shore. 88 Could I steal into that chamber, "Carpetless," "neglected," "cold," Where the dingy, dust-stained sign hangs. And the words "To let" are told. Maybe I could coax a sunbeam From some golden cloud above, That would bathe your bleak, cold chamber With its pure, warm ray of love. From the walls the "mold" would vanish Like the mist before the sun ; In its place hang gilded pictures. Scenes of joyous days to come. Should you find this "pearl" you're seeking, Guard it as you would your soul. For its own intrinsic value Is worth more than millions told. Lucre cannot buy your treasure; Fame may fail to win a smile ; From ambition's height still wander, By your side to rest the while. Marvel not the would-be tenants Failed to suit the landlord queer; I like others might be "black-balled," If I hope, I likewise fear. Yet, someone will one day enter; Fill with light that lone room dark, And, according as the "ad." reads, Claim the "key" of someone's heart, 89 ONLY A CONFEDERATE SOLDIER. Press these shriveled hands, Wipe the death dew from my brow. The Master's sweet command Comes faintly to me now. My soldier's duty's done, I've laid my gun away ; For Jim, my oldest son, 'Twill recall another day. When the muskets' flashing rattle And the cannons' bursting shots Rolled down the line of battle ; When the wounded laid on cots, Moaning with a feverish pain, Mangled, dead and dying, Where the deadly, leaden rain Through the hurtling air was flying. Tell him of the bugle call That formed the wavering lines, How I saw my comrades fall When they sprung the dastard mines ; Tell him how a comrade's hand Oft parried some quick blow, As we made a gallant stand And faced the charging foe. Tell him how I slaked the thirst Of a comrade's parched throat. Where shrapnel fiercely burst By the barbette's guarded moat ; 90 How I drove a cannon rammer To mark the hallowed spot, With my musket for a hammer — Twas there that Ned was shot. How oft I knelt beside Some dying comrade true, And with these hands untied Some package bound with blue, Some keepsake of a mother, Perhaps some sister dear, A father or a brother That fell within the year. Somehow I feel neglected here — I am a relic of the past — But the end is almost near, This roll call is my last. Why, comrades ! these are tears ! Do not weep for me ; From these thankless years My soul will soon be free. Life's muffled drum is beating My pulses' last tattoo. And with this breath so fleeting I say to life adieu ! Tread softly ! 'tis a soldier dead, A warrior now at rest ; Place flowers at the hero's head. And lilies on his breast. 91 CONTEMPLATION. An aged god, with scythe and glass, Entered the Temple of Fame ; "Who will gainsay me, if I pass ? I am the king, and Saturn is my name. "No footfall sounded in the nave As he moved through the fretted aisles, And stole along the mosaic pave Between alcoves and peristyles. "Ah ! fame hath her alluring charms, That dazzle wooing slaves, Outstretched her sculptured arms. Over chanceled aisles and naves. "Here are pale, emblazoned crests. With knightly feats of arms; Heralds of their eternal rests, No clarion's shrill alarms "Will break their dead repose, No altared incense to burn, No steel-clad, haughty foes Will valor's gauntlet spurn. "I touch it thus, and crumbling dust Shall mock the sculptor's skill ; The lance, the shield shall rust. Because it is my will. 93 **Entomb'd poets, with thoughts of fire, Lie in these marble beds ; Hush'd is the minstrel's lyre. That wreaths their lowly heads. "Great soldiers, whose immortal deeds Outlive their transient years, See how the mold and weeds Have sooth'd a nation's tears. "Here lies a master of the law ; Was he at all times just? Was there no bias'd flaw? And oracles could trust? "Poor little mortal dust, That breath'd awhile, and then Laid down in gloom and rust — And these were earth's great men? "Soon, soon shall fell decay Stalk through each sculptur'd aisle And ghostly shadows play Upon this ruined pile. "I place my seal just here On this granite weathering dew ; I will come again another year. When gnawing mold has eaten through. "Thus, thus this mortal dust I blow To heaven's freest wind ; So long as the seasons come and go Will I leave my sear track behind." 93 FAITH. Faith, with uplifted face. Transfigured, glorified, By God's sustaining grace Thus is deified. Faith lifts the doubting soul From earth to realms above. Where stars eternal roll. Where God is truly love. More faith in life's great plans Beset by doubts and fears, God's rainbow circling spans Hope's tide of drifting years. More faith in things unseen, That we may upright walk. This life is one immortal dream That only doubt can balk. Faith lives beyond the tomb When mortal man is dust ; It brightens the eternal gloom — This childlike, steadfast trust. Faith folds her tired hands It rocks man's soul to sleep, It wafts his soul beyond the skies Where mortals do not weep. Faith folds her tired hands Across her peaceful breast ; An angel silent stands To guard her mortal rest. 94 Faith pleads with wayward hearts. Her presence hallows prayer, Like incense it imparts A solace for each care. Faith leads with kindly light Through darkness and through tears, She warns us of the night, And calms our mundane fears. Faith gently, coyly pleads That we may anchor where The beacon brightly leads To the harbor over there. Faith makes us brave and strong, With armor buckled true; Then man can do no wrong Though doubt and sin pursue. THE TRUSTS. Grim Hydra, whose power is wealth You crush in your titanic coil, And gather, with cunning and stealth, The harvests of forests and soil. You girdle with strong iron bands Fallow and field, woodland and hill ; The rich products of many lands, Are gathered within your till. 95 Your bonds, your profits and your stocks Are freed from a national tax. The weak votes that you buy in blocks Are grimly and well proven facts; You bribe with a liberal purse. Yet grudge the workman his pay ; For justice you give him a curse, And you rule with a tyrant's sway. What are the few paltry lives That toil in your mines and big mills. They cluster like bees in their hives And die of contagion's dire ills. Do the hard brown hands touch your heart. While you rest in comfort. and ease; Do you heed the sad tears that start, When they plead on their trembling knees For the rich man's proverbial crumb That falls from an epicure's meal ? Why are your lips forever dumb ? Does the blood in your heart congeal ? Does poor pity cry out in vain As it asks for a stale morsel of bread? Do you give from your ill-gotten gain? Is every feeling of manhood dead ? ONE BY ONE. One by one youth's bright woof is spun From the threads of the morning's gold. How they glow in the splendid sun Bejeweled in every fold. 96 The woven threads are taut and strong. Woven by Hope's deft hand, Love is a dream, Life is a song, Over all is the rainbow band. One by one we mark out a route With dangers thickly strown. Like some well-trained scout We tread the wilds alone. O'er cautious and yet bold On unknown paths we tread, In forests grim and old Where every sound is dead. One by one we drop worldly cares Along Life's thorny way, Age, our servant, gently prepares Our burden for each day. He dulls the fires of youth. Desires so empty, vain ; Shows us the way to truth Through paths of harrowing pain. One by one all alone we tread Life's wine-press filled with woes. One by one we follow the dead Where Death's cold river flows ; On its dread banks we stand And shiver while we wait, Though Canaan's happy land Open wide its pearly gate, 97 One by one the gray shadows lie Towards the fading West, Adown the glowing sky, Across the crimson breast Of fleeting, dying day, Embanked in amber array For one brief hour they stay. Then grayly melt away. One by one with trembling knocks We stand at Death's wide door, Whose studded bolts and locks Guard the eternal evermore. Death's seneschal with iron key. And lamp that palely burns ; He opens wide the door for thee Then to his post returns. FATE IS A FLOWER. Fate is a fadeless flower That no seasons can ever change ; It blooms with God's silent power, This flower of flowers so strange. It grows in a nameless garden, In a land of dark despair ; Its wild petals tint and harden In death's sunless stygian air. It is a dark, baneful lily That the Parcae grimly sow, Where the soil is bleak and hilly, Where no other flowers grow. 98 Its Medusa-visaged smile Is born of night and gloom, Its lethean narcots beguile Pale victims to their doom. Each storm-blown sculptured petal Is an epitaph for deeds ; Its stamens of polished metal Fill the earth with iron seeds. Its phantasmagorial light, So steady, lambent, chilling, cold, Is for the moths of silent night That spikelets seize and hold. No mortal power can change This orchid's baneful bloom That gods with Fate arrange To make this world a tomb. Dragons guard this immortal glade. Their chains, corroding, clank. Yet a thousand aeons fade And years grow musty, rank. Still, these flowers of dismal fate Bloom with their noxious breath Before the dark, hing'd gate Of sorrow, sin and death. AUTUMN'S BROWN-ROBED QUEEN. This stately brown-ey'd maid Comes slowly from the shade Through valley, mead and glade For autumn's masquerade. l.aFG. 99 Her lips are red as red can be, Kiss'd by the zephyr king ; 'Tis autumn's jubilee The tripping measures ring With sighing melody. Why does autumn, with her oriflamme, Shake her dead jewels in the air? Is she some kirtled dame, With rubies in her hair, That comes with sad acclaim, Through summer's ivied gate, . All sparkling with the dews, To claim her proud estate. And change the em'rald hues To colors more sedate? The leaves fall rustling down With autumn's crimson wiles ; She claims her russet crown With a courtier's winning smiles Or a tyrant's low'ring frown. She weaves her robe of state With a thousand Tyrian dyes ; Why should chill winter wait To claim the jewel prize From autumn's dead estate? Dame Nature grandly weaves Autumn's red royal shroud; She limns the reaper's sheaves With a brown rustling cloud Of fallen leaves. 100 THOUGHT'S EMPIRE. Who can fathom the bounds Of this empire distant and vast? The stars on their solemn rounds Measure the eternal past. Knowing, and yet unknown, Master of the great human race. From its fortress of thin-walled bone It rules all time and space. From its lock-barred and bolted stronghold, With grand thought it shatters the earth, Delves in earth's crust for gold. Under the planet's girth. The whirr of steam engines and mills, The spindles' droning play, The forges, the dredges, and the drill Obey its mechanical sway. It conceives, and the deft, cunning hand Measures uttermost space. The sky, the sea, the land Are its by creative grace. No shackles bind its limbs ; Like Ariel, it wanders free. On light's swift wings it skims To the farthest star-zoned sea! lOI GOD HAS NO CREEDS. Our God has no conflicting creeds By puny mortals class'd, He judges man by deeds And not by creeds or caste, Terms meaningless to Him Who sits on Heaven's throne, Where aeons vast and dim Belong to Him alone. His kingdom has no bounds. Each system has its groove ; On their eternal rounds The stars forever move; Dials of fleeting time How orderly obey The will of One sublime Who made the milky way. God's great almighty hand Fashioned each living thing ; The sea, the sky, the land, Hosannas grateful sing. He holds no narrow creeds When he fills mother earth With vivifying seeds That death may hasten birth. The song bird pipes his lay Beside some shaded rill ; He sings the livelong day His noisy, gladsome trill. 102 He asks not for a reason why The stars forever glow, The rippling brooks near by With gentle murmur flow. The eagle wings the sky And gazes on the sun, He asks not for a reason why The seasons changeless run. He is no proselyte ! Content he soars in space Pois'd in his dizzy height Above his nesting place. Creation's protean hand Is God's eternal law. In wisdom nobly plann'd Without a single flaw. God rules all time and space. One God, one law divine That mortals humbly trace In stars that vastward shine. God knows our humble needs, Why should we selfish pray ? Or mock with mortal creeds The God who molded clay ? He fashioned mind and soul From some primordial cell. That our senses may control Bright Reason's citadel. Is God more just than thou Who kneelst in selfish prayer. Perchance to seal some vow Born of this earth's despair ? 103 Prayer means naught unless 'Tis born of God-like deeds, Though mortal man confess A thousand narrow creeds. EMOTIONS. Hidden away from human eyes There is within the soul A spring, whose crystal bowl Is gemm'd with tears and sighs, That drift from time's gray goal. The mem'ry of one sweet, low word Will drift from out the past: Emotion's limpid depths o'ercast By feeling gently stirred. Will gather recollections fast. Perhaps some soft refrain Will murmur from this spring, And fondly, dearly, cling To dreamy moments that enchain The chords that angels sing. Ofttimes some kindly deed Will throb through pulse and vein, To ease some half-forgotten pain. Or stay some mortal creed, That hope may breathe again. Perchance some trifling thing. Unprized by careless mankind. Will leave a thought behind To bubble from this spring. And heartward soothing wind. 104 LAUGH! LAUGH! Laugh, laugh as well you may, A hearty laugh will drive away The shadow of depressing woe That chills the spirit's rippHng flow. A hearty laugh will always win ; Old Momus and mankind are kin. The world abhors a solemn face That seems forever out of place. Do not for gracious sake grow old, Don't let your heart be morbid cold. Laugh at life with never a sigh To dim the soul when death is nigh. Do not brood o'er life's tempestuous sea Whose waves are wafting home to thee The solace of a smile that lives In the years that calm contentment gives. Laugh, laugh, laugh as the days go by. Look at fate with a steadfast eye, Be master of the hours that flow Into the years that come and go. Laugh, laugh, laugh at the fool world's way, Laugh, laugh, for laughing pays, A frown is sorrow's guide to lure Into the depths where the pay is sure. 105 AN ANCIENT DEATH MASK. What mask is this, a human face, Stony reHc of some Grecian race? What were the dreamings of the mind That left this mystic mold behind? Was it deception's cringing mask ? Did devils smiling bask. Charming God's candor for the while With serpents' cunning guile ? What thoughts found here a nest, Where silence, with antique unrest. Woke from the confines of this brain To make a holocaust of pain ? Did it o'erturn some gilded throne With plot and gold from Afric's zone? Or flatter with a courtier's skill, Making power subservient to its will ? Did it make enemies of friends To serve some base, malicious ends ? Or mar the peace of priest or state, Then leave them to the throes of hate ? Did mad ambition and thirst for power Man battlement or beleaguer'd tower? Did legions do your bidding then To make dread war, a slaughter-pen ? io6 Did senates with misgivings quake, And delphic hope with fear forsake Fair Virtue, in imperial Rome, To desecrate the penates of home ? Did it oft strut upon the mimic boards, Pleasing Sensation's hungry hordes, And make some timely statecraft jest Of him who wore the purple on his breast? Did it weave the assassin's web. Crimsoning life's mysterious ebb With dagger-thrust, and murd'rous skill, Forcing tribunes with an iron will ? Naught can we question lips of stone. Mute as the ages farward flown, Recalling from these rude ruins vast Visions of the immortal past. TEMPTATION. I. Temptation, first born child of earth That caused an Adam's fall. What was primordial virtue worth? When Satan's scarlet pall Made Time a loyal slave For Death, whose scythe and glass Made all the earth a grave Dark portal of the Avernean pass. 107 IL Temptation is an Eden's snake, Whose scintillating eyes Can ever dazzling make A jewel, with entrancing dyes Mesmeric power to convey A charm that swift enthralls Its unsuspecting prey That shudderingly, helpless falls. III. Tempation, like a noxious weed, It cumbers fertile ground And scatters tares, and seed Like thistle shafts around, Filling all the ripening hours With pleasures that distil In virtues fair, and modest bowers, Poisons for man's conscious will. IV. Temptation has its liveried slaves That drugged allegiance owe To appetite, that sordid craves The cup that leads to woe. And with a Circe's fatal charms Makes swine of those that still Linger in her outstretched arms That fold to kiss and kill. io8 THE WITCH'S CAULDRON. I. I am tHe wrinkrd witch of time, Into my cauldron, sulphurous, and deep, All of the odds and ends of crime. With tireless hands I sweep. II. With Pluto's dread fagots I boil. The water of Stygia's dark stream. How the flames twist and coil, How brightly the live embers gleam. III. Like serpents of Erinnyes hair, The hot flames dart and roll Heating my cauldron of despair. Licking its flame worn bowl. IV. I toss into my cauldron hot, The sins of a thousand ages. I assort them lot by lot. And label them devil's wages. V. I sweep from eternity's floor The dust of ages past, Into my broth forever more, The siftings of earth's sin I cast. 109 VI. With murder, I stir and I mix, Ingredients of love and hate ; I season the water of Styx, With the soulless sauce of fate. VII. I stir in dead men's bones. Their legs, and arms, and skulls ; I gloat over the shrieks and groans, And the torture that never lulls. VIII. What care I for torment and woe, I have a heart of stone ; Into my titanic cauldron they go. When death shall claim his own. THE COUNTRY GIRL. I. What makes this girl so sweet, Not dainty hands, or baby feet, Not arching brow, or rosebud lip. No rounded arm, or swelling hip, Nor eyes that shine like midnight stars, As she stands at eve, by the pasture bars. XL She is no flaunting fashion plate. No dream that moderns oft create, no No scissored art, or modiste's ways, No slender waist, nor wasp like stays. No moulded outline, or measuring tape, Can mar the beauty of her Grecian shape. III. Her heart's a home where sweet content Is thankful for God's mercies sent. Nothing she covets, nor is envy's slave. The heritage her father gave She husbands with a pedant's will. Hence she pays no prescription bill. IV. Up with the morn, in bed at eve, She is nature's child, to have and receive Her measure full of strength and health. Caring naught for beaux, and wealth. Singing her song, the young glad song, Extolling virtue, and eschewing wrong. V. Modest and sweet, she seems, A woodland nymph, by mountain streams. Her heart untrammeled by earthly care ; What sculptured venus can ere compare To this sylvan maid whose song bird trills Waken the echoes of the gurgling rills. VI. She smiles no smile of dark deceit. Her glad blue eyes like angels greet, III Each golden morn, — when morrows break Sweet song birds from their nests awake To trill their untutored lays For the winsome girl, that is young always. THE SLANDERER. He wears thro' life deception's masque, Where mortal lies, like devils bask. False the heart, and dark the smile. That covers truth with hidden guile. He has alas! the slanderer's tongue, How can one tell, when one is stung. This slimy dragon from his lair Poisons the purest, sweetest air. As forth he squirms, with loathsome coil, With asp-like tongue, to hiss, despoil. Hiding his venom in its sheath. Distilling sorrow, shame, and death. This brazen thing, that satans own. Has an angel's smile, and a heart of stone. WEAVE, OLD DAME. L Weave ! weave a shirt, O loom, All for the Parcaes crumbling tomb. Weave, weave, with Time's distaff, That each mortal's epitaph Shall mark the marble spot Where man is, and man is not. 112 , II. Weave me a thread of woe ; Be quick ! old Dame ! sew, sew ; Bend to your fatal task ; When this is done, I ask For the centaur's deft skill That weaves, but only weaves to kill. III. Whirl, whirl, without, within, The vestments of each mortal sin Are woven of alluring threads ; Full are the spindle heads Of what this old dame wove. As swift the flying wheel she drove. IV. Arrange the patterns well. Old Dame, With threads that twisting came From Pluto's roaring fire. Then bind with mad desire The seams that so securely hold The fabric wrought of sordid gold. V. Weave, weave, weave for the neck ; Don't consider the fatal wreck, Or the white fleece, while the wool is shorn, Weave for the millions yet unborn ; The halt, the blind, the weak, the lame, Weave for them all. Old Stately Dame. 113 VI. Weave, weave, each fadeless sleeve; What care you if mortals grieve? Your shirt is tautly spun. Your work is fully done, O, minion of relentless woe, Weaving ever the patterns so. THERE IS A LINE. I. There is a mystic measured line Outmark'd by foreordain'd design, 'Tis here, 'tis there, and farward hence Fixed by vast Omnipotence, Wherein we doubting dimly trace The awful bounds of time and space. Its zigzag course sadly portend A bright beginning or a fatal end. 11. How vast its limits, thus all spheres Grow dim and musty with the years ; We feel remotely spaced afar Protean life that holds each star Spellbound within its throbbing clasp. No mortal mind can know or grasp. Or see the wisdom of the Godhead One Who gave to earth His only Son. 114 in. A shifting line, as broad as space, Yet narrow as man's resting place ; It marks the kingdoms of this earth For swift-winged death, for puny birth, A holocaust of dead mile stones, Dividing life into a thousand zones, Each with creative will full rare, Product of sun and vital air. Odd creeping, crawling, swimming things. With legs, with feet, with fins, with wings. All evolv'd from one law divine, A law, the acme of design. IV. We peer across, yet peer in vain ; Fleet life flows never back again ; Its shadow falls from east to west, Man lingers still, yet sighs to rest. Builds for bright, alluring hope Some star-far limned horoscope. A promise for some future year. Then like some hoary headed seer He foretells with faith's conjectural mind. Has eyes to see all things and yet is blind. V. Who passes o'er this line of fate Enters Saturn's dark-hinged gate. Nor looks he sideward, nor yet back To see the beaten measured track. Along which he faltering came, So weak, so halting and so lame. 115 WHO WOULD BARTER— One laugh for an ocean of tears, One sorrow for happiness true, One sigh for the sweet smile that cheers The heart when sadness comes weeping to you. II. A smile for an age-wrinkling frown, A bright face for one that is sad ; Content for a king's golden crown, A good penny for one that's bad. III. A drug for the relish of health, A song for a driveling moan; Or peace for a Vanderbilt's wealth, Or the millions that such men own. IV. Wheat for the winnow'd chaff, A sweet rose for a hidden thorn ; A groan for a light-hearted laugh That greets the sunshine of morn. V. Fine gold for its unmined dross, The pure for the worldly impure ; Sure gain for misfortune's sad loss, Fickle chance for that that is sure. ii6 VI. A diamond for a pasty stone, Rubies for false-colored gems ; A farthing that is all your own For the false glitter of wealth's diadems. VII. A bright day for a dismal night, Spun on sorrow's inhuman loom ; A brave heart that's happy and light. For one that is shrouded in gloom. VIII. A big heart that is always brave, For a coward's that lurks and lags ; A soul that rides every wave, For a weak will that doubting fags. IX. A penny's worth of wholesome glee, For the miser's oft-counted pounds ; A grand soul from malice free, For a tongue that smarting wounds. LET THERE BE LIGHT. I. God said. Let there be light : Great pulsing vapors parted as a vail ; Out from heaven's star-gemmed night There burst a sun whose splendid trail 117 Hemm'd bordering spheres that spun And circl'd silvery pale Around the glowing sun. 11. Our mother Eve, the earth Looked on Adam's sun-god face. Then from her womb-like girth Sprang an immortal race. Amidst paradise celestial vast They lov'd, and poor, dependent Eve, Child of an antedated past. Courted Adam, and conceived; Her broad breasts rich with pap, Nurs'd the dark children of each glen ; Her wide-zon'd primodial lap Cradl'd the fierce wild sons of men. HI. Love-born Eve then wifely obeyed God's edict to increase and multiply, Nor faltered she, or aught delayed, To fashion, shape, and vivify. Protean life within the sea, on land God's creative genius everywhere Ordained that species should expand, His fruitful earth should bear ; The germs of budding cells began Within the garden of the past, Then sllv'ry rivers sparkling ran. Shaded by mountains high and vast. ii8 IV. Lush was the clust'ring sweet red fruit That hung from bending tree ; Forth from green sapped shoot Grew bright flowers to tempt the bee. All things were fair that sprung From the matrix of mother Eve ; The morning star with gladness sung, Where creeping vine, or golden sheave Rewarded Adam's sun-brown'd toil ; Night follow'd labor's weary day ; The strife, the heat, the day's turmoil, Passed in restful sleep away. V. Sol hid his glowing face; Eve bathed in star-zoned night. She gaz'd with solemn awe on space, And noted all the shifting flight Of stars and moons that rose From out the midnight's vasty deep. To lighten man's well-earn'd repose. And close his tired eyes in sleep. Watchful Adam, on his day rounds. Vivified the germs of future buds, Measured Eve's fair verdant bounds ; He filled the sky with April floods, That smiling May might bear Her incense to the blushing flowers And swing her censers in the air For lush summer's ripening hours. 119 THE SPIDER VICE. I. Vice's spider with artistic skill, And spinnerets padded glands, Enweaves upon the window sill Her web of many strands. How motionless she waits For some poor foolish fly That knocks at danger's gates, Where hidden pitfalls lie. II. With measurement precise She anchors here and there A thread — to cunningly entice The unwary to her minotaurian lair. How industriously she weaves Her circles, octagons, and squares, Adroitly she deceives The victims she ensnares. III. Swiftly he travels 'round the pane, And with his thousand- facet eyes. Sees the near danger, yet goes back again, Then from the corner hies. Slowly, more slowly, he returns, Lured by some circean spell. At last — too late — he learns The spider's in her cell. 120 IV. Around the net he cautious plies. Nor ventures yet too near ; A victim of the brilliant dyes, That charm away his fear. Every soft and sinuous fold Thus temptingly invites, Until he grows more bold, And on the web alights. Poor buzzing fly, each foot and wing Breaks oft — the weaver's thread. Tightly around the thoughtless thing A winding sheet is spread, A silken sheen, so taut and trim, That folly wove with care. Each strand a scoff, or idle whim That ended in despair. VI. This velvet terror slowly draws A shroud around the foolish flies; With her entangling claws Her weaver skill she plies. She draws the warm, red blood until The last globule is in her maw. Then drops these flies upon the sill, Or in the barn-yard straw. 121 DEATH'S BANQUET. * I. Dark shadows gather in the gloom, Around Death's ebon board ; They fill the gloaming room With Time's immortal hoard. n. This hall is draped with sable, A cloth of raven hue, Bound with a woven cable That the Parcae will oft renew. III. From each close-cowled hood Gleam phantom hell-lit eyes That burn, and stream, as would The sheen of phosphorescent dyes. IV. Their moth-eaten mantles flutter From fleshless, rattling bones ; Low curses they grimly utter, Their sighs are dismal groans. V. They heed no mortal's prayers, Their smile a soulless leer, Their chants are ghoulish airs. That mock the sorrow of a tear. 122 VI. They revel in the phantom wine, And stroke each gray old beard; They pass along the mouldy line The jest that's aged and weird. VII. They pass Death's jasper cup, And from its brim they sip ; 'Tis life's wine they so redly sup, Then wipe each bearded lip. VIII. They render each a toast, Nor smile, nor gravely laugh ; To each gray shrouded ghost, A death they grimly quaff. IX. They will mix your blood, and mine, With the blood of millions dead ; Till suns shall cease to shine, Till death and life are wed. TIME, THE ICONOCLAST. I. My wings are leaden, matter I deaden, I have an iron heart, my cruel shadows dart From the recess of decay, thus I sweep away Cobwebs of the past ; I am the iconoclast. 123 11. What care I for strange creeds, or brave ambitions, war- like deeds ? They are nothing to me, nor can they ever be ; I draw the veil of years over their pleasures and their tears ; With earthly rubbish they are cast, for I am the icono- clast. III. I'm Destiny's cold slave, I have no hallow'd grave. I do not rest or sleep, I never, never weep ; I move forever on, and on ; I am here, and then I am gone ; I am an echo of the past, the grim iconoclast. IV. Yon ruined vase, with fragments at its base, Is a proud trophy of my will — what is your human skill ? It is Time's lawful prey that I most grimly sweep away To mark the crumbling past, for I am the iconoclast. I am an image breaker, a most cruel undertaker, I bury 'neath the mould of the weird underwold, All dead earthly matter ; I pull down and scatter, To build gray ruins for the past. I am the iconoclast. 124 BY THE SEA. I. Is it the vast sea that makes me lonely. While I sit and farward gaze ; Or the echo of its music only, That Neptune's harper plays? n. Or the vastness stretching grandly, Or the weird songs the sea-god sings. As the waves sweep ever landly With foamy crested wings? III. What low, sad murmur softly lulls, My dreaming soul to quiet rest, When the fleet-winged, restless gulls Circle near my rock-ribbed crest? IV. The resounding ocean woos me. With its eternal voic'd refrain ; What can these wild emotions be That fill my heart with pain? V. Is it the chant of ages farward flown That makes my soul feel sad, While the rough billows break and moan, As if the world were mad? 125 VI. These rippling waves are borne From the god-music of the spheres. Leaflets from the ages torn That God Almighty hears. VII. Apollo s harp wild-stringed Played by Boreas' aeolian hand, Minor tones soft-winged That break upon the strand. VIII. What minstrel lightly sweeps Each golden-lyred string, What music softly sleeps In this trembling breathing thing? IX. How in the hours of sadness It grows, and grows, into my soul. My brain with drowsy madness Culls the ocean's ceaseless roll. X. Great song of vanished ages What grand melody divine This anthem murmuring presages Strains more lofty, more sublime. 126 CREATION'S DOOM. The last star shall fall from the sky A gem in Cimmeria's black sea; Like a wounded bird 'twill flutter and lie On the shores of immensity. II. The last cloud that curtains the sky Will freeze in the coldness of space; The last moon that sails slowly by Shall fall from its orbital place. III. The last meteor shall flash on its way With erratic wandering flight, And light, with its glare and display, Dread disruptions chaotic might. IV. The last flicker of heavenly light Shall glimmer in darkness profound ; The Stygian gloom of this awful night Will sweep on its last solemn round. 127 The last hope of creation shall sink Like lead on dark nature's cold breast, And glide over time's hoary brink, Then plunge to its lethean rest. VI. Swirling stars shall vortex a goal, Where lightning with one mighty sheet Will usher the thunder's deep roll, Melting matter with measureless heat. VII. Stars shall fall on that day Through depths of immensity; The vast scroll of motion will pass away Into black voids of intensity. VIII. Dire confusion shall exultingly sway All the stars that glitter in space ; Glares of red lightning will vividly play Over heaven's disrupted face. IX. Vast comets shall careeringly trail Over the vastness of gathering gloom; Auroras shall flash and grow pale Upon time's dismembered tomb. 128 TWILIGHT REVERIES. I. Twilight, gentle twilight, Ghostly peace of slumbering day, Blends with the shades of night To steal our thoughts away From sordid, delving care, That great soul dreams May thus displace the glare Of day's last beams. II. Gaze from thy window, then, O Poet — dreamer, friend ; Heed'st thou the woes of men That thou mayst lend Some gifted charm to life. And trance dull care away. With golden chords all rife. With twilight's peaceful lay. III. The gloaming of thy soul Shall seek the fading West, Where hope's gray, transfigured goal Will gently whisper, rest. Wrap twilight's mantle around thee. For in its pure, shadowy haze Thy lofty soul shall be A star in twilight's rays. 129 THE LAST MAN. I. The last man shall cower, and see A deluge of stars that will sweep Through the wide aisles of immensity. So measureless, vast and so deep. II. The last of mortality's race Shall mix with cold, dead earth, And leave not a petrified trace Of far creation's ephemeral birth. III. The last drop of blood in his heart Will wither, and flow not again; The red wound so deadly will smart With fear's pallid, quivering pain. IV. His last thought shall solemnly lie In the dark depths of eternity's goal; His phantasmagorial sigh Will shadow his God-given soul. 130 ECCE HOMO. Behold the man from vices free Abhorring that which should not be. Eschewing sin for virtue's self, Exempt from folly, pride and pelf; Quick always to forgive a wrong, Encas'd in mail, with rivets strong; ^iliant for right and bold of heart. Accepting ever for his part Hard burdens that life often brings ; Fortune's outrageous, soulless flings Are Summer flaws, are naught to him; Earth's sorest tests are dross, whose film Hides nature's purest gold beneath ; The cross, the crown, the victor's wreath, Are silent symbols of the truth That softens age and hallows youth. 11. Build thou a mansion all thine own Of ashlers white, of polished stone ; Testing by the craftsman's true square Exact proportions, white and fair; No sound of hammer, yet hewn true, With corn, and wine, and oil for you, Well earned the craftsman's wages. Stored in the archives of the ages. Within a house, not made with hands. Where storms, nor wrecks, nor shifting sands, Shall frown, or roughly surge, or sweep O'er thy soul's tomb when thou shalt sleep. 131 THE SOUL OF A STAR. I. O soul of a star, you twinkle afar ; In God's wide sky do you tiash by, Thro' infinite space, and leave not a trace On Time's wrinkled face. 11. Have you lost souls, seeking their goals In star deeps, where Saturn keeps The keys to mansions fair? What have you there, Away up in the air? III. Lost star beams, great, glittering streams Banished from time to voids sublime ; Dark to all space, leaving no trace Of your mileless race. IV. How many ages, how many stages, Since your pale light outflashed in the night, From your distant shore, from the evermore. Will your steady light pour? V. O soul of a star, will you unbar From Time's womb and Death's tomb The portal of doubt, as we stand without, Gazing over the unmark'd route? 132 VI. Will your light fade in the orbital shade Of each glowing sun? Is your last race run? Has it only begun? Is age's web spun? And its life-work done? VII. Do you world some race, whose eternal grace No time can trace, nor sin deface ; Where death is unknown, where the moments flown Never echo a moan? VIII. Shine on earth's scroll, with effulgent soul ; Let each bright beam with silvery stream Send fadeless hope, that seer's horoscope With lingering doubt may cope. MY DREAM STAR. I. Over earth's green altar you shine With your glittering beams divine, Each silvery, twinkling ray That shines on my wearisome way Brightens the gloom. 133 11. Are you love's dear, pale, drifting star, To graciously, lightly unbar Hope's dreamland gate? Are you my soul's star-gilded fate, O goddess divine? III. What do you whisper now — Some silver-lipped vow That laughs in its quaint joy? Some lovers that rudely decoy Faith with the luring of false love? IV. Are you hope's merry child, With your fancies so wild, To bring me fairy dreams While your silvery streams Flash on my soul? V. Would fairest hopes be dead If your soft light were fled? Oh, beam, pale, silent star, From your dark throne afar, And smile on strange destiny. 134 DAUGHTER OF FATE. I. Blind are you, O relentless queen ? Do your feet stumble? Do you lean On Time's stout staff? 11. Darkly grope you where light Beams from the realms of night And dreams? III. Are you moulding strange deeds. That your relentless seeds May fill the earth? IV. What dark loom do you use? Are your sandaled shoes Upon the swift treadle? THE CASTLE OF KISMET. I. A pilgrim sought the grim castle of fate, With its towers tall,' its guarded gate; At the portal dark, aged Saturn stands, With a sickle in his withered hands. The neighing steed of the pale rider, death. Paws the court with steamy breath; Panting, restive, eager to go, Bearing forever his message of woe. 11. This pilgrim entered the gateway wide, Where milHons of mortals, with all their pride, Had gone before. The stately ebon halls Were thronged. His sandal'd foot-falls Startl'd the weavers that bent O'er each task that the Parcae sent. in. Each weary weaver sat in her drear stall. Ranged in rows down the strong- vaulted wall; Never they look'd to the right or the left, But spun their threads with fingers deft; With eyes cast down and fingers worn They mended the rents of the ravels torn From the fringe of time, as he noiselessly sped, Guiding souls to the vast realms of the dead. IV. The spindles worn, went round and round; Not an echo — not a whispering sound Was heard, as busy fingers plann'd, Only to obey the low, stern command Of the king that sat on his ebon throne. 136 From his iron heart came never a moan, While these weavers weaved, with patient toil, Winding the strands in an intricate coil. Ever the distaffs were winding Fate's thread, As in and out the shuttles sped. V. The spindles dron'd, the bobbins flew, Weaving garments so strange and new For coming events that were fashioned here. Working ever for shroud and bier, Seeking for strands of spider's line ; Making warps so smooth and fine That Arachne paused to praise the rare skill .That was immortal — no weak, human will Had interwoven a single strand — All was wrought by Fate's cold hand. VI. No dismal hum of the silent looms Startled the air of the spectral rooms ; No treadles creaked, yet the treadles spun The web of life, from sun to sun. Reeling off the red woofs of life. Envyings, hatred, malice, strife, Came reeking from each busy loom ; Yet breaking no silence — lightening no gloom. ^Z7 VII. Weaving fabrics for destiny's loom, Making shrouds for this world's dark tomb. Heavy-ey'd, weary, dejected, and pale. Tracing for Time a sombre veil. Lasting for Mercury, fleet-winged shoes, Binding a shirt of many hues, For jealousy — e'er vigilant, wretched and sad, Heaping up rage for madmen mad ; Turning sweet faith to inveterate hate. Guarding ever this dark agent of Fate. VIII. The pilgrim marveled at the wonderful skill That turned the wheel of Nemesis' mill. Ever the grist came, even measur'd back, Sized and groun'd on the protean rack Of Destiny. The old miller was stern. As he gauged with care, each turn Of the time-worn wheel, while the reel That was adjusted for woe, or for weal, Wove patterns so weird and so strange That these daughters of Fate could not arrange From the wondrous, eventful maze The vices and follies of every age. IX. What do you weave ? the pilgrim said. I weave a raiment of fiery red ; 'Tis the robe of passion, all aflame, With the glow of love and the hem of shame. 138 Is narrow, ah ! this crimson gown Is worn by persons of renown. The peasant, in his humble cot, Shall love too well, and he shall not Escape from my conquering thrall ; Thus I weave my red robes for all. X. What do you make? this good pilgrim asked, For her pale, sad face was thinly masqued. I mould for Deception, and the human fair face A masque to hide the faintest trace. That Candor may thus vainly seek Honest thought, that the tongue should speak; For truth is dull, the he is swift. I fasten them'' strong, that none may ere lift These immortal masques that surely hide The beggar's rags with a king's cold pride. XL What do you weave? the pilgrim queried, As her worn fingers sped with soul awearied. I weave a robe with the centaur's dread skill; A shirt that maddens, that man may kill — 'Tis yellow and bright, for jealousy weaves A sordid robe with greenish sleeves ; It poisons the blood till a ghoulish tinge Deepens the color on this mocking fringe. I laugh to see them hide in vain The distorted spots that come again. 139 XII. What do you weave? the maiden sighed. Robes, shrouds for those who tried To reach the marble halls of fleeting fame, Through war and slaughter, sword and flame, Building on Mars' red-burning pyre, A bruised altar of gods' plutonian fire. This purple robe I trim with bays, Scorching the heart with its seething blaze, Building for hope a mortal crown; Thus I weave this selfish gown. XIII. What do you trim? Looking at you. You sew and sew, and then undo. I work, she sighed, a cloak for the tongue ; I have toiled so long my nerves are unstrung. 'Tis a hopeless task, for the pieces shrink; Those mortals talk before they think. Alas ! alas ! if I only knew Exactly the proper thing to do; For the tongue is unruly — so hard to control — Oft stinging to death some innocent soul. WHAT IS MAN? I. What is this w^aif, nam'd man? Some existent in God's creative plan, The apex of the hoary ages, Advanced by creeping stages From protoplasmic cells? 140 II. He saw the aeon's circling birth, This product of the coohng earth, Endowed with God-Hke reason, He marked each changing season And all the fruitful years. III. Blessed with an immortal soul, He mapped the stars on heaven's high scroll; His plodding, restless brain Ruled earth's enzoned domain By ripe reason's conquering might. IV. This is fair reason's royal king, This crawling, climbing thing ; A prey to every scarlet vice That tempts man only to entice The clayey part of man. V. What God-like attributes that helpless trail, In dust — the soul — what prayers avail? Debasing greed, with its alluring goal. Exacts Golgotha's prurient toll For death and time. VI. The lower instincts of each class That live awhile, and darkward pass On evolution's onward road. Have left for man a weary load That dread eternity must bear. 141 VII. Where's thy humanity, O serf? DeHver in the cadmean turf, O'ersown with dragons' teeth. Weaving for Time an ebon wreath Of fading bays. TRUTH. I. Truth is a gem whose greatest worth Is in its angles, ground full true; A pebble rough, whose Titan birth Concealed each rainbow tinted hue. II. A jewel, whose divergent ray Lurks in the drop of morning dew ; Lights scintillating play, Brings all the colors into view. in. Truth, thrice blessed the hour That heralded thy birth, When sense, with reasoning power First bless'd thy sterling worth. 142 IV. Truth, thou foe to every doubt, Clear-eyed goddess of the mind. What were deceptive Hfe without The truth that leaves no sting behind? V. Burn, O celestial fire, with quenchless flame, Vestals pour your garnered oil ; Rout thou the shams of greed and shame That bind the hands of honest toil. VI. Let truth and reason swift unbind. With freedom's bold immortal hand. The shackles that debase the mind And dim the honor of our native land. VII. Hold thou thy steadfast way, Though stars and planets fall. Shine with thy light divine, and make to-day The noblest, proudest day of all. VIII. Truth, thrice blessed in death's cold hour. When man's fluttering pulse is still, Come with thy solacing power, And heal the soul of cankering ill. 143 OLD AGE. I. Old age is the chrysalis of the soul. Whose shroud of earthly clay Hides heaven's restful goal, When life, from death's decay, Breaks its frail ephemeral shell. 11. Age is nature's protean coin That time and tide exact. What mortal can purloin, Or cunning thief abstract This, that pays Hfe's debt? III. Age falls so gently, that We do not with dismay Heed the pale visitor that sat Upon the throne of yesterday, Until v^e die. IV. Age haunts the bleak ruins of self. Weathered, gray, and old. Although its gold, its hoarded pelf. Increase a hundred fold, It cannot buy delay. 144 Years are sear Autumn leaves That nestle one by one Amongst the reaper's golden sheaves, And when the harvest's done Age dies to live again. VI. Age is a wrinkled, woful thing That, tottering far westward, creeps Where darkling shadows fling Their mantles o'er the sun-crown'd steeps Of gilded youth. VII. Age's brown immortal crown, Makes man a mystic king; Though he rule no walled town, Or wear no signet ring, Yet is age a god of newer life. VIII. Age sobers all our sense; The years, like garnered oil. Are some grand recompense For years of useful toil. And thus earth's debts are paid. 145 IX. Age is wisdom's mentor, to guide The hasty steps of youth; It levels man's o'erweaning pride And hallows god-like truth, That lives when error dies. X. Age is an heritage of previous age, A law that follows time; 'Tis earth's star-bound pilgrimage, A law creative, eternal, sublime. For all the future years. THE SONG OF THE TYPE. I. Click, click, into the stick. By letter, and line I go, Forming a matrix, click, click, click. Column by column, row by row. II. Click, click, from the assorted case I pe^ with leaden eyes. At the poor printer's pallid face. Smeared with carbon dyes. 146 III. Click, click, by the electrical light, Weary fingers move to and fro, Heedless of the deepening night They rectify the leaded row. IV. Into the mould the wax is run. With skill the plates are made; Page after page in solids done, In careful proof displayed. V. Feeds the Hoe lightning press, Then to carrier's counting room, And the mailing clerk's address. The morning hours they thus consume. VI. Click, click, forth for weal or woe, By horse, by river, and rail, Over all the broad land I go. Pouched in the U. S. mail. VII. ' Fearless of praise or blame, I give the world the news ; What care I for honor or shame, Or the trouble that ensues ? 147 VIII. Click, click, I make or unmake fame, I roast some trust combine, What to me is a noble name. Or a prisoner's sentenced fine ? IX. I mould political thought, I draw vividly party lines ; Intrigues, fusions, to me are naught, I break all ward bummers' combines. X. I have a swell society column, too, Also a woman's graphical page. That glows with something new ; A fashion that is all the rage. XL I write up rich absentees' ways Ensconced in some woodland nook ; I headline some emotional craze, A story, a poem, or book. XII. Into foul alleys and hovels I peep. Where want and famine lurk ; I plead for the women that weep. The men that are starving for work. 148 XIII. Virtue, I unstintedly praise; Vice, I denounce with vim; My optics are truly X-rays, When I probe some impossible whim. LIFE'S UNDERTOW. I. The undertow of the human soul Eludes our ephemeral sight ; Its waves of sin in silence roll Where all is curtain'd night. II. Who has not felt this undertide Sweep virtue out to sea, Its waves with swiftness glide Back to the depths eternally? III. No surface caps with playful swell, No winds that shoreward blow, Can reach the treacherous spell Of this unending undertow. 149 IV. It swirls up on the shifting sand, Beneath the breakers' crash, It Hcks the white, ghstening strand, With playful curl and plash. V. No buoyed coastline bell Clangs in the sea below ; No mortal tongue to tell Of this grim, insidious foe. VI. Drifting with every wave. Helpless to sea we go, To sin a tempted slave. Lost in life's undertow. VII. How sullenly it recedes. Back on its sullen crest. It bears our evil deeds On its cold, unpitying breast. VIII. Who has escaped this web. That lures the human will? Ever the seas' dread ebb, Laughs at the swimmer's skill. 150 WHAT GOD SAW, SEES, AND HEARS. I. He saw our gaseous earth evolve From a nebulous, whirling cloud. With its rings and heated vapors, Its cooling crust by wrinkles plowed. n. He saw this world with grandeur roll Amidst the stars of space, And spin on each unsteady pole Within the sun's embrace. HI. He saw our globe with flashing light Shine fair among the suns. The thickening womb of sable night, The volcano's seething lava runs. IV. The circling years and seasons fly Upon their orbs of time, The length'ning days, the studded sky, The tilting pole, the changing clime. V. He saw the universal sea Wave-washed, unhindered roll ; The lands that were to be Were marshy, low, and shoal. VI. He saw the bold Laurentian Upheave and burst each strand, Like grim creation's sentinel, It sired the growing land. VII. No prototype in this strange world Upreared its flowering head, No calyx, frond, or lush leaf curl'd. Bloomed in its low laurentian bed. VIII. The crust was sea-girth bound'd, A cooling bubble, cooling slow ; Its granite walls resounded With the ocean's unending flow. IX. The forcing rain from dark storm clouds Fell on each mount and plain ; 'Twas nature's torrential shrouds That broke upon the cliffs in vain. X. He saw the wide and shallow sea Teem with coral building life ; The EozooN, silent toiler, living tree, A sport for nature's titan strife. XI. The cooling crust over-heavy With naught but fire below, Was Terra's exacting levy, The earthquake's rumbling throe. XII. The vast Silurian floor That stretched o'er ocean bed. Teemed with Crustacean spore, With jointed arms and heads. XIII. The LiNGULA slowly swayed . From a sessile arm or joint, They fed on germ-like phosphates, That to grander gradients point. XIV. Upon its ancient, muddy floor The Trilobite, with wormlike creep, Plows in its yielding ooze, Or rests within its depths to sleep. XV. The Corals fill each shallow cove With figures quaint and bright ; These pillared saints, with flowers above, Grow upward to the light. 153 XVI. The Gasteropods awkwardly move Beneath this iris glade, Or coil within each tinted shell That nature protean made. XVII. The Ort«oceras, huge and long, In its straight chambered cells. Floats calmly in the rippling tide. The ancient sea's unending swells. XVIII. The tyrants of this watery world, They dart upon their prey, Or browse on polyps like honey bee, Then swiftly glide away. XIX. He saw the strange Devonian, Its sandstones red and gray; He saw older creations Sink gradually away. XX. These wide, warm seas were swarming With quaint and scaly life, The fish encased in armor Were fitted for such strife. XXL The dread Ptergotus darts forward, He strikes his helpless prey, Then plunges quickly backward With his telsons motile play. XXII. The huge Dinichthys swiftly swims, With fins, and flippers, too — its jaw, With saber teeth projecting, Fills his rapacious maw. XXIII. These fierce armor-plated fishes That crowd this devonian sea, Struggle ever for existence, Foreshadowing God's decree. XXIV. He saw the Carboniferous, With its wealth of leaf and tree, Bury untold ages under That had limned eternity. XXV. The carboniferous air was heavy With its load of poison gas, The trees with graceful grandeur Bend to the storms that pass. XXVI. The towering ferns were waving In the stifling, sultry breeze, The Calamites shoot upwards Among the trunks of sculptured trees. XXVII. SiGiLLARiA, with huge expanse of root, With rush-like tapering stem. With ribb'd and seal-marked bark, Scars of leaves that fell from them. XXVIII. Megaphyton, with strange stairway, Extending up each side, With a giant leaf expanding From two furrows deep and wide. XXIX. God saw them slowly vanish. Saw them sink beneath the wave, While the ever sterile Permian Hid them in shaley grave. XXX. Layer after layer Of sedimentary rock. Pressed waving forests under With neither haste nor shock. 156 XXXI. In the depths securely hidden Of earth's entombed night. He stored our wealth of fuel, Our future source of light. XXXII. He saw the triune Mesozoic, With its titan forms of life. Reaching onward, ever upward, rill he used the pruning knife. XXXIII. The air was filled with dragons. That flew with shining wings. All life their helpless prey, A foe to creeping things. XXXIV. The Laelaps, eagle-clawed, and towering Above the lordly pines. Leaps with agile-footed strength. His eyes with slaughter shine. XXXV. He tears and gnaws his quivering food. With curved, serrated teeth, Or crushes in his cumb'rous way All life that falls beneath. 157 XXXVI. A Dinosaur, with head erect, While sitting at his ease. With lofty height and eagle's sight. Feeds on the tops of trees. XXXVII. The Labyrinthodon drags his length along. The low, receding shore. Or plunges in the marshes near. With bellowing, echoing roar. XXXVIII. The sea is filled with monsters That grimly sport the waves, They leave their bones to tell us Of earth's unnumbered graves. XXXIX. The IcTHYOSAUR, with jaws extended, And round, concave-plated eyes. Lunges, waveward, while he crunches His icthy-swift finned prize. XL. The Plesiosaur, with swanlike body And graceful, arching neck, Glides with his expansive flippers On the ocean's breast a speck. '58 XLL Or floats upon the waters Of a land-lock'd placid lake Where he thrusts his long neck downwards, Its food thus to maim and take. XLII. The Mososaurus towering skyward On the storm-tossed, frowning main, Alert, its eyes from their great height. Survey Neptune's vast domain. XLIII. Its neck a living pillar, That would dwarf a vessel's mast; Its tail, a huge propeller. Lashing water, swimming fast. XLIV. The Elasmosaur, a true reptile, A giant swimming snake. With undulating motion, Churning foam into a wake. XLV. God saw these creations crumble. With the withering touch of time. He formed neozoic strata, With wondrous power sublime. 159 XLVI. The elephantine Dinotherium, With its huge unwieldy weight, Uprooted trees with foliage, Which greedily it ate. XLVII. The ZuGLODON, a fierce amphibian, With its eighty feet of length, Was watching, ever waiting, To measure strife, and savage strength. XLVIII. The cat-like Machairdus, With projecting, downward tusks, Springs on the Pachyderma, In old arcadian dusks. XLIX. The SiVATHERiUM, a giant, elk-like deer. Seeks the purling winding streamlet. With no mortal foeman near. To stalk the strange wild glen. L. His huge four-pronged antlers. With agile mammoth size. Foreshadows all the ruminants, That from the pachyderms arise. 1 60 LI. God saw the carapaced Gluptodon Unwieldy, unique and strange, Trailing his ill-proportioned length, Through plain and mountain range. LIT. He saw the face of nature, Covered o'er with sheets of ice, The glaciers southward grinding. Holding Terra in its vice. LHI. Earth for aeons frozen In Cosmos crystal shell, The glacier's slow regression Bareing morain, lake and dell. LIV. God saw the house was ready For the long expected guest; From nature's stony pages He made man, the last and best. LV. He saw Paleolithic tribes Fiercely hunt their mammoth prey, With arrow-heads of silex, Chipped from flints that near them lay. i6i LVI. They were children of the forest, Of cave and sheltering nook ; They ate their uncooked food By the silver running brook. LVII. They chased the hairy mammoth That crashed through bough and brake, Bulky, huge, herbivorous, Miring in some ancient lake. LVIII. Leaving tombs to tell the story, Of the ages, protean, vast ; Of races wild and ancient, Survivors of creation's past. LIX. Naught they knew of sideral time, Or the sun's slow westward flight ; The phases of the horned moon, Or stars that gem the night. LX. They were nimrods in their day, No other thought but game, That fled, or crouching lay. Victims of man's reasoning aim. 162 LXI. He saw this neolithic throng Move backward to the west, Their weapons ground and polished And adornments on each breast. LXII. They wore strings of beads and coral, With pearly tinted shells ; They wove cloth and coarser mattings. From the fiberous bark of dells. LXIII. Their minds with space were awed, Immortal dreams and thought, Came to each God evolving brain. That patient nature taught. LXIV. They laid their dead in caves, In caverns sealed and deep ; Food and weapons with the dead, Their vigils dumbly keep. LXV. God saw The Bronze Age ushered in, With its metals mixed with care ; They moulded knives and hatchets. With knowledge wondrous rare. 163 LXVI. The Lacustrine early dwellers. Lived in cabins built on piers, His humble boat he paddles, And lakeward deftly steers. LXVIL Secure from shoreward danger, In his rude homelike retreat, He lives on game and tillage, Where land and water meet. LXVHL God saw The Age of Iron, With its thirst for war and strife ; Its spears and shields of metal. Its reckless loss of life. LXIX. He saw warlike nations struggle For the land he gave to all ; Crowns and kingdoms crumble Behind tower, fort and wall. LXX. He saw the Greeks and Romans, With their legions trained and tried, Over-run with compact phalanx The lands where thousands died. 164 LXXI. He saw the ancient seats of learning, Spring from Egypt's mystic fold ; He saw Israel's helpless captives Build the pyramids of old. Lxxn. He saw entire nations vanish, And melt like evening's dew ; He saw dead continents peopled By races strange and new. Lxxni. He saw His Holy Word neglected By His chosen favored race ; His teachings oft rejected, As they moved from place to place. LXXIV. He saw their hearts were hardened ; He smote them in His wrath ; He scattered them like leaflets, Before the storm king's smitten path. LXXV. He sees a world that should be heaven, A heaven that should be earth. Filled with human suffering. Sad inheritance of birth. 165 LXXVI. He sees the gaunt and hungry glare Of eyes long used to weep, The orphan's trusting prayer, While they sob their souls to sleep. LXXVII. He sees want shiver over Lumps of stolen coal, Sees women sell their virtue And wreck each God-born soul. Lxxvni. He sees the haunts of vice Reeking with their load of sin ; The rattle of the dice That lures the stranger in. LXXIX. He hears all the earnest prayers Of one thousand sects and creeds ; Ever praying for the blessings, That spring from urgent needs. LXXX. He hears the grim god of battle. Invoked How they twinkle in their vastness, From their grandly distant home. The sparkling dews of night Are jewels in Nox's crown, Flashing with prismatic splendor. To light the heather brown. III. The full moon, with quiet softness, Deepens shades and shadows gray, On each peak and lofty mountain, These spires that stand alway. Muffled rolling thunder Is the organ's deep-mouthed boom. That echos and rumbles Through His pillared star-lit room. IV. God made this church of nature. And wrought with wondrous skill, Each mountain gorge and torrent, Each tiny sparkling rill. He made all the fertile valleys. With their wealth of wine and corn ; He made the sloping summits And the shepherd's echoing horn. He made herds of roving cattle To browse the grassy slope, To man he gave his blessing, He gave him faith and hope. 169 V. This is God's holy temple. Not made with mortal hands, Not bought with blood and pillage. Or spoils from many lands. Have thou a steadfast faith That the God who made us all Will not sleep nor slumber, Nor see one sparrow fall. THE WAIF OF A WRECK. There is a monastery by the sea. Whose walls are old and gray; They had been washed by storm and billow And by the ocean's spray. The thick landward walls are fragrant With a clinging, flowering vine, That clambers o'er the wide doorway With many a quaint twist and twine The hand-hewed oaken stanchions, That swing the studded door. Are carved with names and numbers. A pathway to the shore Winds through a bold rocky crevice, Where sea-gulls wildly scream; There a fountain coldly bubbles, Fed by a hidden stream. 170 For many a year and season The monks, with beads and prayer. Had climbed with sandal footsteps Each well-worn oaken stair. To welcome from turrets, That frowned o'er the ocean's bed, The sun, whose large, tardy splendor, O'er aged walls had shed A full stream, of golden sunshine, That gilded each sharp spire and stone With penciled ray and shadow. Until the morning hours had flown. Then the sky grew dull and ashen ; The sun, with sickly glare. Peeped out from clouds and riftlet ; The wind, that blew so fair. Now arose with pent-up fury And o'erswept with eddying gust ; How it whirl'd the leaves of autumn, In the highland's powdered dust. The waves were seething and angry, As they dashed with plunging roar Upon this far seagirt island, With its well-washed rocky shore. Transfixed with pious horror, These monks, with mute despair, Saw a vessel pitching helpless In the leeward offing, where 171 The treacherous rocks were hidden By the wild billows' mad-cap fling, As they lash'd the rocks with fury, With a fierce tiger's hungry spring. By the dread lightning's vivid glare, They saw a terror-stricken crowd. With its three score of staring eyes. Peer out from mast and shroud. The heavy jarring boom Of the minute gun at sea, Swelled from the deep, black darkness, That hid the restless lea. The storm king had little mercy For drifting ship and crew Swept shoreward to swift destruction. While wild winds fiercer blew. Her black prow is luffing, To face the angry blast ; She swings to the darkling windward, A sunken reef is past. Dark ocean, in thy angry wrath. Spare the helpless ship so taut and proud, Which soon will find a grave Within an ocean's watery shroud. Her black sides are lifted Athwart the angry sky ; Ha ! she plunges madly forward ; The deep despairing cry 172 Is heard above the roar Of howHng winds and waves, While they doom these stricken mortals To cold and watery graves. She strikes upon the rough breakers, Where the changing channel flows, Where the wind with whistling fury, Against the broad cliff blows. These cold, staring, clammy faces Peep from the sea's wide tomb, No frail human aid to succor. No fate to change their doom. The storm spent its fury, A low sun, with burnished ray, Broke through the clouds of evening, Just at the close of day. These good monks creep slowly downward, Through lofty craig and peak; For the dead and dying With diligence they seek. The rough shore is strewn with corpses, So pale, so ghastly still ; They slumber all unconscious. Nor heed hfe's direst ill. A jeweled corpse is rocking With the ebb and flow of tide. To mock all the splendor That bedecks a young happy bride. 173 The swarthy-visaged sailors, Who have braved a hundred storms On the ocean's shore and reeflets Bestrew their manly forms. Each clammy face was scanned, For one spark of fleeting life ; Ev'ry feeble pulse throb Was noted — but the ocean's strife Had robbed them of their being ; The black-wing'd angel, Death, Disappointed monk and layman. Had stifled every breath. They search in every crevice, In each nook and land-locked bay, Swept by sluggish billows In their wild wayward play. Till a shout from Brother Leonard Call'd each one to the place. Where lashed to mast and pinion, A baby's frightened face Peeped from a sailor's jacket. With flush and latent breath ; A waif snatched from the ocean, A wide cradle of grim death. They resuscitated the little waif. Till the child, with wondering eyes. Peered into bearded faces, With looks of shy surprise. It nestled closer to the cowl That enfolded its baby form ; How mutely it pleaded for protection, From the dark, receding storm. They raised the limpid bodies From coast to circling steep, Where the greenest verdure Overlooks the rolling deep. They laid each stranger down, And dug for each a grave, Where the sighing winds of autumn Rock every rippling wave. The church's rites and blessings For the nameless ones who lie Beneath the mountain sod Under a far-off alien sky. The little flower they saved. Was reared with tender care. It bloomed with rosy vigor. Where the island's lofty air Gave roses to her cheeks, A brightness to her eye, That all the wealth of old Croesus Could never, never buy. The tawny flock of goats Came at her childish call From glen and wooded steep. Where brooks like silver brawl. 175 When the slanting shadows Grew longer from the west, The sharp tinkle of the goatsherd From vale and towering crest, Where they drift from fen and mountain To lick the little hand. That gives them their bread and porridge. While quietly they stand, Till she milk'd from each lush udder The rich and creamy foam. That gives such good health and comfort To the poor cotter's humble home. She was the fair idol of the island, And rul'd each monkish will. With all the sweet, loving fondness. They knew no thought of ill. Even mass and beads were neglected, For the laughing, willful waif Ruled all their hearts and feelings. While she herself was safe From all base alluring passions. That degrade a churchman's rest. Thus bring strife and bitter longing, To the friar's humble breast. The seasons passed by quickly, This romping waif had grown To sweet years of happy girlhood. The human seed was sown, 176 Which only lack'd the germ, Of a tall lover's plighted word. To poise the young pinions, Of this unhappy mountain bird. She sat beside the cross That crown'd the shaded spring, There she gave fair thoughts and fancies The swoop of dreamland's wing. She wonder'd why the God Who made the birds to sing, Ne'er gave to her heart a lover. To her soul, a noble king. She would wander from clifif to cliff. Or sit entranced for hours^ And dream of far-off booklands. With their entrancing powers. She had read in Greek and Latin, Of worlds, whose ancient days Were spent in rude games and gossip. Had read Homer's warlike lays. She would dream of these bright pictures. And wonder if some day A grand prince in gold and feather Would steal her heart away. Her face was like the madonna's That crown'd the altar's height, And spread its radiant beauty, In the chancel's hallowed light. 177 Her white brow was broad and saintly. Swept by a wealth of hair, That curled in graceful ringlets Around her face so fair. *Twould have charmed an artist's soul, Until Angelo's face of old Would have been worthless dross Beside the purest gold. Her dark eyes were large and dreamy. Like Circassia's liquid mould ; They were fringed with long drooping lashes. Sweet doorways to the soul ; Her nose was straight and chisel'd With strictly Grecian grace, That enhanc'd the antique beauty Of her oval dreamy face ; Her sweet mouth was small and piquant. Like Cupid's fatal bow, With lips as red as red berries And teeth as white as snow. Her flocks were all neglected, With bleating still they came, They licked the little hand. Yet licked her hand in vain; Her thoughts were forever roving Far from her island home, Where the souless sun of fashion With worldly splendor shone. The good monks were sorely grieved To see their darling pine, Full many a prayer was ofifer'd. That God's own light might shine 178 upon the guileless soul, So filled with harrowing dread. They prayed for holy blessings On her dear, sinless head. Satan, with all his wiles. Had sorely press'd her heart With pretentious longings Not of her life a part. One day the monks, as usual, Climbed the oaken stair. To gaze upon the ocean And breathe its wholesome air. Ah ! a vessel in the offing Stood straight towards the shore. And dropped its heavy anchor Before the oaken door. A boat was slowly lower'd, Every seat was full, A half of a dozen seamen. With strong, steady pull, Landed hard beside the convent. And slowly made their way To where the good monks were standing. Filled with surprised dismay. We crave your reverent pardons For this untimely call ; We came to ask you some questions Of a ship so trim and tall 179 That foundered on this island Some eighteen years or more; That struck and went to pieces On this rough, rocky shore. Yes, a vessel here was stranded. And left us no single name To tell us of her true bearings, Or whence the good ship came. All perish'd in the storm Except a puny child, Who is this far convent's idol. So sweet, so pure, so mild. The graves may now be seen On yon adjoining height, Within the quiet shadow Of the sun's most westward flight. Good fathers of the Church, We came for weal or woe, To gather each survivor That those at home might know Of those who perished sadly So many years ago. The convent lost all its gladness. For, from that fatal day When Eva sailed for England, An isle so far away, They mourned with bitter sadness, Their lives seemed filled with pain; They had lost their darling Eva — She would ne'er return again. i8o The herd lost its keeper; From the far mountain height You could hear them softly bleating Through stilly hours of night, Calling, ever calling, For the hand that gave them their bread, The soft hand that led them fondly, When dying day had fled. Her greyhounds would listen For each familiar step, And trace each woodland path. The track how well they kept; Yet always traced them shoreward To the very water side, Where they lost their little mistress, Who sailed with time and tide. Eva's tears of childhood. Like the fickle April shower. Was gladdened by the sunshine That gilded day and hour. She liv'd in lands of wonder, At the scenes that change had brought, A radiant queen of beauty. Her hand was early sought By peers, titled nobles. Who offered their fame and land For possession of her beauty, Her shapely, jewel'd hand. Her mind was untouched ; Her heart could surely feel That her suitors gay and noble Had hearts as hard as steel ; i8i That words were only lies, To cover base deceit, Like their outward wrappings. Worn only on the street. Her clear mind was pure and lofty ; Hence with a nameless dread, She felt that her life was drifting, With breakers still ahead. She yearned for something real, In a world where every fop Was the latest glass of fashion. Just turned out from the shop. Ah! she yearned for hearts and minds. Where truth and candor dwell. Where friends are truly friends. Where envy's hated spell Does not weave the centaur's poisoned robe, A circe's fatal charm, That kills us with all their madness, Or fills pure hearts with harm. She longed to see the island, Where ev'rything was true. Where all human hearts were guileless. Where ev'ry transient view Was light'd by the sunshine. That floods a truthful soul. Unwavering as the needle That swings to the far northern pole. Of such was her world of fashion. With its coldly, glittering glare, A harbor for all envy, A servant of despair. 182 Fashions, words, polished phrases, That sHp from mouth and Up, And leave the dregs of false friendship. For starving lips to sip. She could hear the sweet goatherd's bells. How they tinkled in her heart ; She could hear their plaintive bleating, That pierced her like a dart ; She could hear the bearded fathers, As they chanted solemn mass ; All these tender feelings Were scenes to quickly pass. Like the ghosts of fev'rish fancy They haunt us like a spell, They linger in the memory, This storehouse where we dwell. She longed to kneel before the altar Or the stone cross beside the spring. And worship with all the feeling That taught her heart to sing. The good monks were idly standing By the high turrets of the wall, They looked with blank amazement As they heard the boatswain call, "Pipe the men to quarters !" A boat pulled from the vessel's side ; It was our happy Eva, The island's joy and pride. You may know the gladness That made the convent ring, With shouting and laughter That sped on happy wing, 183 Till the distant herds while browsing. Saw their child friend of early days Pass out from the convent. They haste through shady ways To greet their grown-up friend, To lick the dainty hand That made the lonely island A dreamer's fairy land. She tired of life's great shadow, Pale phantoms of a name, That change with ev'ry current. And follow wealth and fame. She lived to make those happy Whose hearts were ever true. Eva felt that sweetest blessings A heart can ere bestrew Are link'd with fond affection For those friends of childhood days, The friends whose faith abiding. Like a fountain in full play. Sparkles in the sunshine Like iridescent joy; 'Twould be some fool or madman Who would the gift destroy. Rounds of daily duty Gave to her cheek the rosy glow, That paints, cosmetic powders, Could ne'er so well bestow. She gave to them her life, The life these monks had sav'd, Till life, in deepening shadows, Led onward to the grave. 184 GRANDPA IS DEAD. I. Please discontinue our paper, because grandpa is dead, His chair in the corner is empty now, The little brass lamp that stood by the bed Is just as he left it, when he read us how To cure the blight in the orchard, to kill weevil in corn, To care for the stock, to cook and make pies, Gave names of the missing and those just born, Read us stories, poems, news from the skies, Of cheap goods to be sold, must be sold for a song, The tariff protection, collisions and wrecks; His sweet, quivering voice was not very strong, Yet he read every line, without the aid of his specks. II. Every Saturday eve, from year to year, Grandpa took down from the brass nail His old-fashioned hat, brown, crumpled and queer, And went to the office for mail ; He laughed when you rak'd the tariff and rings, When you routed Republican ranks, With your figures and facts, disagreeable tilings. For this, he sends you his thanks ; His old hat and his cane are in the back hall. His specks are on the small oval stand Where old files of "The Pic," the peer of them all, Were stack'd with his own feeble hand. 185 III. Grandpa was proud of the close interest we took In your columns, so brimful of news ; He laughed till he cried, his fat sides fairly shook. At the pot-boiler's family stews. We gather'd to listen, then we heard him explain. How politics was rotten and trifling enough. That an office of trust was an office of gain ; For the statesmen to-day were not made of such stuff As those who lived in his day. "When I am dead, stop my paper," said he, "File the numbers securely away And thank that great paper for me." AN ODE TO HUMAN RIGHTS. I. In what strange mould are statesmen cast? Ah ! not in the mould of the honest past. When gold was yellow dross, Nor counted they the servile toss When honor was at stake. Then, statesmen lived for honor's sake. 11. Assail thy freedom, can It be? That worth should crook the fawning knee. To selfish might — that trenchant pow'r Should sleep in that dread hour, i86 When might will trample in the dust, Through minions of the hydra's trust, The rights for which our fathers fought. Say! shall such lessons be for naught. III. Warp not thy judgment, let not party will Hold thee in thrall. Oh ! be thou still, Brave heroes, who will do and dare To lay the festering ulcer bare ; It cankers with the flight of years, And drowns pale freedom in a nation's tears. CHRISTMAS AT COL. C. H. ALLEN'S, A. D. 1899. I. Greetings to this hallowM morn, When all the world is glad, Behold! a Savior humbly born. Who with humility was clad. Peace ! for the sons of men — good will. For all the living earth ; Let each everlasting hill Sing of The Godking's birth. II. Blessed be this festal time, The most cherished of the year; Ring out! oh, brazen chime. Another year is here. 187 Enjoy this present greeting, Always thankful for the past. May each future meeting Be happier than the last. III. Twine each bright holly berry, With the yule-tide's xmas cheer; Be gay, be glad, be merry. Bless the closing of the year. Thank God for all His blessing, Thank God that we still live; Our errors oft confessing. Forgiven! oft forgive. IV. We drink to our generous host, And our grand hostess, too. The bonniest, bravest toast, - Thus our pledges we renew. For the past and future years — The past, with all its sorrows. Its sunshine and its tears ; The future, with its fairer morrows. V. There are no vacant places. None have passed across. Or left us tear-stain traces To mark a comrade's loss. i88 Then fill our empty glasses With red, convivial wine, While each toast flippant passes Around this happy line. VI. Here's to the Colonel and his wife, Who thus honor us to-day ; May all their future life Pass pleasantly away. May all the years still find Them true to life and love ; Earth's harbingers that bind Them to a fairer home above. LITTLE SPANISH PAPITE. I. Did you not know the Spanish child Papite, With soft brown hands and shapely feet. Who climbed the terraced vineyard where The purpling grapes perfumed the air ? 11. The cottage nestled midst the trees That flanked the towering Pyranees. A brooklet curling, purling sung Its silvery song, where tendrils clung To the ribbed rock, and the pebbles bright. That drifted from the misty height. 189 III. Paplte, roguish g}'psy, spoiled and wild, Was dark Batisto's only living- child ; Headstrong, wilful, she grew apace, So round of limb and fair of face. Fretting a»t time, and the padre's prayers, Coyly humming the crooning airs That came from the madre's saintly lips. Tasting wine where the wild bee sips, Nectar, from the trellised wine That clustered lush o'er the steep incline. IV. Ah ! then came Andaluce, fair to behold, With eyes of night, and bearing bold ; The olive of his sun burnt cheek, Flamed neath his sombrero's high crown'd peak ; Out from the brim flashed a jasper eye. That could hate with a hate, or melt with a sigh. V. Batisto frowned, and his heart grew cold, He drew his stiletto from its rare sheath of gold, But what was his threat to the youthful pair. That lived on love and tread on air. To the saints and God, the madre prayed, And counted her beads, while the shy lovers strayed Through untrod paths, on the mist mountain's side, Where doves coo, coo, and violets hide Their modest bloom in the still dark glen, Far from the haunts of restless men. IQO VI. In a convent wall near tO' old Seville, Crowning the height of a shadowing hill, Papite wept till her heart was sore, She counted her beads and pondered o'er The love that was true by remembrance fed. And love like an angel, ruefully plead, Andaluce with a matedore's renown, Amused the people of the antique town. VII. Papite crept forth from the convent's drear hall, And sped to the lists, ere the trumpet's call Heralded the coming of the Castillian king, Who ordered the sport in the tier spaced ring. Pale was her face, her heart stood still. Though proud she was of her lover's skill. As he spurred his steed to the bovine's side. And prodded the tawny bespotted hide. Alas ! for Papite, alas ! for the day, Wounded to death, her lover lay, Quivering, shivering, weltering in gore, His spirit passed on to the gray evermore. 191 75 89 "f^f^ AUG 8 1&05 > c".:^^ "o*. ^ '9 .*JL^^v ^ ^6^ :^ ,^' %.^* ' /^^^\>/' *^ ' "o > ■*_ A" 'SI ^f^^\# O ^o r ..V... ^ <^4i^^ iPvS ." r-^^ •^ • " ° .♦" 3. %>«^T»*\*■♦•«» iPy "^o>* ' 6°^ •^o^ ' ; ^-^-t 4C l^^^.t^^. ^ a^ JAN 89 N. MANCHESTER.