\^. \^K ^«Mr*> HA.}' , fHi^ mm. m ^Hi> ■j^.v;/,.?, 'ill mm LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 3ij|t^ng]^t f 0. Shelf _. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. / INGECOPO, AND OTHER POEMS. INGECOPO, AND OTHER POEMS. Bv TUDOK WILLIAMS BROOKLYN : Tremlett & Co., Printers. 326-3.30 Fulton Street. 1879. Entfrcd according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879. By T. WILLIAMS. In tlie Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. ^ |o Si. - i THESE PACtES ARE AEFECTIONATELV DEDICATED. CONTENTS. PAGE. Ingecopo, 9 Lord Ronald's Fate, 88 The Rustic Maiden, ... 8i( The Drowned Fisherman, .41 The Sai}b.\th Chimes, ... .45 The Convict, 40 Sleep, 'A My Haunt, 5o The Lonely Grave, 5(i A Ghasti>y Dream, . . (il To the Sea, fi:3 Song, (>0 The Old Maple, (j8 Sorrow's Mockery, 6i) We Watched the Cows A-grazino, ... TO The Dying Miner, 73 Apple Blossoms, 79 Unsatisfied, 80 Unanswered, 82 VI. COKTEN'fS. PAGE. My Daughter, ... 85 Upon the Sea, 8(5 The Dirge of Red Robin, 81) The Unlifted Veil i»l Ye Thoughts of Man 92 How Canst Thou be Wretched, d'S The C!oming Storm, 5)5 Decoration Day, <)0 Spring, J)8 Worse than Poverty, 9!) PRELUDE. While winds go crooning o'er the lea, While brooks meander murmuringly, While warblers pipe in air and tree, Let not my poor voice silent be, I, too, must sing. Sing from the fullness of my heart, Sing though I break the forms of art ; Whatever love and joy impart. Or e'en the troubled bosom's smart, Tliat let me sing. Though mine be no ^Eolian strain. Though brooks with sweeter voice complain, Though w^arblers shame my rude refrain, Though naught but slights my song obtain, Yet will I sing. -^^1 INGECOPO. A Le- hills that snnte Like javtdins the heaven's bosom Where the clouds are tloatini;- white ; Draperied in densest forests That forever iiourish green, All their sombre vistas murmui-ing Fi-oni the streams that rush between ; Trackless woods, where strays the panther, Where survive the bear and deer, Where the whooping of the Indian Once resounded glad and clear. 12 INGECOPO. Glassy lies the limpid lakelet, Stirless in the suminer noon ; Idle zephyrs all are sleeping That make gentle ripples eroon. In the bine the eagle circles Lazily withont a scream ; Snowy swans far oflP are floating- Like the vision of a dream. Pai-adise of Ingecopo ! Rnthless the despoiling fate Which stands forth Avitli Haming menace, A grim angel at the gate. Nevermore will he dare claim it — Eden once that fruitful gave Every sweet barbarian bounty, Now can prolfer but a grave. TNCiKCOPO. VI (ione are all tlie iiobic masters Who this realm of l)eanty kei)t. Scores of moons have shone and faded Since within the mold they sle])t. Ontlawed, lonely Ino'eeopo Joys and glories past lives o'er, Sitting like a dismal spectre On the lakelet's rocky shore. Then the tall trees hear him moaning ; Soft their branches whisi)er woe ; And the waters seem to answer With a murnrur hoarse and low. Tn mid-heaven the eagle flutters, Screams as if before the blast, While the swimnnng swans in terror Foaming waves behind them cast. 14 INGECOPO. Buried in his tattered mantle, Bendino- low liis a^'ed head, Tngecopo, deeply mourning, Seems a statue stiff and dead. Passive as the rocks heneath him, In his stern old soul he grieves With the quenchless, choking sorrow Which no wail nor tear relieves. To no sound he seems to hearken. Care of danger shows he none. But he wraps his face in darkness, Nature's sore-despairing son. On the boughs the curious squirrels And the birds gaze on his form ; And the restless little fishes Nigh the shore's edge wondering swarm. iN'GKropo. 15 Vainly freshened winds and Avnvelets Strive his stolid soul to rouse ; 'I'ill the orl) of day is settinii' Ingecopo mourns and bows ; Till al)ove the western summits The spent flame of dayliuht burns Like a eand1e\s dying fliekei-. Brightening as the earth it tuiiis To a globe of mellow s])lendor, While the forests, tipped with fire, (xhxmiier grows within their arches, Like cathedrals when expire All the dazzling rows of tapers Set before a worship2)ed shrine ; And the hills throw lengthening shadows O'er the waters dark as wine. K; INtiECOPO. Tnge('( )})(), wilt tlioii lieed not ! Look without thy blanket's folds ! For a phantom bark ai>pi'oa,ches Which a hostile yjale-face holds. Will thy deaf ears never listen To the j)addle\s plashing blade '. Dost thou now not hear the ripples By the keel's impnlsion made { Swiftly oVr the twilight surface Glides the hunter's light canoe ; Flee, O tlee, old Ingecopo, Else this hour thy soul shall rue. Slowly, like one rudely startled From deep sleexVs benumbing hold, IngecojDo's dull orbs open. Threatened peril to behold. iN(n-:('OP(). All too late, for on the gravel Grates the boat, the foe leaps out ; Ere the chieftain has bestirred him Eings tlie white mans angry shout: 'Ha, thou cunning, wrinkled red-skin. Has Will Wildwood found thee here ^ Now by all the scalps of white men Thou hast filched, 'twill cost thee deai'. 'I will grant thee but an instant For appeal to Manitou ; This is Christian, not thy merit, — Thou who did'st thy hands imbrue 'Oft in blood of men and women. Sons and daughters white of hue; Whom thy tribe assailed, remorseless, And the shrinking creatures slew 18 INGECOPO. "Without space to breathe a prayer, — Butchering them, as wolves do prey On the lambkins in the sheep fold, AVhen the shepherd's far away. ''Chant thee, savage, chant thy death-song. For thine honr is snrely come." But the chieftan stands before him Tall, majestical and dumb ; With a dignity imperial. As of one born to command, Steadfast eyes that gaze unflinching, And a mien comj^josed and grand. Then the fierce impulsive hunter, Before one he erst would name "Vermin" and "debased barbarian" Drooi:)s his glance in awe and shame. INGECOPO. 19 Keenly strirkeii in liis conscience, Grows his restive fnry tame ; Harmless drops the fatal hammer, Swerves the loaded barrel's aim. Conld one shoot his own old father ? Conld he slay a fallen king ^ This grim chief, thns lone and stately, Snrely is no sonlless thing. For a moment stand they silent, Like two figures wrought of stone ; Then the chieftain finding utterance Speaks in harsh and lofty tone. Ugh, thou babe that wields a firearm. Dost thou fear to hear its noise? I am but an unarmed red-man To be overcome by boys. 20 IXOECOPO. "I am in my middle dotage, My limbs totter, I am frail ; Before tliis old withered chieftain Weaponed warrior need not qnail. ""Hasten then, thon tool of vengeance, Swift thy slanghtering piece explode ; What, and dost thon shrink from mnrder When defiance I've bestowed 'i '•'Tis most trne, they were intruders On my lands wdiom I have slain ; Does the white man think of justice AVlien revenge alone he'd gain i ''Strike me down; why be a woman. Weak, inert and mercy-filled ; Only spare mine age the torture And my blood w^ere better spilled. IN(iEC'OlH). :il 'Aye, I pray thee, speed thy i:)urpose ; Kill the Indian ehief foriorn, AVho but wislies death may hurry. Who laments thy laggard scorn. Haste, I \v\ve no squaw to mourn me, Nor a daughter to deph)re, Nor a son that might avenge me. Nor one brave of all of yore. ' I am useless ; what perverseness 'Twere for this half -rotted tree To claim favor of the woodsman ; Let the axe hew swift at me. 'AVherefore standest thou thus halting^ Time is wasted ; yonder see. Night is seated on the mountains ; Let my niiiht fall gkxmiily." ^- INGECOPO. Grandly thus speaks Ingecopo, And the speech his foeman stings; Pained and penitent, Will AVildwood On tlie sward his weapon tlings ; And he cries, "O chief, I've sought thee • Night and day for many a moon, And I've vowed that I Avould smite thee Nor allow a moment's boon. "For thy tribe did work me damage Such as never man forgets ; Still the blood of sire and mother The stained forest-carpet wets. "But I now undo my vowino-. Now I l)id thee go as free As the eagle in the cloudland, And o'ei'look thy wrongs to me. INGECOPO. 23 ''Sagamore, thy noble nature I admire ; hencefortli shall end All onr strife and evil feeling, And I'll seek thee to befriend. ''Shall I dare to quench, revengeful, This old life that heaven has spared Through all wars and feuds and troubles. When all died who with thee shared >. "Nay, high heaven I know forbids it. And its mandates I'll obey, Be they written on book's pages Or enstamped on heart of clay. "Chieftain, forai we here a treaty ; Thou from bitterness shaft cease ; I will through the land proclaim thee One with all men now at peace. INGECOPO. "So on tliy declining footsteps Shall no hound of rage i)nrsue ; Thou shalt bide disputeless monarch, Though thy subjects be but few. ''Deemest thou the mighty spirit Loves these heated strifes of men ? Will he welcome thee the sooner That thine old age could not ])en " Violence within thy l)osom i Nay, bethink thee, henceforth dwell Peacefully, and when thou diest Manitou shall j)raise thee well."' Heaves the chieftain's rugged boscmi. And his stoic firmness yields, K'en like ice when winds of spring-time Breathe upon the frozen fields. INGECOPO. And a down his bronzed visage Fall tlie tears, as does the rain When a sudden clond sweej^s over Drenching- all the dusty i)lain. And he utters through the passion Which an instant chokes his voice His assent in l^roken accents And of amity makes choice. And he swears by yon Great Spirit, Ruler of the earth and air. That the white man is his kinsman, Born and sealed unto him there. Manitou who made the heavens, Manitou who made them both, Hears their friendly protestations. Pours a blessing on their oath. 36 INGECOPO. Then speaks Ingecopo : ''White man. When our wigwams filled the wood They scarce left these boles a circle To expand, so close they stood. "Bnt the chieftain's state departed 'Fore fire fluid and fire-arm; Now he hides him in a cavern, Like the beasts whom men alarm. ''But I'll still invite my brother To the red-man's frugal feast, And my couch of skins, my brother. Shall be thine till flames the East. "Be it so, my Indian father," Wildwood answers full of glee, "Nor could all the wide world offer Truer hospitality." INGECOPO. Saying so liis vessel hirclien High lie bears upon the strand ; Follows then old Ingecopo, With a spirit pleased and bland. In recesses of the mountain, Where the bonlders wildy strewn Are with thickets dense of hemlock And repellent briers o'ergrown, Ingecopo has his dwelling, Like a panther' s secret lair ; Scarce the keenest-eyed backwoodsman E'er conld trace him hidden there. There they feast like loyal comrades, Smoke the jjeaceful bowd of stone, Slnmber night-long void ot hatred Till the gloomy shades have flown. ;28 INGECOPO. Brotherly at morn their j^arting — One to seek the haunts of men To relate his curious story ; One to hover nigh his den Till such time as fate shall kindly Clip life's weak, abraded thread. And the name of Ingecoj)o Shall be numbered with the dead. But there troubles not the chieftain Any man from this time on ; Safe he dwells unquestioned sovereign, Though his barbarous pomp is gone. For Will Wildwood is his champion Henceforth and he loudly swears Vengeance on whoe'er disturbs him, So each bloody foe forbears. INGECOPO. 29 And the settlers multiplying, Like the sands beside the sea. Hold the sachem in their pity And aye treat him reverently. Thus he bides in lonesome honor Till his regal frame is bent, Like tlie bow he scarce can handle Since his manly strength is spent. Till his hair that once ilowed darkly Down his shoulders turns as white As the swan's unspotted i^liimage, And his orbs have lost their sight. Weak, decrepit, ever yearning For an arm of strength to trust, Praying to the Mighty Spirit To uplift him from the dust, 30 INGECOPO. Dies at last old Ingecopo, Yet not ere lie learns the truth, Knows of heaven and a deliverer, And repents him of his youth. Dies, and all the people mourn him As if they had lost a sage, Or their own acknowledged ruler Who had ne'er provoked their rage. Tn the dimness of his grotto Take his bones their final rest, Walled from man's and beasf s intrusion. While his soul is truly blest. Tn the summerland of heaven. Mingling with his race and kin, Tngecopo dwells full hap2)y. Freed from war and woe and sin. INGECOPO. 31 Ye who seek the shores of Austin, Standing by its crystal wave, 'Neath the over-arching hemlocks. Pay a tribute at his grave. Shed not drops of emjoty sorrow, Waste no sighs upon the air. But, with spirit shamed, remember His slain people's fatal snare. And then render to the Indian Meed of Justice due a man Who fought bravely for his birthright While his vital currents ran. 32 INGECOPO. Sturdy Indian ! tvnly patriot, Though as tiger wild and fierce ; Barbarous, savage and untutored, Mercy scarce his soul could pierce ; Yet unto the latest ages Shall his manful battle ring. Shaming craven heirs of freedom Feebly to their rights that cling. LOIH) KONALD's fate. '^o LORD RONALD^ 8 FATE. What is it ails my lady T" the servini>- inaiden cried, And gazed with awe and angiush on the soiely weeping bride ; — Her robe was in disorder, hei- lu-idal wreatli was torn ; — ■Decked bravely t'oi- hei- wedding Avhy slioiild my ladv mourn i Is not your lovei' noble and brave and kind and true ( Why all the maids ai-e ])ining with envying of you ; indeed, my darling lady, if now you moan and weep. The halls of peace celestial would 1)h a dungeon keep. ' ' •M LOUD Ronald's fate. •'My Ronald sooth is nolile and trne and brave and kind, His equal in all England ye never more shall find ; My groom is all I wish him, and yet, misgiving- heart, There is a woe upon me that will not e'ei* depart ; ' • For T ' ve a dark foreboding of something tha t is ill. And many gloomy fancies my sombre bosom fill/' O cheer ye up, my lady, this mood will surely pass ; ' Tis much the same at weddings with every tender lass. •^ But sooth 'twill all be over as quickly as the word Prcmouncing you a matron your gladdened ears have heard ; LORD KONALD'S FATE. 3*) "Then, when in all the steeples the joyous chimes shall ring, Their peals and Ronald's kisses sure happiness shall bring/' But the lady lonely, only sadly shook her head, Nor by her maiden's soothing would she be comforted ; — "Alas! a cloud has risen amid the pleasant sky. Tlip wind is wildly sighing, an evil storm is nigh." Out from his castle Ronald has ridden with his train ; — Such fair j^omp of chivalry is ne'er to l)e again : Through forest and o'er moorland, to reach his waiting bride. He spurs his mettled charger that l)ounds along in pride. "(to not so fast, Lord Ronald, noi' leave youj' trusty l)and Im])atient far behind you in such a troubled land ; •)»i LOUD Ronald's fate. For vengeful foes are lurkinii" in coverts by the way, And cruel weapons thirsting a noble h)r(l to slay.- "Fear not, my good lieutenant, the cravens will not dare Aught save to scowl at Ronald, like Avolves within their lair ; Have I not scourged them soundly and broke theii* bloody pack '. \ do defy the vengeance of the curs upcm my track/"' Tlie golden sun is setting and through the fo- liage streams The weird and mellow radiance of day's depart- ing lieams ; Within the woods the warblers are twittering good-night, And 'mid the solemn vistas strange phantoms meet the siaht. LOKD no:XALD S FATE. -) <' The retinue are awe-struck ; yet, ere they inter- cede, Lord Ronald flies before them on his impetuous steed ; Into the gh)om lie enters, as one would pierce the grave, And leave the world forever, and as one mad he drave. Come, cursed laggarts, hasten your lord to overtake, Ere sounds of fearful conflict the woodland quiet wake ; Ere Ronald in the onset l)efore his foes shall fall. And sorrow seize his lady and i-uin seize us all.'' Then through the night they gallop as on a, field of war, To seek their reckless leader who leaveth them afar ; '^8 LOED KONALD's J^ATE. They loudly wind the bugle and raise the cheery shout, And from the dangling scabbards their sharp- ened swords leap out. 'I\)() late, too late their succor, for, in the deej)- ening shade. Beside a moaning rivulet a stalwart form is laid ; "Tis Ronald, and his life-blood commingles with the flow Of tlie dark sti'eamlet's waters gurgling notes of woe. Bastard hands had smote liim careless and waylaid ; Tlius with tlie day his lady's enchanting visions fade ; Her heart will lu-eak with mourning; too well did it forbodc That misery was coming along Lord Ronald's road. THE RUSTIC MAIDEN. 3!) THE RUSTIC MAIDEN. A merry maiden hastened to a field Where grew the daisies in a sea of white That almost drowned the greenness of the grass ; And where the wind bestirred their nodding heads, Till all the space was an inland lake Whose rippling waters green wear crests of foam. Straightway she plucked a modest, star-like ilower, And bent awhile her soft and dreamy gaze Ux)on its heart of gold ; and then essayed With its white rays a divination sweet. With dainty hand she tore the petals out And fiung them to the ground. 'Twas ''yes" and "no" 40 THE RUSTIC 3IAIDEN. Her sweet lips framed to solve the half-felt doubt AVhether she was beloved. ''A lover's vows I will not trust," she said; "They're often false ; Thus shall I know if I am truly loved ; Pure blossom fair ])e thou my oracle." And so she tried her simple au^i-ury. Till at the last a sini^le j)^tal left Gave answer plain that lilled her heart with peace ; And thence she went, red-lipped and I'osy- cheeked, Her ])ure heart ,i>:laddened and her spirit free Of d()ul)ts and strivings ; with her faith re- newed. And at her feet the murmurinii- gTasses waved. And all about the loving warblers sang Such ditties l)lithe as charmed lier rustic soul. THE DKOWNEl) FISHERMAN. 41 THE DROWNED FISHERMAN. Pale as the hue of the dead was her face, And dim as the orbs of the dead her eyes. Her heart stood still in its chamber a space, And over her features there froze apace A look of horror and fierce surprise. She was as if stone 'neath the cold grey sky, Her hands clutching hard o'er her heart were pressed, As if to repress an unquenchable cry, That fain would leap out and bear up on high All the aii'ony wild of her breast. 42 TTn-: duowned fisiieuman. The sea roared lioarse on the rock-iibbed shore, And tlie wind blew snllenly past her, The sea birds wailed as they winged them o'er "There's a bark on the reef that shall sail no more ; 'Tis ended, and so is its master." The tishernien pansed with their lifeless load Whence the sea-brine dripped on the sands ; A braver mariner never had rode The wild-tossed waves, or a deck ever strode. Than him they bore stiff in their hands. Silent they stood as a gronx) of clay, Their i-ags fluttering loose in the breeze ; They seemed like murderers bringing their prey Penitent back and grieved they did slay The victim their vena-eance did seize. THE DKOAVNEl) FISHEKMAX. 4:! What is this that ye ])ring from the waves to me, — This moveless and stark and watery thini;- i 'Tis not he, nay snrely, it cannot be Tlie corpse of my man from the jaws of the sea. Thus shamefaced and guilty ye bring." Al)ashed by the force of her frenzied grief. Uneasy and speechless they stand ; Till their leader speaks forth rude words and brief, Yet kindly meant for her souFs relief, As she glowered ujion the band. AVe found him, missus, on the waves afloat. The stalwart sport of the tide, All wrecked and sunken his faithless l)oat. While the l)illows over his death did gloat, Like sharks in their hungry pride. 44 Tin-: r.ijowxED p^ishekmax. •"Ahis, \\ii;it ;i loss'' — but he stojiped liiiii there. He h;i(l hiokeii her woe's stony spell ; A slij-ielv I'jin^- foi'tli on the trembling iuv. The face of the dead was all blown bare. And beside it her own face fell. Fn vain have they lifted u\) her form. Her lieai-t l)eats not and liei- breath is still : Ah. fatal throe of a wife's love warm I — Two souls have joined in the lowering storm. And their Ixxlies one sepnlchre till. THE SABBATH CHIMES. 45 THE SABBATH CHIMES. The Sal)l)ntli cliinies are rinuing-, With sweet and solemn peal, The tunes we twain were sin<>;in<>- In the (lays when thou wert leal. A Veil T recall oui- courting On many a Sabbath eve. When sunset hues TJIE co^vrcT. THE CONVICT. 'Tis midnight, and the placid moon That o'er the heights mnst vanish soon. \Vith tender, mystic brilliance shines O'er mountains dark with rustling pines. And o'er the valley nestling low, Where limjud streams like silver show : And brightly does her mellow tire Light up each tree and roof and spire With glittering beauty till they seem Like carven shapes; nor e'er could gleam A Paradise more mild and fair Than the lit landscape stretching there. So still and solemn 'neath the skies. As if the moonlight petrifies. 'I'lIK {ONVICT. 4; While (/er its marble splendor lies The deep, unbi'oken luisli of niii'lit When soothing- sleep puts care to tii.ulit. U])on his hard, uneasy conch, Behold the wakeful prisoner crouch. Like some wild, fettered beast tliat strains Kebellious 'gainst its galling chains. All sleepless since the set of sun. He counts his moments one by one. For life bnt till the morn shall run, And then he dies a felon's fate, A bloody deed to exjoiate. To cleanse away the dreadful stain (3f a fellow-mortal rudely slain ; A victim of the righteous law That strikes the evil heart wiih awe. The network of the iron bars, Seen 'gainst the moon like dismal scars. Her bright, unclouded visage mars ; 4,th dost mend. When eares sit heavy on my heart. When Sorrow's spectre doth appal, 'Tis thou, O Sleep, that dost impart The balm that heals me of them all. When life at last too weary grows. By age and every ill distressed, Peath, whirh is sleep, shall give rex)ose. And e'en the weariest shall be blest. iviY HAUNT. r).^ MY HAl NT, 'Neath droojnng elms whose shnde is deep; Niii"h limpid waters half-aslee]) ; Where no molesting sound may eome ; Where insects drowsily do hum ; Where breathes tlie In-eeze snlxlued and mild And softly sing the warblers wild ; There let my haunt and refuge be, And thithei" let me often tiee. There on the velvet sward Idl lie, Th]"ough leafy screens peer at the sky ; And as the lazy fleeces pass I'll dream upon my coiicli of grass ; From evei'y strife and care aloof, Shall tender fancy weave her woof ; Till rapt and lulled my spirit feels. And sleep my willing senses steals. 56 THE LONELY GRAVE, THE LONELY GRAVE. One evening as the twilio-lit fell, And softly rang tlie vesper bell, I sauntered from the village dell ; Till greenest tields around me spread A elovered carpet to my trend, And fragrance Hew from leaf and blade By zephyr's unseen lingers swayed ; While dewy freshness drove away The memory of the sultry day. Then through the silence dim and deej:) I heard the sleepy nestlings pesp ; And from the distant brooklet's How Uprose a murmuring sweet and low That seemed to thrall the dream v sense THE LOIVELY GRAVE. And banish care and troublings thence ; And so in mihlly musing- mood I wandered on in solitude. But soon my x>ath with awe I found Had led me nigh a lonely mound, Where one was slumbering 'neath the ground; With not a stone at head nor feet 'I'o break the loneliness complete. Nor on that lowly pyramid, Amid the rank-grown herbage hid, Rose there a bush with blooming dower, Xor S2:)rang to sight one modest flower ; The narrow and upbuilded space Was mantled deej) in emerald grass, And dark its melancholy hue Through gathering night fell on the view. Then much I marvelled who might lie Thus lonely 'neath the darkening sky ; '>>> THE LONELY GKAVE, Unguarded from the general Held Where mowers soon their scythes would Aviekl Within this spot where man and brute C^ould trespass with a lawless foot. And ti-jimple o'er the moldering heatl Of tlie unmourned, forgotten dead. Perchance, I thought, some beggar old. Who had no friends — for lack of gold, (Or crooked sire or withered dame, Their pauper burial were the same) ; Or else some miser, mean and base, A scandal to the common race ; Some murderer, with bloody hand, Whose very name affrights the land ; Perhaps a robber, bold and gay, The terror of the travelled way. Or who into their dwellings broke To plunder men ere yet they woke ; THE LONELY GKAVE. Or hei'e, beneath his fellows' ban, May rest a sad self-nmrdered man ; Mayhap some traitor — worst of all — Intriguer of his country's fall ; Or- one who tempted wives away, Or tanght the innocent to stray ; Or who shall say 'tis not some maid, Keviled and scorned, by man betrayed. T gave my fruitless musings o'er And went more sadly than before ; I left in their forsaken rest The bones dishonored and unblest ; Yet gave not up my curious quest Lintil some soiil the truth confessed. Xo criminal or tarnished name \Vc!s buried there, but lustrous fame ! The hands, now crumbled all to mold, <>n THE LONELY GRAVE, Tn days of wealtli had scattered gold ; 'Phe heart, now turned to ashes, loved All men with love it daily proved ; No creature e'er its lord coidd meet But had its warm, fraternal beat ; That busy brain ne'er failed to toil To aid his brethren in the moil ; But he who all his life had striven To serve mankind and live for heaven — The benefactor of his race — Obtained a nameless burial place. The fawners that on rich men live To this man poor had nought to give — Not e'en a plain memorial stone To tell his virtues, flaunt their own; His deeds of love and goodness past, No longer than his breath could last. They found him dead one bitter day, Houseless and homeless, and where he lay A GHASTLY DREAM. 61 They buried liim with vulgar haste Of tlio; e who have no time to waste ; Nt)i*, lest it niiiiht their Inight spades rust. Let fall one tear above his dust. A GHASTLY DREAM. It was a ghastly dream, O true Horatio ; T would not wish to have its like again Amid the night's deep watches ; and, indeed. T could not well endure it. Methinks I saw A still, vast sea — so silent that the grave Would be a Babel to it — and there sat LT23on this sea, w^hose waters never stirred Nov made a sound, a little, moveless boat, Of oars devoid, whose idle sails hung down. Waiting for winds that nevermore should blow Upon that endless waste ; and the hot sun 62 A GHASTLY DEEAM. Witli lurid glare slione mercilessly down, With rays sent plum!) upon the bare, soorehed head Of one sad, thirsty man, who lay and gasjDed \¥ithin that craft as fishes gasp on land ; Too feeble e'en to fan his fevered brow^ ; His throat too j)arched and close to let the groans Creej^ from his bursting breast ; his lips all black xls if with putrid stain ; his features wan And worn to sharpest shapes ; his eyes bulged forth With horror of his fate, and his swollen tongue Hung starkly from his mouth. Helpless, dying. Without hoi)e he lay, and dark shapes mocked him, Making his plagues far worse. I sought to see Who such a wretch might be — when, lo ! 'twas 1 1 And I awoke in sweaty, trembling fear From that appalling, dark and ominous dream. TO THE SEA. 68 TO THE SEA. T stand ux)on thy brim, Tntermina]>le sea, And see thee stretching dim, Sig-n of Eternity. The sl^ies above thee bend, Unfathomable blue, And with thy far edge blend Where thou art grey of hue ; And fleecy clouds cast shadows on thy breast, Where sleep the waves in an untroubled rest ; And o'er thy surface run Gold streakings from the sun, And on thy shore, ';4 TO THE SEA. With mellow roar, Light ripples ponr White ridged with foam ; And the peaceful dome Echoes the water's musical notes, Sweet as the strains from warblei-s' throats. Soft as the tones of the trembling string 'Neath some fair maid's mild fingering. Yet thou art treacherous, Sea ; Though now thou slumb'rest still, Soon shalt thou rise resistlessly, In fury, fierce of will ; Thou shalt be wild uptorn In the stern tempest's path. Thy surge majestic borne Shall beat the strand in wrath ; And venturous barks that sailed thy glassy plain Shall find their doom upon the raging main ; TO THE SEA. ^5 'i'liy l)illows slmll arise To gulf their trembling ])rize, With awful roar Thy l^reakers hoar Shall cover o'er The wailing crew. Too late that rue Their trust in thee and vessels frail, Which fore thy might i-elentless quail ; And thou, once smooth as meadows spread, Shalt sepulchre the stilled dead. 6^ 80NG. SONG. I wish I had the peace of old, Before of life I'd made a test; When glittering metal all was gold, And life's delights I took with zest. There is no grain of recompense In knowing more, enjoying less ! We learn, we leave a darkness dense. But, seeing clear, more care confess. Ah, hours of ease and careless dreams !— As one who climbs a barren height And sees rich meads whereon the beams Obliquely cast a mellow light, SONG. t^'? I back do turn my longing glance On ye oases fair of time ; The visions there my soul entrance, Till I forget awhile to climb. Too soon the cloud, or gathered night. Or need to move, doth shut ye out ; And ruder scenes possess the sight ;— That life is real I may not doubt. 08 THE OLD MAPLE. THE OLD MAPLE. Broad and hip:\\ its boughs were lifted, Rustling in the playful air ; Through its leaves the sunlight sifted O'er the sward, and ever drifted To and fro, and flickered there, ' Mid the shreds of moving shade On the meadow's canvass drawn By the restless hand of dawni. And the even's fingers staid. And beneath it maid and lover. On the summer afternoon. Scenting the sweet-smelling clover. Talked their love and future ovei- Till the rising of the moon ; Watched the orb of day go down Bathing boughs in rosy flame, Till the milder moonlight came Silvering the leafy crown. SOEKOW'S MOCKERY. <'9' SORROW'S MOCKERY. Buried 'neatli the ghastly snow, Many weary years ago, Still I know thy lonely bed Fy its arching drift o'erhead, Which the swaying, soughing pine Sweeps in rhythmical incline, With its coney besom hung As of wintry yore it swung. And I halt beside thy mound, Vainly listening for the sound Of thy once enrapturing voice. Bidding me again rejoice 'Mid the poignance of my woe ; But I hear the drifting snow And the crunching of the tree Answering in mockery. 70 WE WATCHED THE COWS A-GKAZING. WE WATCHED THE COWS A-GRAZING. Once liotly in the cloudless sky The summer sun was blazing, While, seated 'neath a branching elm. We watched the cows a-grazing. For black-nosed Bell and wliite-foot Nell And Sue of crumpled horn, Upon the -clover of the mead, All dewy from the morn, With eager appetite might feed, But must not nip the corn. Oh, soft and pleasant was the sound Of rustling boughs above. The dreamy rapture of the land Attuned the heart to love. WE WATCHED THE COWS A-GRAZING. 71 While black-nosed Bell and white-foot Nell And Sue of crnmpled horn, Upon the clover of the mead, Quite dewy from the morn, With dainty appetite did feed, Yet shnnned the standing corn. But when the heart is over-full. Lips aye must lisp their tale, So we with tender speech of love The moments did regale. While black-nosed Bell and white-foot Nell And Sue of crumpled horn, Upon the clover of the mead, Ftill dewy from the morn, With fickle appetite did feed, And eyed the tempting corn. Then on our simple, silly souls A sweet oblivion fell, : WE AVATCHED THE COWS A-GRAZING. And trust and dnty were forgot In lover's enchanting spelL Then bhick-nosed Bell and white-foot Nell And Sue of crumpled horn, Forsook the clover of the mead, Yet dewy from the morn, On sweeter, stolen food did feed. And mun(died the luscious corn. Thus once in summer long ago, While the sun was fiercely blazing, Beneath the branches of the elm We watched the cows a-grazing. But black-nosed Bell and white-foot Nell And Sue of crumpled horn No longer grazed the clovered mead, All dewless since the morn. But, of their careless watchers freed. Despoiled the precious corn. THE DYITsCi 3I1NER. THE DYING MINEK. Vpon the moimtoiii side lie lies E'en at his latest gasp ; The world grows fainter to his eyes, The gold slips fi'oni his clasp. Around, the wild and rocky peaks Stand silent near the sky ; His weak and wandering vision seeks Some human form to spy. Far fi'om the homes and haunts of men His eager feet had plied ; He braved the grizzly in his den. The red man's rage defied. 74 THE DYING MINEIl. He sought on liill, in vale and glen To wrest earth's golden store, He gathered countless wealth, and then He sank to lise no more. When friends are far and heart doth fail. When death is closing o'er, Not all the riches can avail Which princely coffers ponr. His filmy orbs can scarcely view The mountains' towering height ; Fast turns to black heaven's cloudless blue. And all things 'scape his sight. All sightless, dying, hopeless, lone, Thus ends his sateless greed ; Forsaken 'mid the desert, prone, With none to soothe his need. TPIE DYING MINER. 75 He dimly dreams of days gone by, VVlien chary fortune gave Hard toil and want, yet love was nigh To cheer him and to save. He knoAvs that in one village home, A thousand leagues away, Was his ere he began to roam, Will beat for him alway. One loving heart so true and fond, 'Twould yield its life for him. Nor ever through the great beyond His image there grow dim. Oh, had one droj) of sweet content But tinged the cup of life. Their souls had now in bliss been blent — A happy man and wife. rilK DYING MINER. But lie despised a drudging fate, Contemned his hands of horn; lie yearned to rise to richer state. And viewed his rags with seorn. With warm and eager hope he went To rudest scenes afar ; The glorious tide of youth he spent Tn lucre's sordid war. Swift crex)t his manhood's sturdy prime. He would not brook defeat. But strove amain, while hurrying time Went by each year more fleet. His raven hair grew streaked with gi'ay. His bronzed face grew seamed With scars and wrinkles, and the ray Of his bright eye was dimmed. THE DYING MINER. In vain all earnestly lie toiled, The prize still fled liis hand. Still flrkle fortune lured and foiled And wrecked him on her strand. Long since had heart and hope been lost. Sweet memories, too, grew faint ; Ah, wealth must come at bitter cost, Nor hastens at our plaint. Yet still he roved and sought as one By haunting dreams pursued ; Where'er his wayward path did run He felt his hope renewed. Ended at last in rich reward His long and lonely quest ; Earth's treasuries oped; but, ah ! ill-starred Too late his wish was blest. 78 THE DYING MINER. N'ow, midst the solemn wilderness, He lays him doAvn to die. Devoid of soothing love's caress, Unwept by any eye. His misery's brief; a tender thonght From out the olden time Within his soul deep peace has wrought, Unmarred by worldly grime. And 'mid that gentle ecstacy The broken spirit's fled From all its earthly agony, And the baffled miner's dead. Beneath the heavens the bleaching btnies. With useless gold anigh, A moral tell, in louder tones Than any preacher's cry. APPLE BLOSSOMS. 79 APPLE BLOSSOMS. In snowy fragrance on the bonghs they cluster, Fair apple Wossoms of the teeming Spring, Fruit's promises, all honey-laden, At whose o'erbrimming goblets sips the bee To surfeit, ere he wings his lagging way Undeviating to liis hive; and in wliose depths The humming bird, of flashing, })urnished plume, Poised in the sun, on ever-whirring wings. Dives his long bill, keen taster of the sweets; While the wandering and imjjatient wind Ravishes their petals, and, with wanton hand. Strews the white flakelets on the dark green grass, Thence blowinsr odorous over field and lawn. 80 UNSATISFIED, UNSATISFIED. In the warm, cheery days of my youth I sought for the blessing-s of earth. And deemed I had found them in truth In the chambers of revel and mirth. These palled and I thought that in wealth ' Twere better for solace to trust ; But avarice, working by stealth, The gold of my nature did rust. I aimed for the laurels of fame. And fate did my strivings endow ; But a blot fell black on my name, And the wreath withered swift on my brow UNSATISFIED. Hi T grasped for tlie learning of time In the tomes of the ages confined, Yet found howsoe'er I might climb. Truth still soared too high for the mind. When love strove my soul to allure, I was charmed for a space with its wiles ; But falseness my folly did cure, And h)ve now no longer beguiles. Thus found 1 the blessings of earth Illusive as dreams of the night, Naught lasting in beauty or worth, Naught giving a solid delight. So then from these shadows I turn, And cease from the resolute quest ; Yet ever my being shall yearn For the good that shall make it blest. 82 UNANSWERED. UNANSWERED. Oh, why should the strength of mortals In a moment pass away, Like a brittle reed that's broken. Or a shattered vase of clay ? And why should pleasure be transient, Like deAvs of dawn on the grass, Or shadows of summer fleeces That swift o'er the meadows pass? Or why should love e'er be fickle And the tender heart grow cold That burned with divinest ardor In the rapturous time of old ? UNANSWERED. ^'^ Say why should riches be fleeting, Like the fast, unstable stream Whose waters beside our pathway But an instant glide and gleam ^ And why should the intellect weary Of its learning broad and deep ; Why sickens it of the harvest Thought's active sickles reap? Or why should the fancy falter When it soars to noblest things, Like the dove that drooping, baffled, Forevermore folds her wings ^ And why should virtue e'er dally With the sin the spirit scorns, And change for a tattered mantle The raiment that life adorns 'i S4 UNANSWERED. Or why should the pearl of honor In the marts be cheaply sold, And conscience lightly be bartered For a tarnished gift of gold i Ah, why should the laurel wither On the imperial brow of fame. And noblest lives be blighted By the Upas breath of shame ? MY DAUGHTER. 85 MY DAUGHTER. Peerless amid girls, Little daughter mine, With soft eyes that shine Like pure molten pearls ; And a smile that lights thy face With a sweet, cherubic grace ; And musically prattling speech Like tuneful ripples on the beach ; With a dainty-outlined shape Angel gauze alone should drape ; Fairy features, hands whose mould Ne'er were vied by art of old ; Feet as fair as sprays of fern When the leaves of autumn turn ; — All these are thine infant charms, Which may heaven guard well from harms ; Until thy growing soul these features shall pervade With lasting beauty spiritual, Oh, thou little maid. HH UPON THE SEA. UPON THE SEA. The waves are dancing blithely, The wind is blowing free, My bark tugs at its mooring As if 'twould loosened be ; E'en like a fettered creature, It longs to glide away, Once more to taste of freedom, Once more to wildly play ; Upon the ocean's bosom To curvet and to roam, And cleave with living pleasure The waters flecked with foam. UPON THE SEA. «7 Lo ! now the keel is sliding Along the grating sand ; Ye cannot keep the sea-bird Imprisoned on tlie land. And now she's bravely floating As buoyant as a fowl That rides upon the sea-crest When wrathful tempests howl ; And like the wings of eagles, Her snowy sails expand, And like a dart she's speeding Far from the arid strand. The distant shore is fading, Its murmurings are low ; The ocean's mighty vistas '' Upon my vision grow ; The swelling surge is swirling Around the rushing keel, 8H UPON THE SEA. And drunken with her gladness My merry bark doth reel ; The spray is leajiing madly, It vaults above the mast, And ere it falls in showers My bounding bark is past. Out, out into the ocean, My vessel bears me on, Till every glimpse and glimmer Of hated earth is gone ; Until the salty breezes Revive my powers faint, And from my rusted spirit Is swept the worldly taint. Oh, ne'er a fate so dismal While yet I live be mine. As not to skim with rapture The broad and bluey brine. THE DIKGE OF RED KOBIN. ^-^ THE DIRGE OF RED ROBIN. Munnur a dirge for Robin, Red Robin lying dead On the bier of the meadow, With a daisy at his head. For scarce a month of summer Poor Robin tuned his llute, And sweetly piped his rapture, Yet now he's stark and mute. Aloft the crow is Hying And hoarsely sounds his tune The swallow's restless pinion Fans all the realm of June ; !HI THE DIKGE OF TIED ROBIN. 'Pile bobolink is trilling His measures on the spray. The yellow bird clear-voicing- Sings all the golden day ; The humming bird is poising Beside the blossom's cup, Bee and butterfly disputing The pleasure of its sup ; And every grove is ringing With careless warblers' song : But Robin has no mourner In all the happy throng. Why are the birds all joyous. When, dearer than them all. Loved Robin 's 'neath the daisy Asleep beyond recall ? THE unliftp:u veil. oil, sadly chant for Robin, And mourn liis mellow llute ; The lields have need of music Now he is stark and mute. THE UNLIFTEI) VEIL. P^rom all these human lives Could we but lift the veil, And know how each one strives In earth's o'er-crowded hives. Would not our spirits quail '. 'Neath fair appearance' mask » Oft dwells an anxious pain ; Who seem in bliss to bask, Too proud man's help to ask, By hidden grief are slain. ■ 'v YE THOUGHTS OF MAN. YE THOUGHTS OF MAN. HY yp: baud of eld. A man his thoughts, what mote tlieie he Than these a titter coiniDagnie i Ne ])etter comrades could one see. For tlioughts be frisky, tliouglits be still. E'en as a man his mind hath will. And vacant space they aye do till. When other friends would trouble thee With rant and rout and revelry, There's lazy cheer in reverie. Give thoughts full welcome, ye who lind That folk displease liow'er so kind, And ye' 11 have pleasantness of mind. now CANST THOU BE WRETCHED^ U'A ^'HOW (^4NST THOU BE WRETCHED i" How canst thou l)e vvrctclied when Natnre tlius sniilinii'. In new-kindled life with her snnshine and green. And new tones of gladness, is ever l^eguiling Thy heart from its soitow% dejection and spleen ( Behold the broad ])eanty of levels and nionntains, Steej^ed in the glory shed down from the sky : Hark ! the sweet murmnrs of earth's Hashing fonntains, The silver-voiced birds and the breeze Hitting by. '••4 now CANST Tllor BE WKETt'IIED ^ All Speak of joy unbounded and lasting ; Taste of the universe' pleasure, 'tis thine; Why at Clod's banquet of bliss art thou fasting; 'Tis thine own loathly spirit that maketh thee pine. Up! l)e thou cheerful, 'tis Nature that bids thee — Nature that utters a mandate divine ; List to her solace, of anguish she'll rid thee. And happiness' tendrils around thee shall twine. Oh, 'tis the heart too often that seeketh To fashion its woes from the mist of its dreams. And make of the breast a dim dungeon that reeketh. When the world is most bright in l)lissfulness' beams. THE COMING STOKM. 95 THE COMING STORM. Tlie trend of the sea on the e(li2;e of the shore, A pale, broken Hash and a far-eehoed i-oar. And the tliick. inky masses i>,'athei'ini>' oVi- — The threat of the storm. A i2:h)o]n, not of night, pervading the air, The wind's litfnl bhists, and motionless tliei-e In the height of the heaven the eagle at rest. Daring the beat of the storm on his crest, Mist-mantled his form. Remote, reefed sails on the dark, ])nrple main, Drowned in the grey, misty march of the rain — The storm host's sweep. Whose fast-falling feet now dimly emerge From the far-away line of the water's verge. Beating flat down the white caps of the surge And hiding the deep. OG DECORATION DAY. DECORATION DAY. stars and stripes, earth's fairest l)aiiner, wave To-day more proudly still thy graceful folds AhoA^e each green and decorated grave, That in its depths a moldering hero holds. To each low mound let grateful spirits bring- Bright floral gifts as to a sacred shrine ; With lavish hands symbolic blossoms fling. Fair, fresh and sweet their fragrant memoi-y's sign. When treason drew against the nation's life A venomed blade, at menaced freedom's cry These fearless sprang amid the deadly strife. With patriot zeal to battle and to die. DECORATION DAY. t)T They saved tlie land, tliey set the hondaged free ; This mighty realm no more shall traitors sevei' ; Here shall the throne of lustrous freedom be, Revered and firm, forever and forever. All honors pay to those who shimhei' here, Scant yet were all to meet their glorious meed ; Their fame shall thrive to fond remend)i'ance deal". Till hearts shall cease for truth and right to bleed. 98 SPRING. SPRING. The winter's spell dissolving, Earth's icy fetters break ; Once more the waters glisten On rill and river and lake. Once more the wild flowers venture To swing their fragile bells Beneath the naked branches Where budding life now swells. Once more the emerald carpet Is spread on every field, And in the visible verdure Creative life's revealed. The winds more mildly blowing Replace hoar winter's breath. And warmer sunshine falling Dispels earth's sleep of death. WOIISE THAN POVERTY. *»9 WORSE THAN POVERTY. Oh. cold are the winds of Wintei' When Poverty's doak is torn. And fuel and food are lacking- To the body old and worn ; When each furious gust Blows the snow like dust Through the crannies of hovel and liut, And the keen-stinging air With famine doth pair, And misery and care Like beggarly phantoms sti'ut. !<)•> WOESE THAN POVEKTV. But ril tell thee a worse, A more terrible curse Than to starve and to freeze and to ache 'Tis when there's an end In the world of a friend To do and to dare for thy sake ; Then well may thy breast Be pierced and oppressed, And thy spirit be palsied and quake. PTJ^^ 5TijV7v?i??il LIBRARY OF CONGRESS lllllllllllllillllJilliliillL^ 016 256 191 1 $ * v^T5^