YSIDE 
 R S E S 
 
 Wm& 
 
 •^:-" 
 
 mm 
 
 CLYDE BROWNE 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 C I, Y D K BROWNE 
 
 FROM THK PRESS OF 
 THE HUMBOLDT STANDARD 
 EUREKA, CALIFORNIA 
 I903 
 
THE LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS. 
 
 Two Copies Receiver 
 
 SEP 9 1903 
 
 Copyright Entry 
 
 CLASS O^ XXc. No 
 
 COPY B. 
 
To the Memory of 
 CARROLL CARRINGTON 
 
 This Booklet 
 
 Is Respectfully Dedicated 
 
 By 
 
 His Pupil in Letters. 
 
Entered According to Act oi Congress 
 
 In the Year 1903 
 
 With the Librarian at Washington, D. C, 
 
 By Clyde Browne. 
 
APOLOGY. 
 
 MHILE pining in the 
 Redwood Land, 
 In sundry lonely 
 hours, 
 I idly took my pen in 
 hand 
 To try my rhyming pow'rs. 
 
 Strive as I might to frame a thought 
 
 That others might enjoy, 
 My meditations conjured naught 
 
 To please one — nor annoy. 
 
 But ever by the changing tide, 
 That waits to bear me home, 
 
 The rhymes would rough-shod o'er me 
 ride — 
 Enough to All a tome. 
 
 So I, perforce, have given here 
 The thoughts that seemed the best, 
 
To try and keep them ever near, 
 Though I forget the rest. 
 
 So read them, if you care to, friend, 
 
 And think along with me. 
 Don't be too harsh, when comes "The 
 End," 
 
 With Truly yours, C. B. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Apology 5 
 
 A One Time Home of Grant 9 
 
 The Maker of Tamales 17 
 
 The Old Craft and the New 21 
 
 The Peninsula 24 
 
 On Steamer Day 26 
 
 The Gull on the Pile 28 
 
 The Redwoods in the Bay 29 
 
 Humboldt's '"Pleasant" Clime 30 
 
 Unlucky Jim 31 
 
 My Brilliant Poem 33 
 
 The Forbidden Land 34 
 
 Their One Regret 37 
 
 L' Envoy 3S 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 A ONE TIME HOME OF GRANT. 
 
 m 
 
 STRANGER on the Hum- 
 boldt Bay, 
 Who might, on this, a mod- 
 ern day, 
 Desire to find in all the 
 West 
 The spot of greatest interest, 
 Would never pick on one that here 
 Surmounts a hill remote and drear, 
 Where in the stages of decay 
 A ruined house fast molds away. 
 
 Nor would he dream that rotting frame 
 Once had a man of such great fame 
 As U. S. Grant as resident, 
 Before he served as President. 
 And yet it did. But few remain 
 Who knew him here when he was plain, 
 Plain Captain Grant, and those will say 
 But little of that early day 
 
10 BAYSIDF VERSES 
 
 When Grant was here in manhood's 
 
 prime 
 And here remained a two years' time. 
 
 Upon that day the ruined frame 
 Was proud to own a prouder name. 
 Fort Humboldt then was better kept, 
 But now they care for naught except 
 The ancient name. To hear them speak 
 Of that old relic, frail and weak, 
 You needs must think its bastions still 
 Frown down from some commanding 
 
 hill, 
 Filling with awe the youth and sage, 
 Who knowledge seek in this wise age. 
 
 But where embattlements should stand 
 Is brushy growth, and weeds, and sand. 
 Where once the troops were garrisoned, 
 In warlike way caparisoned, 
 Where beating drums assembled round 
 A goodly band on muster ground, 
 A silence, like of lonely tomb, 
 Gives it an air of graveyard gloom. 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 11 
 
 Where once the brave and hardy strode, 
 Is now the scarcely-viewed abode 
 Of bats, and owls, and creeping things, 
 And in the night the whirring wings 
 Sweep in and out the casements, bare 
 Of glass or else, and revel there, 
 As reveled in the nights of old — 
 Arrayed in blue and braids of gold— 
 The fighting men, whose merry song 
 Was joined by all the gathered throng. 
 
 Where now the hootowl's doleful moan 
 Sounds in the ruins sad and lone. 
 Once was exultant music's strain 
 The sound that iloated o'er the plain, 
 And gliding feet the rythm felt 
 Where only bravest manhood dwelt. 
 
 As through the crevices, that ope 
 For egress of the snails that grope, 
 The storm wind of the winter howls, 
 Coyotes gape their putrid jowls 
 And loud their dire rejoicings swell,- 
 
12 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 Like anguished shrieks from lowest 
 hell. 
 
 That is the Fort that stands today 
 Above the waters of the bay, 
 Growing - each year a little worse, 
 As though it bears some awful curse 
 That dooms it to be scorned of men 
 Till leveled to the earth again. 
 
 Grant, in his "Memoirs," mentioned not 
 
 That he had known this lonely spot. 
 
 Perchance he felt a certain shame 
 
 At thoughts of even Humboldt's name. 
 
 Be as it may, he soldiered here 
 
 In that same Fort that long- gone year. 
 
 And of what little now is said 
 
 By gray-haired settlers, one is lead 
 
 To think that in his younger days 
 
 Ulysses caused a ruddy haze 
 
 To permeate the village, where 
 
 He spent the time he had to spare. 
 
 And eke they hint at tables green, 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 13 
 
 And dice, and cards, and drinks be- 
 tween, 
 And hectic revels o'er the glass 
 That helps the weary tme to pass; 
 Of trysts with maids of low degree — - 
 The dusky aborigine. 
 
 They hint at all such lowly things 
 That thoughts akin to anguish brings 
 To one who cares to know no wrong 
 Of one in loyal hearts so strong, 
 For Grant is dear as few are dear' 
 To all, and few will lend an ear 
 To tales of doings indiscreet — 
 To tales that none should e'er repeat. 
 Better to leave them all unsaid, 
 And they will die as Grant is dead. 
 
 Upon a hill 'twixt town and sea 
 The ruins stand. A gnarled pine tree 
 Has grown amain before the door, 
 Where sentries stood in days of yore, 
 And waves its verdant needles where 
 The stars and stripes once fanned the 
 
14 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 air, 
 And moans for dead and bygone days, 
 As softly through its branches plays 
 The wailing wind from o'er the bar, 
 That bears its moans and sighs afar. 
 
 Beneath the hill a road winds round, 
 And farmers, on their way to town, 
 Keep on the place an anxious eye, 
 As though they feared to e'en go by. 
 The plodding horse e'en looks askance, 
 Casts on the spot a fearful glance, 
 And as he draws the ruins near, 
 Hurries by with a snort of fear. 
 But in the night the bravest fail 
 To pass the place without a quail, 
 For they assert a potent spell, 
 That chills belike a fun'ral knell, 
 Wafts from thence like soaring death, 
 To chill one with its grewsome breath. 
 
 Fie on ye, folk, that you should wait 
 While sinks the Fort in such a state! 
 Out from your heedless dreams awake 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 15 
 
 And once again Fort Humboldt made 
 The pride of all — the stronghold eld 
 That once a soldier hero held. 
 Mighty was he, though not just then, 
 When he was much like other men. 
 But Grant was Grant, and Humboldt 
 
 Fort 
 Should not be left to tempests' sport, 
 To owls, and bats, and things unclean, 
 To mold beneath the mosses green. 
 
 Ruins are fair, when far away 
 
 One views them, through the distance 
 
 gray. 
 Their mellow outlines 'gainst the sky 
 Are blent with clouds that wander by 
 In duns and golds and deepest blues, 
 But in the north are soberer hues, 
 For Nature's pigments ran near out 
 Ere she had gone the land about. 
 Here in the North are quiet tones, 
 While in the kinder, warmer zones 
 There lies a flush o'er lands and skies, 
 And each one with the other vies 
 
16 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 To see whose bright charmelian hue 
 Will please the most who cares to 
 view. 
 
 Ruins are fair sometimes, but these 
 Some lonely stroller mayhap sees 
 And, disappointed, wonders why 
 They do not let the old name die, 
 Or else repair the shaky frame 
 And keep it as they keep its name. 
 If once again the roof were thatched, 
 The windows set, the clapboards 
 
 matched, 
 The doors replaced, and weeds removed, 
 The ones who love it will have proved 
 They love it well. And then with pride 
 Let them plant at the pine tree's side 
 A goodly mast, whereon can wave 
 The well-loved banner of the brave — 
 The ensign bold whose crimson bars 
 And azure flecked with silv'ry stars — 
 Trat may be seen from Bay and Town, 
 And all the vessels sailing down 
 To breast the bar would colors dip. 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 17 
 
 'Twould give them luck upon their trip. 
 
 And let a worthy man be there 
 To give the place his honest care. 
 And when the shades of night would 
 
 fall, 
 Then could he wind a bugle call. 
 'Twere better far that "taps" should 
 
 sound 
 To spread a loyal thrill around 
 Than that the owl's malignant cry 
 Should float away and then reply 
 To echoes drear from o'er the bay, 
 And from the distant hills away. 
 
 THE MAKER OF TAMALES. 
 
 In the land of giant redwoods, 
 Where the hungry, gnawing bandsaw 
 Croons from early morn till even, 
 Where they only talk of lumber 
 And of ships that journey, laden 
 With the produce of the sawmills — 
 
IS BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 In that land is an oasis, 
 
 Like a green spot on the desert. 
 
 From the land of rest and music, 
 Where the twanging - of guitarros 
 In the hands of caballeros 
 Waft upon the air in moonlight, 
 Where the senorita coyly 
 Hides her face to veil the blushes 
 With her silken, fringed revosa, 
 Came a maker of tamales. 
 
 O'er the valleys and the mountains, 
 Up the sea along the Westland, 
 Where the surf beats on the shingle, 
 Where the breakers lash the headlands, 
 Where the air is damper, cooler, 
 Came the maker of tamales 
 To the log-filled Bay of Humboldt, 
 To the City of Eureka. 
 
 In the sound of buzzing sawmills 
 Started he a place for making 
 Such a morsel as the Northmen 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 19 
 
 Ne'er had wot of, or partaken. 
 
 The ingredients he garnered 
 
 From the meadow and the farmyard, 
 
 And the oriental pickers 
 
 Plucked for him the pimiente, 
 
 And the peons o'er the mountains 
 
 Culled for him the ripest chilis. 
 
 On the muchly^used piedro 
 
 Ground he maiz that well had softened, 
 
 And he mixed it with the chili, 
 
 And un poco de gallina, 
 
 And an olive that was taken 
 
 From the tree ere it had ripened 
 
 And its coat had turned to sable. 
 
 Took he then the fragrant mixture, 
 And encompassed it in cornhusks, 
 Wrapped it well and tied it tightly 
 With a fragment of the cover 
 That was strongest and the sweetest, 
 Steamed he then the yellow morsel 
 O'er a vessel where the cornsilk 
 
20 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 Simmered so it lent its fragrance 
 To the husk and corn it loved so. 
 
 Thus he made his famed tamales 
 For the people of the Northland, 
 And the Northmen, and the strangers, 
 And the Northland youths and maidens 
 Gather there beyond the twilight 
 For the well-beloved tamale. 
 
 In the even, while the incense 
 
 Of gallina, corn and chili 
 
 Hover round the throng expectant, 
 
 Floats there out from deeper shadows 
 
 Sounds of music of the Southland, 
 
 And the undulating rythm 
 
 And the incense of tamales 
 
 Float together as for ages 
 
 They have floated in the Southland, 
 
 Where the very air is music 
 
 And the air is heavy-laden 
 
 Wnth the incense of tamales. 
 
BATSIDE VERSES 21 
 
 THE OLD CRAFT AND THE NEW. 
 
 There sails a craft o'er the murm'ring 
 wave 
 
 In sight of the western strand. 
 There lies a. wreck that awaits a grave 
 
 In the silently shifting sand. 
 
 One is a bride, caressing the sea 
 
 With many a fervent kiss, 
 Climbing the swell with a youthful glee 
 
 And leaping o'er each abyss. 
 
 And one is a mossy and battered craft 
 That lies by the moaning bar, 
 
 Dead to the days when the same seas 
 laughed 
 At her pranks in the seas afar. 
 
 But once she had worn her bridal veil, 
 When she sprang to the bridegroom's 
 breast. 
 Then she was young; she was blithe 
 and hale, 
 With never a thought of rest. 
 
22 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 And once she had danced from shore 
 to shore, 
 And gamboled in distant seas, 
 Laughing at calms and at tempests' 
 roar, 
 And wooing the fresh'ning breeze. 
 
 But now she rests by the fickle deep, 
 Embraced by the moss and weeds, 
 
 Sleeping as only the tired can sleep 
 To rest from their life-long deeds. 
 
 And ever the song that the sad winds 
 sing 
 Is of rest — and rest — and rest. 
 A peace to the tired will the sand grave 
 bring 
 To the hulk on the sea-beat West. 
 
 What of the bride of the groom, the 
 i sea, 
 
 That spreads out her snowy wings 
 And flies to the blue in an ecstacy, 
 
 Nor cares what the wild wind sings? 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 23 
 
 Perhaps she will pause in her happy 
 flight 
 With a tear for the one asleep. 
 Perhaps none will mourn but the 
 stormy night, 
 Which will weep — and weep — and 
 weep. 
 
 Off where the sea and the sky are wed 
 The young craft bounds away, 
 
 With never a care where her ways are 
 sped, 
 Nor whence at the close of day. 
 
 Whose is the brush that can well por- 
 tray 
 This picture beside the sea, 
 Of death and the craft that molds 
 away, 
 Of life and the one care-free? 
 
 
24 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 THE PENINSULA. 
 
 A narrow strip of drifting sand, 
 
 Between the bay and sea, 
 Juts from the northern, wooded land. 
 
 And seems to me to be 
 A spectre finger, pointing back 
 Along the steamer-trodden track, 
 Hiding the oaken bones that stack 
 
 Upon the hidden lea. 
 
 Down from the woods in winters' floods 
 
 The fallen giants dash, 
 Unmindful how the spoondrift scuds, 
 
 Or how the tempests lash, 
 And seek to ride the mighty deep, 
 A menace to the crafts that creep, 
 To climb its peaks, its valleys leap — 
 
 Yet on the sandspit crash. 
 
 The thin peninsula prevails 
 To stay the ocean's wrath. 
 
 It stands against the wintry gales, 
 Nor knows it aught of scath. 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 25 
 
 The waves that beat upon the strand 
 Retreat before its staying hand, 
 Pondering much that it should stand 
 For long to block its path. 
 
 And stall that spectre finger becks, 
 
 And points my homeward way. 
 Mossy with olden vessels' wrecks 
 
 That bleach upon the bay, 
 And pointing southward o'er the foam, 
 It bids me never more to roam, 
 But get me to my southern home. 
 " Begone ! " it seems to say. 
 
 Have patience, spectre finger; bide 
 
 Until the summer's past; 
 Until upon your seaward side 
 
 The waves beat fierce and fast. 
 Then I will take the path you show, 
 Nor mind the winds that wildly blow, 
 Nor stormy tides that ebb and flow, 
 
 For calms will come at last. 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 ON STEAMER DAY. 
 
 On steamer day a throng is on the 
 pier, 
 Eager to be the last to say fare- 
 well. 
 A tender look, a wave, a glist'ning 
 tear, 
 And then there rings the pilot's start- 
 ing bell. 
 
 The great "blue Peter," waving at the 
 head, 
 Is struck, and slowly draws the craft 
 away. 
 Some few last words are shouted, tears 
 are shed, 
 And then the steamer hurries down 
 the bay. 
 
 The crowd thins out and soon the dock 
 is bare, 
 Except for some lorn souls that wait 
 to get 
 

 BAYSIDE VERSES 27 
 
 A last sad look, and those will linger 
 there 
 And kerchiefs wave that with their 
 tears are wet. 
 
 Then those few go, with heavy hearts 
 and eyes, 
 And leave but one to shed his tears 
 alone. 
 And he weeps on, and gazes through 
 his sighs, 
 To seaward, then departs with one 
 last moan. 
 
 The craft has sailed; deserted is the 
 pier; 
 The west wind moans and croons 
 along the bay; 
 The wheeling gulls swing low and set- 
 tle near, 
 And thus it is upon each steamer day. 
 
28 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 THE GULL ON THE PILE. 
 
 A gray gull mourns on a moss-fringed 
 pile 
 For its mate that comes no more. 
 He wheeled away for a while, a while, 
 But he stopped by the seal lined 
 shore. 
 
 The west wind bore on its wings that 
 day 
 
 The doomed gull's frenzied cry. 
 The lone gull heard on the distant bay 
 
 And wheeled to the west on high. 
 
 The wild surf roared and the cold 
 winds shrilled, 
 But naught of her mate was there. 
 A long, long watch, and her breast 
 was filled 
 With a leaden and dire despair. 
 
 But yet she longs, on the pile afar, 
 For the mate who had left her side, 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 29 
 
 Listing - the moan of the fretful bar 
 And watching the changing tide. 
 
 THE REDWOODS IN THE BAY. 
 
 How passive in the waters of the bay 
 The monster redwoods lie! Time 
 
 was they flung 
 Their hardy arms aloft the hills 
 among, 
 And kissed the sunlight in the welcome 
 
 day. 
 And they grew green while all around 
 grew gray. 
 Ere Christ was born those trees were 
 
 far from young. 
 Yet lived they on, nor moved from 
 whence they sprung 
 As passed the years and centuries 
 away. 
 
 But when the woodsman's ringing 
 blade they felt, 
 
30 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 The spell was gone, and with an an- 
 guished moan, 
 They struck the earth where ages long 
 they dwelt, 
 Falling before the woodsman slight 
 and lone. 
 Stopped by a boom, lest far abroad 
 
 they'll stray, 
 They sleep upon the waters of the bay. 
 
 • mm m< 
 
 HUMBOLDT'S "PLEASANT" CLIME. 
 
 Who would remain in lands of low'ring 
 skies 
 When but a few short leagues adown 
 
 the sea 
 There is a summer land that seems to 
 be 
 But little short of earthly Paradise? 
 Had I the wings with which the eagle 
 flies, 
 I'd stretch my plumes above in fer- 
 vent glee, 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 31 
 
 And, shaking fogs, and mists, and 
 storm-clouds free, 
 I'd soar in basts to where that fair land 
 lies. 
 
 Ah, tell me not of Humboldt's pleasant 
 elime! 
 Another adjective would I apply. 
 
 Perhaps 'tis pleasant in the winter- 
 time, 
 
 But I have watched a summer drear 
 go by, 
 
 And would have known it not had I 
 not known 
 
 The months that passed were naught 
 but summer's own. 
 
 UNLUCKY JIM. 
 
 Of all of the Jonahs who ever were 
 born, 
 The worst one was Unlucky Jim. 
 
32 
 
 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 He'd take all the chances, however for- 
 lorn, 
 For all of them looked good to him. 
 
 No matter how often he'd switch in 
 
 his bet, 
 No matter which side he would pick, 
 The one he was sure of was certain 
 
 to get 
 Defeat, then Unlucky would kick. 
 
 Elections and yacht races, prize fights 
 and such, 
 Were where he would back the wrong 
 end. 
 His salary dwindled; 'twas not very 
 much. 
 He lost what he wanted to spend. 
 
 Some "sure thing" he'd think of, and 
 hoping to win, 
 He'd go to the Major and say: 
 
 "I'll bet you ten dollars " "I'll take 
 
 take your bet, Jim," 
 The Major would say right away. 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 33 
 
 MY BRILLIANT POEM. 
 
 What did I care, although the hour was 
 late? 
 At last my plodding- brain a theme 
 
 had caught 
 That needs must fill the world with 
 happy thought. 
 I would to garb it well in verse ornate, 
 And culled my powers at a rapid rate. 
 I hurried, somewhat faster than I 
 
 ought, 
 Along the wharf, as metre best I 
 sought, 
 Not dreaming of the great surprise in 
 wait. 
 
 A plank was missing, but I knew it 
 not; 
 The pinions of the winged steed 
 fanned my brow. 
 Right then my brilliant thought I well 
 forgot, 
 As fell I through that hole. But any- 
 how, 
 
34 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 Though sorry for my theme's unhappy 
 lot, 
 I gained a bath — and cold that lasts 
 e'en now. 
 
 THE FORBIDDEN LAND. 
 
 The British vessel Collingrove, 
 A bark from Chinese Seas, 
 
 With all her tackle snugly rove 
 And manned by all Chinese, 
 
 Awaits a cargo by the mill. 
 
 Her roomy hold is slow to fill, 
 
 Yet toil her sailors with a will, 
 Like busy working beees. 
 
 On Sunday, when the droning mill 
 
 Is sunk in silent rest, 
 And all the water front is still 
 
 And sailor men are dressed 
 In gay attire, and rush to seek 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 35 
 
 The gin mills, where, throughout the 
 
 week, 
 The wind has told them places reek 
 With steins with foamy crest, 
 
 The little Oriental tar 
 Stands by the landward rail 
 
 And hears the shouts from nearby bar, 
 Or notes the small boy's hale, 
 
 But dares not place a. foot on shore, 
 
 For there they thirst for Chinese gore. 
 
 He hopes 'tis but a short time more 
 Ere they will homeward sail. 
 
 The little yellow man looks o'er 
 
 The gray forbidden land, 
 And wonders why the vessel bore 
 
 Him hither to this strand. 
 He hears the small boy's daring jeers, 
 He hears carousing sailors' cheers, 
 And something that resembles tears 
 
 Falls on his ochre hand. 
 
 " Je Cli ! " you almost hear him say, 
 
36 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 " Euleka boy, him bad ! 
 If Wun Lung- he go sho' today, 
 
 Da lilboy he get mad 
 An' flo him lock, an' callum name, 
 An' bimeby plenty mo' boy came 
 An' flo mo' lock, an' alle same 
 
 It make me belly sad ! " 
 
 And so upon the fo'c'sl head 
 
 He yearns for sailing day. 
 He hopes to soon be homeward sped 
 
 On waters far away. 
 And o'er his rice, perchance, he'll hold 
 A session on the Northland cold, 
 And swear he'll ne'er again unfold 
 
 A sail for Humboldt Bay. 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 37 
 
 THEIR ONE REGRET. 
 
 The "Times" crew goes in mourning 
 on a certain day each year, 
 And weep and wail and sigh with 
 one accord, 
 Because they were not present at the 
 fatal place, and near 
 Enough to help to crucify Our Lord. 
 
38 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 L'ENVOY. 
 
 The hour is late; my ink is low; 
 My weary hand is growing slow. 
 No more I'll take my lonely way 
 Along the shores of Humboldt Bay. 
 Whatever songs are left unsung, 
 Wbateveer praise is left unrung, 
 Some other tongue and hand may do, 
 For in the Northland I am through. 
 
 When I am gone, perhaps a few 
 Of those of whom I better knew 
 May sorry feel, and even say, 
 " We miss his face beside the Bay." 
 
 Perhaps another poet wight 
 May stroll by day and sit by night 
 To watch the waves or hear them beat 
 Against the piles beneath his feet. 
 Perhaps he, too, will paeans sing, 
 And better make his harpstrings ring 
 In chords that all perforce must hear, 
 Though care they not to lend an ear. 
 
BAYSIDE VERSES 39 
 
 If such should come, a path is made 
 Where oft' my strolling feet have 
 
 strayed, 
 And may he feel the same content 
 Along the wharves where I have spent 
 Many a pleasant hour or so, 
 Joyous if western winds would blow, 
 Pensive if damp'ning fogs would fall, 
 But in contentment through it all. 
 
 But no two eyes will see the same. 
 What pleases one is somewhat tame 
 To others, yet we all agree, 
 There is enchantment by the sea 
 That charms us all. I love it well; 
 I love the calm and stately swell; 
 The roaring surf; the choppy wave; 
 The tides that tule marshes lave; 
 The very air that sweeps the land 
 And says the sea is close at hand. 
 
 'Tis little wonder, then, that I 
 Should love to stroll the waters by. 
 The lullaby to me they croon 
 
40 BAYSIDE VERSES 
 
 Is sweeter than the sweetest tune 
 That brass or string has ever played; 
 That olden masters ever made. 
 
 And " now I lay me down " my pen, 
 Nor will I finger you again 
 Until once more I lonely feel, 
 And once again shall o'er me steal 
 A great desire to write the things 
 That rampant through my system 
 
 spring. 
 Tou need not further patience lend. 
 My reader, for you've reached 
 
 THE END. 
 
SEP e 1903 
 

 HE 
 
 
 BHgaw 
 
 •V. iras 
 
 W&$M&3ia$& SP safe ■■■■■'■>■•■■■'•'- 
 
 HHHH 
 
 gfl@P « I! a -■ -- 
 

 1 |S§p 
 §H&ra i ■>:-.■■•.-• 
 
 
 
 buss® 
 
 iiii