Book_£ASXlk_ COPyRIGlIT DEPOSIT. HELDERBERG HARMONIES THE TORY SPY'S CAVE J'rontisl^icrc Helderberg Harmonies BY MAGDALENE MERRITT Author of "Songs of the Helderberg," etc. Edited by M. G. KAINS Associate Editor of American Agriculturist Voorheesville, N. Y. M. MERRITT 1909 Copyright, 1909, by MAGDALENE MERRITT SCHLUETEK PRINTING COMfA NEW YORK cu:^ 5 3 4 1*0 To Lovers of the Helderberg PREFACE OHE real feeling of all who with each new morning have instinctively turned their eyes toward the Helderberg — ever the same, serene, smiling, friendly mountain — finds best expression in the words of a friend of mine, a noble woman, who said, "I want always to live within sight of the Helderberg." It is perhaps no more than natural that I, as a child of the valley, who played among the lights and shadows and fed upon the history and tradition of the mountain, should desire to share these feelings with a wider au- dience than my voice can reach. So I have selected such of my poems as I believe best breathe the spirit of the hill country, and here present them in permanent form. To Mr. Simon Winne, of Indian Ladder, I am in- debted for facts regarding "The Tory Spy," and so am able to present a picture of the entrance to the actual cave in which this man took refuge from the Revolu- tionary soldiers. From my own family history I have drawn the character of The Sheriff, who was Christo- pher Batterman, my father's brother-in-law. In some minor details the story differs from accounts given in histories and books of reference; but whether these are due to tradition or to actual errors, I have been unable to determine. (See Patroon, Anti-Rentism, Van Rens- selaer in encyclopedias.) Through the kind courtesy of the Springfield Repub- lican, The American Agriculturist, Christian Work and Evangelist, and other newspapers and periodicals, I am permitted to reprint some of the shorter poems which have appeared in their columns. From my former vol- ume, "Songs of the Helderberg," long since out of print, I have reprinted "Nature's Voices," "The Hound," and "The Butterfly." Thanks to Mr. Clayton Le Gallez, the landscape photographer of Albany, N. Y., I am permitted to pre- sent the half-tone views of some of the most interesting parts of the mountain. M. M. VOORHEESVILLE, N. Y. December i, 1909. CONTENTS PAGE Fair Helderberg 13 Child's Prayer 14 The Hound 15 Morning in Summer 16 Listening Still 17 Helderberg Scenery 18 To A Song Sparrow 22 The Husking Bee 24 I Lift My Heart to Thee 25 Through Stormy Days 26 Nature's Voices 2^ The Sawbuck 28 The Tory Spy 29 A Wise Plan 36 An Old-fashioned Garden 37 Little One 38 Echo 39 In the Hollow of His Hand 40 Not I 41 Memories 42 For Thy Care 43 Springtime 44 My Riches 47 Why? 48 The Sheriff 49 PAGE TheRedbird 59 Friendship 60 The Butterfly 61 When I Awake 62 Solitude 63 The Bird 64 The Path 65 To A Goldfinch in February 66 The Woman Who Wears a Smile 69 The Assessor 70 When? 72 My Neighbors 73 The Oriole 'jy The Forehead of the Hill 79 The Woods 80 Cheerful Lamps . 87 A Fitting Name 89 Signs of Rain 90 A Song of Gladness 91 Old Friends Grow Dear 92 Larkspur 93 Daily Bread 94 My Garden's Guest 95 Wealth 96 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE The Tory Spy's Cave Frontispiece Helderberg Mountains 16- Bear Path Near Rainbow Falls . . 24- The Battlements and Indian Ladder Road 32 ^ The Summit of Indian Ladder Road 40 - Rainbow Falls in Winter 56 - Bear Path on the Face of the Cliff 64 "^ The Neighbors' Houses 72 "-" FAIR HELDERBERG /^ MOUNTAIN fair, blue line against the sky! ^^^ Thy wooded steeps, thy cool secluded trails, Thy dells, thy caves, and laughing waterfalls. All rainbow-haloed in the mellow light — How fondly turn thy loyal sons to thee With pure delight to greet thy sylvan joys! How tranquil are thy breathing solitudes Among the chaos of thy constant rocks. Dropped from the beetling battlements above. Or nature-hewn by ever-toiling force! From age to age these ancient stones proclaim In fossil forms through ages speaking yet A life that was, enduring through thee still. The sea, fair hill, that hid thee from the sight With troubled waves, but deathless witness left ! Ah, time hath healed and hid thy early wounds. And docile peace broods gently on thee now. No more, no more a direful flood may wreck Thy sunny wooded slopes, thy mighty cliffs! For thee, O mountain, gentler hands may twine A fairer garland for thy noble brow, A crowning sky of crimson and of gold. 13 In calm, in storm, or 'neath the galaxy. No purple pomp nor pageantry of man. Nor trumpet voice proclaims thy majesty! More grand the hallowed silence of thy crest Than aught that human splendor e'er essayed! Though floods may rend, and summer's heat may sear, Though autumn gay transmute thy green to gold. Though winter wrap thee in his arctic robe, In memory thou'rt clad in ever-verdant spring. And so, All hail. Fair Helderberg, All hail! Thou livest in the hearts of all thy sons, Unchanged by time, by tide, by tempest rude, Embosomed deep in fondest memory And held in everlasting joy and love. CHILD'S PRAYER 1^ ow I lay me down to sleep, '^^ I know Thou, Lord, Thy watch wilt keep All through the dark and dreary night, And when shall break the morning light I pray Thee, Lord, that I may wake To serve Thee still for Thy dear sake. 14 THE HOUND T^ark! hear the sound of the baying hound! ^ ' Along the round of the mountain ; The echo calls, then it falls and falls Like the water of a fountain. Oh, mournfully sad and strange and deep The voice of the hound along the steep. The bare cliffs rise till they touch the skies With the thin white mists upon them ; And cedar-trees in the morning breeze Wave spectral-like adown them, Oh, hear it from out the woods again, The cry that echoes from hill to plain. The white clouds float like a phantom boat Till farther and farther going; Toward the sky they airily fly In the west wind gently blowing. And clearer the hound's deep bay rolls down While from crag to crag the echoes bound. 15 MORNING IN SUMMER >OloFT shines the light on the gray dewy meadows, •^^^^ Sweet blows the breeze at the breaking of morn, Faintly away fly the last of night's shadows, Earth welcomes gladly a day newly born. Slowly the rays of the sunlight are streaming. Sparkling like jewels the dew on the flowers, Far on the mountain its glory is beaming, Matchless in beauty with morn's golden hours. Mists from the valley arise like a billow. Airy white ghosts mid the tops of the trees, Hiding the brook and the shadowy willow. Wafting away on the breath of the breeze. Rapturous notes floating in from the woodland. Red bird and robin and chattering wren, Joyfully back from the fair sunny Southland, Thrilling the woods with their voices again. There on the hilltop, the field, in the bramble, Myriad numbers of free, joyful things. Care-free and happily each one may ramble. Insect that creepeth, and wild bird that sings. 16 Gaily the creatures are risen and moving, Bee on the blossom and hare in the wood, Feeble their labor but cheerfully proving. Life is a seed-time and harvest of good. Never can artist paint fair morning's shining, Never can singer voice more than a part. All of their best can but leave the heart pining, Yearning and striving to reach nature's heart. Fair is the earth as the blessed Eternal, Faint are its far gleams revealed in the light, Joyous the heavenly, truly supernal Touches the world in the radiance bright. LISTENING STILL Though oft I wander in the woods By day and after dark, I never yet have caught the sound Of any dogwood's bark. —M. G. K. 17 HELDERBERG SCENERY TrtHAT! Nebo's lonely heights by Moses scaled ^^ Reveal a prospect of the promised land More exquisite than this! Nay! All God's earth Is ripe with promise — full fruition ! Here On Helderberg's deep-seamed and thoughtful brow, Which aeons long has faced the elements, We stand in breathless transport at the view. Unveiled through misty distance, dark and blue, The Adirondacks rear their sturdy heights, Yet higher still, and grander to the eye Vermont's Green Mountains pierce the fleecy clouds And scratch the yielding azure with their spikes, While far against the pale horizon's rim The Berkshire Hills erect their purple peaks, By soft remoteness mellowed, faint but sure In calm eternal and immovable. Far borne upon the mountain's furrowed front The crystal springs o'erflow in trickling rills That rush together confluent, at last To dash among the rocks in some cascade 18 Or leap the sounding waterfall and straight Remount to heaven in a cloud of spray — Of diamond-flashing, rainbow-tinted cloud. How rush the raging torrents with a roar When spring has loosed the chain of winter's snow Upon the rugged crags and ragged cliffs ! What mighty voices speak the maddened plunge Among the rough and jagged rocks below ! Amid terrific thunders and the flash Of lightning, dropping back like countless thoughts Dispersed, and thus returning in the march Of their existence, joyfully they bless The lowly, heaving bosom of the earth. Through fertile valleys sure they thread their way To join the noble Hudson, peaceful stream, Like lovely child in quiet, healthy sleep Between the hostile, battled phalanxes Of foot-hills sundered by his flowing tide. Here meadows broad and rich with waving grain, There stately woods or luscious pasture-lands Between the crystal winding brooks appear. And orchards bending, serried row on row 19 Outspread their branches near the rural homes With promise of a harvest plenteous. The narrow highways fleeing from the mount Embroidered deep with lacy emerald Entice the mind to wander far with them — To what fair goal of mystery and joy? Where glistening point the church-spires heavenward The quiet villages play hide-and-seek Amid embowered, billowed greenery. When night drops down upon the sleepy day And all the dome is spangled thick with stars, See twinkling up in smiling mockery The bright electric planets, mimic suns And satellites, of towns and villages. With cheerfulness they glimmer through the night And homeward ever lead the wanderer. At morn the Hudson skyward sends his mist A cloudly billow hiding his fair course. By fog enwrapped, the spreading landscape seems A quiet sea, an archipelago Whose isles are tree-tops thrust above the rack. When soon the sun ascends the faint blue line 20 That marks where earth recedes and sky begins The cloud, dispersed as by a magic hand, Reveals the earth in lovely freshness decked — In calm, in grandeur, and in quietude. And heaven it greets with smiling matin face In silence eloquently praising God. Blessed vale where man may live in sweet content In ever youthful days, beside his hearth ! Here, close to God, behold each year glad life Renewed through earth's great pulsing parent heart. A guarding sentinel keeps watch unchanged Amid the storm and stress of waxing centuries. God speaks a message through the still, scarred rocks, The trickling streams, the breathing of the trees, The raging tempest and the listening calm That broods upon hale Helderberg for aye. Or down the valleys pours a boundless wealth, A flood of love and joy for all who heed. 21 TO A SONG SPARROW ■vOtwEET, sweet, sweeter, sweetest," you sing •^^^ When shy and fitfully the spring Comes lagging from the south to bring The pleasant days, While gaily through the hedge you wing With song of praise. So happily and light, dear bird, You trill your song, the clearest heard. While yet the sap has hardly stirred In brush or tree. Glad your return was not deferred You're telling me. Is it the warming sky of blue, Or shelter of the spreading yew When sudden winds their utmost do To bid spring stay, That "sweet, sweet," still, though chilled quite through. You pipe your lay ? 22 How rippling come the notes pell mell, So quick the bird makes haste to tell ! " 'Tis echo of a southern dell I voice in song And knowing you would love it well, Brought it along." Is "sweeter" small eggs in the nest, Cuddled beneath your mate's warm breast? Does wifey brood at your behest From morn till night, While just to sing is your whole quest In gay delight? "My mate and I, a happy twain. Make welcome every soft spring rain That falls when for a home again We make our quest. And then I sing a sweeter strain About the nest." 23 BEAR PATH NEAR RAINBOW FALLS Well, what is "sweetest"? I would hear A language you could speak more clear. I do not understand, I fear, A single word. And yet I love you well, you dear, You bonny bird ! "Why, I have told you all along" (Pipes back the bird in happy song) "How can you get the story wrong In stupid way? That 'sweetest' is a nestling throng, That's what I say." THE HUSKING BEE Some people think the husking bee An insect very funny. For all he does is just to buzz And steal his fill of honey. —M. G. K. 24 I LIFT MY HEART TO THEE /^ God, I lift my heart to Thee! Grant I may ever see Thy face. Grave doubts and fears come tempting me. Save me from all by Thy rich grace, And keep me close to Thee. One step I cannot see ahead. O bend Thee down to hear my cry, When earthly passions flaming red Would move to put Thee, Saviour, by, And bow with shame my head. Dear Lord, without Thy constant love, Without Thy ever watchful eye, I cannot all my moments prove, Or feel Thou hast not passed me by And shut from me Thy love. And yet, dear Lord, I'll do my part Each day through confidence in Thee, Assured if I but lift my heart Thy blessing freely waits for me And will not e'er depart. 25 THROUGH STORMY DAYS j^^HROUGH Stormy days when all is gray With wind and cloud and flying spray, When dashing on the window-pane We hear the patter of the rain Tattoo its pleasant rhythmic play, How sweet to know through all the day Life's truest joys can never wane Through stormy days! Through every cloud must pierce the ray. Transmute the somber clouds to gay, And nature sound a blithesome strain And man take up the glad refrain, For all that's good must ever stay Through stormy days. 26 NATURE'S VOICES ^OluNNY summer morning '^^"'^ Sweet and fair, Birds are singing gaily Matins on the air. Robins, wrens, and thrushes One full chorus raise Till the air is laden With their praise. Roses shed their perfume All around. Flinging dainty petals On the mellow ground; Roses red and yellow, Pink, and white, and blush Till the garden seemeth All aflush. Lightly gentle breezes Kiss the trees. Drowsy sounds the humming Of the busy bees, 27 All of sweets seem blended To the sense and sight On the clear cool morning Fair and bright. Cometh all this beauty From above, Kind and good and gracious Is our God of love; Nature's countless voices Ever speak His praise, Human heart, repeat it, All thy days. THE SAWBUCK The sawbuck's very docile, On it the wood is cut; I've never seen it rampant, Nor have I seen it butt. —M. G. K. 28 THE TORY SPY '*Tjt GAMBREL house, low, rambling, weather worn, •^— ^ The homestead where my ancestors were born, Stood in an orchard where a running brook Oft drew the angler with his fly and hook. The brook remains and murmurs as of yore, But gone the house within whose open door One autumn day I ran in childish glee On hearing grandsire call me to his knee. Beside the hearth where glows the back log's fire I see him in his fine old-time attire Sit straight and stately in his high-backed chair. His ruffled shirt-front, curled and powdered hair, His waistcoat small, knee-breeches prim and tight. And silver buckles flashing in the light. He looked a man who boasted some degree Of learning, riches and authority. I see the andirons in the flickering light, The copper kettles shining smooth and bright, The heavy timbers black with age and smoke. And mantle clock from which a cuckoo spoke, 29 The candlesticks, the pewter plates and mugs, The oaken floor o'erspread with home-made rugs, And where the sunbeam through the window flits With distaff there my grandame spinning sits. I feel once more the magic of that room, Its corners dark with mystery and gloom; I hear again the tale my grandsire told In thrilling tones of one both brave and bold, The while I sit upon his knee so prim And hear his words in childlike awe of him. I see these pictures still before my eye Just as I tell his story of the spy. Long years ago, when over all this scene Lay dreamy haze and mellow ripened air Of autumn days, dear nature's quiet breast Was calmly waiting for the winter's rest. The trees denuded of their leaves stood tall. And straight, and sentinel against the cliffs Without a stir of twig in silence deep. No longer hidden by its summer green. Asleep the mountain seemed; yet never life Spake strong to mortal sight nor more serene. A misty veil enwrapped the azure heights 30 Of Helderberg's majestic solemn face, Deep-seamed by mountain floods. The setting sun Long shadows cast upon the rugged hill And dropped the mists to valley and to plain. What creeps amid the deeper shadows lone, So stealthily, so silently alert? A human form, the feet in moccasins, Treads light the narrow path. The feathered head Turns oft to glance about, and every twig Is placed by careful hands as it had been. At dropping of a single shriveled leaf He crouches by a rock, a man in fear Aroused by every faint and harmless sound. He waits in dread suspense, then starts again To reach a refuge safe, for him secure. Up then with sudden tiger leap he springs To clutch a ledge and disappears from sight. When passed the entrance to the cave he throws The deerskin blanket and the feathered band Upon the rocky floor. In that faint light, Dim though it is, no Indian chief it shows. No hardy, fearless pioneer is he. But one of England's loyal Saxon sons! 31 Oh, wild the time of bloodshed and of strife, Revolting colonists, and parent hand Outstretched with war to conquer and subdue! And is this man, then, hiding in disguise A Tory spy? He is! This royal head, This form so straight and tall, and lithe of limb, A very god to look upon! His eye With courage flashing cool, the heritage Of victor ancestors, both strong and bold. The brooding brow, the beardless chiseled chin Set firm, the active hands and tawny hair. The quiet, watchful, daring worthy foe! No weakling thus would risk to act the spy ! With touch of sadness on his face he stands Alone upon the mountain-side with God, To watch the shadows lengthen into night. This spot is sacred, too, for here there lived A tribe of Iroquois, the Mohawks called. With Tories oft they smoked the calumet And fought as loyal brothers side by side. This night of which I speak, when silently The spy attained the rocky hiding-place. It chanced at eve that I, when trudging home, Came suddenly upon a camp above 32 The hanging cHffs that overlook the vale. But twelve my years, and mortal fear of foes Quick caused my heart to faint, so late alone. That morn no one was there. In dread I hid And watched the group so near their words I heard. But little understood I Mohawk speech; Yet still I learned enough to know they talked Of someone near who waited for their meal. Above the fire a steaming kettle swung From which a squaw dipped tender bits of game And filled a basket. This she gave a chief, Who slipped away a shadow 'mid the trees, While breathlessly I watched the course he took. And down a ladder disappear from view. As dusk drew down the somber shades of night I crept away unseen and fled like deer Toward my home and told what I had seen. My father heard my story with concern, 'We drove the Tories out three weeks ago. What makes the Mohawks now return?" he said. "They know each spot in all this wilderness. And can it be a spy returned with them To stay in hiding now in some dark cave Among the cliffs? I must report the thing." 33 At dawn the Colonel wakened from his rest To learn the startling news : "A spy concealed In Helderberg!" he cried. "Arouse the camp, And send at once a party for the search!" The bugle sounded, soldiers came in haste The meaning of this new alarm to learn. With anger and amaze they heard the news And burned each one when starting on the quest In vengeance on a vanquished foe who dared Return within their bounds to spy on them. No trained and well-appointed soldiers they But brave and earnest men each one who fought As for himself. Well might a foeman quail To meet in battle patriots like them. For days they searched and watches left at night To guard each path. What unknown dangers faced, The beasts untamed that roamed the mountain wild, Deceitful redmen camping high above. What dark and gloomy cave but might conceal The one they sought, unseen yet seeing them. In vain they search ! From out a hidden cave, The entrance like to many others more Of crevices among the placid rocks, 34 The spy looked down and grimly watched secure Their every act as fearlessly they moved; Nor knew their danger. Dearly would he sell His life if found, this strange and silent foe! A month elapsed. They found his hiding-place, But his escape in safety had been made. The meager remnants of the food he left Bespoke the tortures grim he had endured Through fearsome days the redman dared not come. Had he e'er dreamed of banquets in his home To wake and find himself alone, alone? What dreadful fear and anguished loneliness Heart-breaking groans for human friends and kin! No record left ! But if the rocks could tell That silent cave would ring the echoes back Of speechless thoughts and hopes and sighs and prayers. Forgot, O Spy, thy name and ancestry! But Helderberg can ne'er forget. His rocks And waterfalls are tuneful with thy praise. No foe is he who lives in noble deeds The promise of his steadfast loyalty, Nor stops to offer e'en his life devote 35 If need be for the cause he loves and serves. Forever do the true, the good, the great Live through their deeds Hke blazing beacon fire! Thy act, O Spy, shines out from Helderberg To turn our gaze forever to its heights. A WISE PLAN / 1 \HEN the golden sun is shining ^ Brightly all the day It is easy to be happy If at work or play; But when days are dark and cloudy. In the stormy weather, Then how nice if storm and sunshine Could but come together. I have planned a little something Seems to me just right. It is when the days are dreary I will be so bright People will be saying gaily When we come together: "What a lovely bit of sunshine In this stormy weather." 36 AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN* T N an old-fashioned garden glad Time stays his flight •■^ From the blushes of morn to the tear-drops of night ; For the odorous breath of the Lily and Rose Have a fragrance far sweeter than some would sup- pose, And remembrance is tinted with youthful delight When the halos of childhood return with the sight Of Forget-me-not loyal and Sweet William bright; And the zephyrs old scenes, ever-changing, disclose In an old-fashioned garden. When the Ruby-throat darts in his jewels bedight From Campanula's bells to lank Larkspur's blue height Every vision is realized ; loved long-agoes Instant fuse with the present and joy overflows At the beauty resplendent these flashes unite In an old-fashioned garden. -M. G. K. * Written after visiting the poet's garden in June, 1908. y? y LITTLE ONE | ou are here within my heart to stay, i Little One, Little One. ! I will never let you go away, Little One, Little One. Oh, I would not if I could. For I love you as I should, You are growing dearer every day. Little One, Little One. Many years I longed to have you here, Little One, Little One. For I knew you would be sweetly dear. Little One, Little One. Oh, the joyfulness I know, Just to keep you warmly so. Where no harm can come to you, nor fear. Little One, Little One. You are happy in the peaceful rest. Little One, Little One. Safely and beloved in my breast, Little One, Little One. 38 Oh, the best that I can do, 1 Is not good enough for you, i Fair and lovely spirit of the blest, { Little One, Little One. ! ECHO 'pTLOATS a murmur faint and airy, ^-^ Hark! 'tis echo calling Like the whisper of a fairy On the mountain falling. Echo, maid, where is thy dwelling? It is where thy note is welling Soft and tremulously knelling Light as summer air? Art thou true an aerie spirit ? Thy elusive voice — I hear it — Yet I ne'er can get a-near it — Echo, art thou there ? 39 IN THE HOLLOW OF HIS HAND *X* N the hollow of His hand, in the hollow of His *~^ hand, Oh, the Lord will ever keep us till we reach the better land, Every day each new-found treasure but reveals His constant care. All the bounties of His blessings that surround us everywhere. Can we fail to love and praise Him, that in safety we may stand Assured of His enfolding love, in the hollow of His hand? In the hollow of His hand, oh, the peace and happiness When amid life's stormy billows all its care and eager stress. Knowing that whate'er befalls us, nothing yet can do us harm, When above, and all around us, reaches the Almighty arm. Raising in our hearts an anthem that is solemn, sweet and grand, Praising Him for His protection, in the hollow of His hand. 40 In the hollow of His hand, in the little things or great, He will yet reveal His meaning, if we joyfully but wait. For He loves us as a father, and He constant will de- fend. So what cause have we to murmur at whatever He may send, For the blessings that He gives us are but foretastes of that land Where some day He will transport us, in the hollow of His hand. NOT I In spring I'm afraid to venture about — Indeed, I am often dismayed — For every big bud is ready to shoot, And I'm such a coward I surely would scoot Should ever a flower its pistil present In fun or in earnest. I'd not be content To watch the young grass as it brandished its blade. Nor quietly stand when the bull-rush is out. Not I. —M. G. K. 41 MEMORIES *Y^ EAR friend, you said that all is good ■^^ That day we spent together. The time was fragrant month of June And sunny was the weather. We talked of people, places, things, Of life, and love, and duty. And all the choicest thoughts of men And of this fair world's beauty. Your way lies 'mid the marts of life. Where hearts of men oft harden, Mine in a quiet, peaceful spot, An old-time country garden. But unto each that perfect day Came as a bit of leaven; You minded me of bustling life. To you my home seemed heaven. Sweet breathing-places in our lives. Dear memories to treasure. To bind them fondly on our hearts Those hours of purest pleasure. 42 Our lives may flow, the years may pass And other friends surround us, But never from that time can leave The magic spell that bound us. FOR THY CARE /^ H, Lord, we thank Thee for Thy tender keeping ^^ O'er all our lives Thy loving watchful eye. With ne'er a fear in waking or in sleeping Sweet, calm and peaceful, for Thou e'er art nigh. We lift our hearts in grateful adoration And humbly, prayerfully, invoke Thy love; We bow before Thee, wonderful Creator, Whose daily mercies evermore we prove. Oh Father, grant that every day our living May show we daily live to serve but Thee; A song of praise or word of love be giving To teach some waiting child to come to Thee. 43 SPRINGTIME IT is Springtime, come the bluebird and the robin on the wing And their mating notes are calHng everywhere, And the glad new life is starting fresh and bright on everything With the pure and thrilling rapture of the air. Scent the fragrance of the furrow as the farmer turns the sod, Daily following the plow with tireless feet; While his horses tread the stubble piling mellow clod on clod Rises up that welcome scent enticing sweet. With the balmy air about him and the green upon the trees And the sky above a calm and peerless blue, From afar a promise greets him on the breath of every breeze As a blessing on his labor good and true. Harvest time and barns o'erflowing, eventide of peace- ful rest. These his cheerful, honest toiling to repay; 44 While the mystery of growing from the fields enlivened ] breast \ Nature's new and varied wonders day by day. ; Golden sunbeams shining brightly, flood the valley, hill and plain, Lighting every quiet glade with glimmer fair, All creation is rejoicing in a gay exultant strain For the rousing throb of life is in the air. From the earth it comes upspringing, with a joyous- ness for all Sending forth anew with each succeeding spring; From her warm and mystic bosom comes her soft in- sistent call Blessing new with life and love each fertile thing. Oh, the magic of the leaflets swelling fast on bush and I tree, ] Oh, the beauty of the perfect bud and flower, Shedding fragrance on the breezes, luscious nectar for I the bee, ; Freely lavishing their sweetness every hour. ; 45 1 Every mother bird is brooding gently, warm upon her nest; Like a flame her lover flashes up above, While each thrilling note of gladness that o'erflows his gallant breast Tells the tender story full of life and love. On the soft and grassy meadows frisk the lambs in happy play While the ewes re-echo oft their loving cry, And the bobolink is singing as he upwards mounts away, Dropping rich and limpid laughter from the sky. On the water, gleaming shadows from the leaning trees above, Shade the quiet pools where flashing fishes play. And from out the leafy distance comes the note of turtle dove In a tender mellow calling day by day. Tuned to harmony, and peerless, the beguiling charm of spring Is a paradise of beauty to the sight, Every dulcet sound and blossom, each alert and living thing Fill the hymeneal cup of Spring's delight. 46 MY RICHES /^ H^ give me the woods for my pillow, ^^ The blue sky overhead, While I watch the tree-tops billow From my soft and mossy bed. Oh, give me the verdurous thickets Where sweet wild berries hang, While I hark to strident crickets As they sound their rasping twang. Oh, give me the forest-land flowers, The calm of dingle, dell, While I rest 'neath oaks' tall towers Where the squirrels love to dwell. These, these are my richest possessions, More dear than wealth of Rome, They are gifts whose rich accessions Make the dear old earth a home. And there where the water is falling With tinkle clear and bright, May I hear dear voices calling — Happy laughter gay and light. 47 Oh, gladly I'll share all my pleasures If friends will come and see, All these gifts, yea, all my treasures Yet of priceless worth to me. So freely and lavishly given The Father's blessings fall, Free as dew that drops from heaven Come His endless gifts to all. WHY? Whip-poor-Will ? Why should I do it? If I flog I'll surely rue it. Tell me not that Will is vicious Through his poverty pernicious. Whipping is against my preaching — And I practise all my teaching ! Chastisement is out of season When it lacks a valid reason. Tell me, therefore, or be still, Why should I whip, whip, poor Will? —M. G. K. 48 THE SHERIFF Qo, child, 'twas when I was a boy In troublous eighteen-forty-one. Your father's Uncle Christopher Was sheriff in the Helderberg All through the anti-rent revolt. He was — What was the cause of strife? Oh, that is history. I think 'Twas nigh three hundred years ago When Kilian Van Rensselaer Bought all the land for miles around To found a farmers' settlement. Perhaps to feed his vanity. Or maybe to perpetuate His name, he called the great estate His Rensselaerwick. Now the land You'll find by looking on the map, Makes three great counties, Rensselaer, Columbia, and Albany. With almost curbless privilege Each new Patroon, as he was called, Assumed the right to rule and tax, 49 For none there was to hinder him. At last, in eighteen-thirty-nine, When Stephen, last of the Patroons, Was laid away, the heirs essayed To sue the tenants for back rent; But straight the farmers stanch opposed, And, hence, revolt. Well, Christopher, | As I began, was known to be ,| Intrepid, never would he halt, | Or hesitate when duty bade; \ So when the heirs their papers filed To dispossess Hans StU3^vesant, i Jan Bensdorp, Schuyler Ghent, Van Wyck, i (I don't recall his Christian name), i And Hendrick Voorhees for arrears, ; Our Uncle Christopher rode forth j Arrayed in legal dignity I To serve the notices himself, '\ For well he knew the attitude Maintained against the heirs-at-law J And scarce he'd trust another hand i To do important work for him. so With little parley every man Destroyed the papers in his sight, And threw the fragments for the breeze To blow where'er it would. Van Wyck, I should have said, was burning brush When Uncle Batterman arrived. He thrust the paper in the fire And lit his pipe! Our uncle's ire Arose to boiling-point. Said he: *'Van Wyck, were I not sheriff sworn No man in Helderberg would dare Insult me as he has to-day. My oath is sacred, but for once I'll lay aside my sheriff's vow And meet you as a man. Your size. Your age and strength may equal mine But I will teach you manners, sir, You will not soon forget, I'll — " "Stop!" Commanded calm Van Wyck, "stop! stop! You must not think that we intend The least affront to you. Sit down 51 And hear me through. I'll not be long. Now, Batterman," Van Wyck began When Uncle Christopher had sat, "The farmers are agreed to pay No further tax and no arrears Upon the basis which, you know As well as I, has made us poor. For more than sixty years Patroons Have had no right to exercise Or hold control as formerly; But still they've forced us to comply, Yes, forced us into servitude, To own yet not to own our land, To labor without pay from them. To pay excessive fees for sales. Excessive rent, excessive tax. We'll stand no more. We have resolved To rise and exercise our rights. We will not recognize the law Which claims that might is right; But we will prove that right is might. So, Batterman, mark well my words: Toward you as man we have no grudge, But if, as sheriff, you attempt To force illegal law, beware!" 52 ''Beware? Of whom shall I beware?" Our uncle cried as up he leaped, "Of you, Van Wyck, or Bensdorp, Ghent, Of Stuyvesant, or Voorhees? No! Not one, nor all of you combined Can swerve me. When I come again, As come I will unless you pay Before the designated time, I'll come with force to move you all. So be prepared to sally forth With goods and chattels, otherwise ril go the limit of the law To move you out. You know me well!" And vaulting on his horse he turned And galloped home. His speech was heard By Ghent and Bensdorp who had joined Van Wyck. Indignant these three stood And glared their ire at horse and man As long as they remained in sight. Then spoke Jan Bensdorp: *T declare I will not pay; nor will I move. My home shall be my fort. I'll fight Whoever tries to put me out." 53 "The heirs are wrong," said Schuyler Ghent. ''We all know that. They know it, too, But think we'll cringe as aye before. No more shall I. The wheat I raise Shall no more go for rent while I Subsist on rye. My boys and girls No more shall double yarn at night, Long after they should be in bed, For blankets to be sold for rent. Nor shall my wife raise hens and ducks, Nor slave like me from dawn till dark With but a single aim, to fill A landlord's hungry money-chest. I'll fight the sheriff ere I'll leave." "There'll sure be need of violence," Declared Van Wyck. "The countryside Is all aroused. Bold Batterman Will surely come with officers; But mark my words, he'll not evict A single man. We've organized (You know of this he's not aware) To stand upon our rights, and soon Shall Helderberg shake off the yoke That spite of plenty keeps us poor." 54 With further parley off they went To tell the other farmers all That had occurred, and with them plan How best to meet the sheriff's men Should Batterman essay to come To force them from their little farms. The day arrives, and Batterman Sets out with ten or twelve picked men To oust the five whose names I've told And take possession for the heirs. The bracing air, the noble horse, The road, the quest, all aim to please Our Uncle Christopher, and so, A horseman true, he spurs his steed And canters at good pace ahead, Until he reaches Bensdorp's farm. The nearest of the five. His men All join him at the farm and ride Like cavalry upon parade. Arriving at the barn they halt And Uncle calls. Jan Bensdorp comes And saunters slowly toward the group, Not in the least disturbed. 55 RAINBOW FALLS IN WINTER Says he, "Good-morning, Sheriff Batterman, What brings you out with all your friends So early in the day?" "You know. I've come to get your rent arrears Or, if you do not choose to pay, To seize your stock and property And move you out perforce. Now, sir, Which shall it be?" "I will not pay," Rude Bensdorp roars. "I owe no rent. Nor can you prove I do. No, sir! I've lived upon this little farm Which father cleared, and worked, and stocked, And now, you know the farm is mine. I will not pay," he roars again. The sheriff angered at the shout. Dismounts in haste and leaves his horse Untied. He walks toward the house And calls his men to follow him. But scarce he goes a dozen steps When he is startled by a shout, 56 And looking forward to the right He sees advancing from the wood Threescore of painted savages, Or so they seem, who, yelHng, rush With tomahawks, and bows, and spears Across the intervening field. The men and horses take affright And off they dash with speedy hoofs, Among them, frightened Hke the rest, The sheriff's roadster runs at large. In vain our uncle whistles shrill. In vain he seeks a place to hide. Jan Bensdorp runs into the house And bangs the door in Uncle's face. Then Uncle leaps into the well To hide — the only place he finds — But all too late; the redmen see And quick they gather at the curb And pull him to the top again. Oh, what an act that then ensued! A drama climax, no mistake. When Uncle stood among the pack And thundered imprecations fierce 57 Because he found himself entrapped! By redmen? No! By farmers all, But all disguised. In shorter time Than I can tell they hurry him Across the yard behind the barn. Some strip him bare of all his clothes. Some roll a barrel full of tar. And others bring a feather tick Which has been airing in the yard, And still another set appear With bulging bags of turkey plumes. And then with tar they plaster him And deck him out with coat of down. Upon his shoulders, arms and head They stick the plumes as ornaments Then turn him loose to wander home. But why portray what more occurred? Our Uncle Batterman fared well For he escaped a harder fate. 'Twas but a single incident In eight years' struggle for the right. When tyrants tried to force their sway 58 But failed because the right must rule. For more than sixty peaceful years The Helderberg has now been free, And men may buy, and sell, and rent Upon a basis equable. THE REDBIRD ^^HE woods and the morn give thee greeting, ^^ Brilliant bird with the tender lay; My glimpse of thy beauty was fleeting, But I give thee a welcome to-day. Unasked thou hast come and unbidden In the lofty tree-tops to sing, Where safe from the curious hidden Is the sheen of thy scarlet wing. No recompense thine but the gladness Of a life that is unknown to care; Oh, bird, I rejoice that no sadness Mars thy notes that are thrilling the air. Some day when thy gay wing hath taken The flight that the South bids thee start. Thy song will my memory waken — A dream of thy joy in my heart. 59 FRIENDSHIP I HAVE thy friendship! It is what I crave, For it demands the best there is of me. With thy approval all things fair I see. I know that thou art learned, quiet, grave; And when of all thy store thou freely gave To me, then I in spirit bent the knee, And prayed with deep desire that I might be Forever on the heights where fair thoughts wave. I have thy friendship ! All I hold most dear Exultant greets this priceless gift of thine. This gift will aye encourage me to do My work and triumph over doubt and fear. For since I know thy friendship speaks to mine My every fondest hope and dream comes true. 60 THE BUTTERFLY S BUTTERFLY while flying low Addressed a rose as white as snow, And 'mid the stamens lemon yellow He murmured soft, the saucy fellow: "I love, I love, I love you. Rose, The sweetest flower of all that grows." He fluttered next, and not in vain To woo a lily moist with rain. He sipped from her corolla long And sang another dainty song. "Oh, fairer flowers cannot grow Than golden lilies, ah, I know." The honeysuckle's trumpet cup Then held this fickle fellow up. He drank his fill of nectar sweet. But paused a moment to repeat: "The honeysuckle is more dear Than any garden flower here." 61 Then off he flew with languid grace To kiss a pansy's gentle face. He soft caressed her leaves of gold, Then breathed again the story old And while the south wind softly blew, The happy pansy calmly grew. From flower to flower all day he went And flattery on each he spent. WHEN I AWAKE Psalm xv-ii, IS *JT\ ^EN ^ awake ! As dawn's clear tide ^^ Aye melts the gloom like snowy flake Dropped silent on the ocean wide, When I awake; So everlasting Truth shall break This mortal dream that seems to hide The heavenly day. I'll then forsake Whate'er the vision false descried. Forget its terror and its ache ; For then I shall be satisfied — When I awake. —M. G. K. 62 SOLITUDE ^^T HE bittern cries when night comes on, ^^ I hear its mournful voice once more Rise through the dusk and then 'tis gone, The plaintive wail across the moor. It loves the wild and solitude Of lonely marsh and tangled brake, The voiceless stillness of the wood. And shiny shores of forest lake. And to my heart the bittern's cries A message bring but faint yet far. In deeps where haunted silence lies Is where my own possessions are. They, they bring peace, the quiet ways That nature's God makes great and good, And nature's tangled, knotted maze, Is through them fully understood. 63 THE BIRD y~l*WAY have I gone in the clear Hght of morning, ^—^ In the fair sunny South my swift wings I shall fold, I have left the sere meadows all brown with dead clover, To seek for a far brighter spot than the wold. I sought you and found you when spring wafted fra- grance From meadows and forests and fair northern flow- ers; And through the long summer my love found its treasure In daintiest gardens and beautiful bowers. The flowers are gone, but I treasure their beauty, They gave me my dearest, my chief est delight; But now the cold winds fill their places with sighing, My spirit with sadness was filled by the sight. So far I have come over vale and o'er mountain. From cold chilling blasts have I hastened to flee, Once more in a garden of languorous beauty I joy in the sweets that are open to me. 64 I loved you the more that your bright days were fleet- ing. You were part of my Hfe yet I bid you adieu. But still 'mid these scenes of new pleasure I cherish More fondly each hour my remembrance of you. THE PATH / I y hat's beyond the sudden turn? Down the path gay Jennie trips: Guide or staff her light feet spurn, Laughing words upon her lips. Lacy ferns and stately trees, Fallen rocks and waterfall These are what blithe Jennie sees, These and nature — lovely all. Narrow, winding, woodland way Maid with heart as light as air, Lucky mountain hides to-day One sweet treasure in its snare. 65 TO A GOLDFINCH IN FEBRUARY /^^ OLD skies and snow-clad fields around, ^^ And biting winds with warning sound Sweep o'er thee, Goldfinch, on the ground Here at my door. Few are the crumbs, I fear, thou'st found; Come, search for more. I knew thee best through summer days, When caroling thy limpid lays, A bird of joy and witching ways To please the eye; But now I view thee with amaze, And needs must sigh. Thou tiny thing so weak to bear The burden of this wintry air Thou sure wast made for days more fair. So seems to me, Since thou wast ever debonair And bright with glee. But now the one beseeching note That trembles from thy tender throat Seems calling from that time remote 66 A friend to-day, Yet only may its echo float On thy lone way. Thy gay companions long have fled Where skies of heavenly blue are spread, And fragrance of sweet flowers is shed Upon the wind. What strange desire possessed thy head To stay behind? Didst thou so love this land of ours — None sweeter are than northern flowers !- That loath to leave familiar bowers Thou heededst not The warning of the waning hours And wert forgot? Didst thou exchange thy black and gold For this gray suit to match the cold — For thy black cap that made thee bold Thou wearest red — And doth this tiny flame enfold To warm thy head? 67 Thy soft gray down in pity sweet Flutters to shield thy fragile feet; For green boughs made, lo, here they meet But cold and snow. When comes the cutting hail and sleet Where wilt thou go? Since thou hast braved so long this chill, I know thou hast undaunted will To greet the Power that helps thee still Bravely to live. What destiny dost thou fulfil, What lesson give? Here at my door this wintry day Thou'st found to help thee on thy way, And cheerfully henceforth I'll lay Crumbs for thy food. What treasures, when those thrown away Have done thee good! Small bird, encircled by His care That keeps thee safely everywhere. May I achieve through hope and prayer That light divine. And bravely learn to do and dare In faith like thine. 68 THE WOMAN WHO WEARS A SMILE /J^IVE me the woman who never frowns, ^^ Whose face is an open book, Who smiles right at me frank and fair With a sort of chummy look, Whose happy eyes are bright and clear, With never a trace of guile, Oh, the woman I hold so good and dear Is the woman who wears a smile. I know a woman who ever smiles; Her heart is a mint of gold. It matters not what her name may be Or whether she's young or old. 'Tis enough to know she will never fail If a cause be true and just. Such the matchless grace of the constant heart In whom I have put my trust. The world is better, the day more fair, Less thorns are in our path When we meet the woman who wears a smile, When we hear her happy laugh. God bless the woman who wears a smile, God bless her every day. And bless the people whose tired lives She brightens along the way. THE ASSESSOR I /^N a tall cattail clung a lithe little elf — ] ^^ He was pulling some wool for his hose i And was merrily humming: "The winter is coming; i I must guard against freezing my toes. I My wife she will spin, she will knit stockings, too. , She will knit me a nice tight cap i With a good big flap, ] And I'll care not a rap When the frost king comes with a snap." I But the cattail said: "Go along with you, | And pillage the milkweed's down. I Have you no feeling I My wool to be stealing '} To leave me a poor bald crown? ] For the milkweed can cover her head with her cap, j But how all the people would stare, | At my poll all bare J To the wintry air, \ Little elf, do you call that fair?" j With pockets so full they were bulging out I The merry elf hopped to the ground. 1 70 ' With a cute little wiggle, He said with a giggle: "How like you that grumble does sound!" For you know you don't need any wool at all As the days of winter are told. With your roots in the mold, Like a lamb in the fold You are safe from the snow and cold. "But for me and my kind, oh, many the days When 'tis cold for frolic and fun. While you are wrapped deep In your long winter sleep We are busy from sun to sun. I am sure you are growing too proud, cattail, And you have no reason at all, With your leaves thin and tall, Where the jolly frogs call. And your little brown bob in the fall. "It was I who pointed your beauty to folks. Where you grow 'mid the wiry sedge You give quite an air To the landscape fair As you stand at the water's edge." 71 The little elf paused and winked his eye; Then he said, "Now, my friend, you must surely see That each autumn to me You must yield joyfully When I come here to claim my fee." He turned with a mischievous grin on his face. In a twinkling he sped away And the cattail said With a shake of its head, "What a fearful levy to pay!" So now when you see him standing forlorn, His bob in a wilful pout, You may know without doubt That the elves are about And are pulling his soft wool out. WHEN? When does the henbane cackle, Her wattles all aglow? And I should so much like to know When does the haycock crow? —M. G. K. n MY NEIGHBORS /^ NE Spring a bluebird came to me ^^ And asked me from my tall ash-tree To build a house where he might rear His youngsters for the coming year. Perhaps you think a bird can't speak Because he has to use a beak. But when he sat an hour straight Upon one bough thus to relate In birdlike way by peering 'round, First in the tree, then on the ground, And calling, calling, pleadingly, I knew he said that very tree Was just the place if only I Would fix a house for him up high. Some shingles, and a painted board I rummaged from my attic hoard. A house I made with small round door, A sloping roof, and smooth tight floor. I snugly made each joint to fit. Then placed it where he wanted it And when 'twas done, that selfsame day 73 He and his mate began to lay The straws to build their Httle nest, He in his dainty-colored vest Of gray and tan and coat of blue That gleamed with beauty as he flew. The nest was done. His wife I'd see Upon her eggs sit tenderly. And when the feeble chirps were heard From every little nestling bird He'd help all day to bring them food — A tender father, kind and good. Then both the birds with watchful eye Soon taught the young ones how to fly. Well, after they had reared this brood, When by my rustic gate I stood, I heard the master tell his wife: "This is a merry, joyous life; Let's raise some other youngsters, dear, So they may reap the summer's cheer." She fluttered gay from fence to limb. And thus she blithely answered him: "I'm ready, husband; straight away I'll go into our house and lay." 74 The summer sun was waxing hot, The grass burned in the pasture lot When brood the second, one, two, three. Flew to a near-by orchard tree. The early fruit was hanging there, The harvest apple and the pear, While down along the fence there grew A mulberry with fruit like dew. The father and the mother bird. Each on a fence-post hardly stirred. Once more they had a little talk; I listened from the garden walk: "My wife," said father, "winter time Is yet afar, we're in our prime, The house looks empty and forlorn Where our eight fledgling young were born. We yet have time, I know, to rear Still one more brood this happy year." Oh, my! with fire how flashed her eye! At once she flew and passed him by Across the road in rapid flight. Upon an apple bough to light And chirp these snappy words (I heard) : 7S "You surely are a foolish bird ! Your vest is faded and your coat Is tattered from your tail to throat. Then I am weary as can be Of living longer in that tree. Its leaves are shriveled up and dry. These shady fruit trees take my eye. Our younglings here are having fun From early morn till set of sun. I'll live with them, that's what I'll do. If you are wise, sir, so will you." She flew away, quite out of sight; He did not follow her swift flight, But sat dejected in the sun And preened his feathers one by one. Then having prinked the best he could, He followed as a wise bird should. 7(i THE ORIOLE j /^^ LEAR notes full sweet and mellow \ ^^ Arising in a glad exultant strain ■ Reveal the oriole, in coat of yellow, \ Down in the shady lane. J A gleam of gold his darting ] Like flame whene'er he ventures on the wing! I What wondering thoughts in mortals will be starting ] When he essays to sing. I His fabric nest is swinging Amid the branches of the old elm-tree, Where brooding calm, his mate lists to the ringing Of his rich melody, ^ Whence came his song of gladness? ; From what rich fount o'erflowing with delight i Hath he achieved the golden, sweetened madness I That marks his happy flight? j Is love the tender story \ He warbles in his jubilant loud notes, ,j A crystal stream of glad triumphant glory j That upward gaily floats? i i Or came it from the Giver Of that great opulence whence blessings spring, Who sends the sunbeams with their warming quiver Of life for everything? Again that note is calling As on the topmost bough he sings and sways, While blushing petals noiselessly are falling All through the balmy days. He knoweth naught of sorrow, For free and gay he ever doth rejoice; Nor needeth yet of any bliss to borrow. Deep joy swells in his voice. When others sit repining. And rain is blessing every bush and tree, From out the orchard where his coat is shining He sings his nielody. Through sunny days he ever Outpours the music of his gladsome strain; All other birds may sing, but they will never Excel his blithe refrain. 78 Blest bird, each year returning With all the myriad beauties of the spring, For thee my heart is ever fondly yearning To hear thee sweetly sing. A bit of heaven descended. To dwell a living joy among my trees ; No melodies nor beauties e'er were blended More perfectly than these. THE FOREHEAD OF THE HILL •^TEACHER often declares in geography class, ^-^ So sincerely I cannot impeach her : "On the face of the hill you will find only one Very evident, prominent feature ; It's the brow of the hill," she asserts with a smile, "And on steep hills it's always a high-brow; But on hills big or little, you'll never observe Anything you'd mistake for an eyebrow." —M. G. K. 79 THE WOODS SPRING 7T1[ho loves the spirit of the woods ^^ Or understands their changeful moods ; The vibrant life of early spring, The green aroused on everything, Where trilling from the tree-tops tall The birds send forth their madrigal, The very mold beneath the feet Sends forth a subtile fragrance sweet. Life, life, is moving everywhere And comes with every breath of air. Each spirit answers to the call: This priceless gift is free to all, Free as the sun that shines to bless, Free as the zephyr's soft caress. From nature, lavishly there pour Rich blessings in an endless store Where flow the trickling woodland brooks, From out the moss in quiet nooks, The sweet Arbutus opes her flowers Beneath the sun's first warming hours. And sends the fragrance of her voice: "The spring has come! Rejoice! Rejoice!' Bright on the pines the sunbeams play, The maples hide their tints of gray And stand in vivid scarlet drest To woo the robin in her nest. Each quiet nook and sunny space Shows an alluring eager face For nature's beings everywhere Admit the magic of the air. SUMMER How still the woods in summer lie Beneath the sun's fierce sultry eye. But when night's cooling shade comes on Their pensive quietness is gone, ^olian harps the breezes tune Among the tree-tops, where the moon Casts over all her silver light To brighten somber shades of night. In darkened spots what spirits wait Where light hath failed to penetrate! Fantastic forms and shapes they seem. Yet vanish if a single beam 81 Of light creeps to their hiding-place To show — but quiet, empty space. Yet still upon the silent air They trip their dances everywhere, And eagerly each darkened spot Is searched to find that which is not To human erring sight. But they. Elusive, take their mocking way To murmur in the waiting ear Strange whisperings one may not hear. Though quick he turns the startled head He finds the witching spirit fled, With ne'er a form nor proof behind To greet the active, searching mind. What are these spirits of the wood. That man has never understood? All through the night in quiet woods They play their pranks in sportive moods, And hide behind each darkened tree To mock the passer-by, when he Alarms himself at twigs that break And thus the ghostly echoes wake. The spirits catch the startling sound And toss it past him with a bound, 82 Until he flies in dread to hear Such witchlike noises in his ear. They gaily dance among the trees And gambol with the passing breeze And mock the hoot owl passing by With human infant's wailing cry. They sportive play and revel make Until the morn begins to break And then the light reveals the wood In all its silent solitude. And peaceful, most alluring fair In the inviting morning air. Its quiet charm is all its own; The spirits of the night have flown. AUTUMN The glimmering sun with slanting beams Through baring boughs sends golden gleams, And lights the wood with luster rare. Then mellow fragrance fills the air From fruitage of the ripened year. And tuneful fall proclaims good cheer. Here, safely gathered ripened sheaves; There, rainbow-hued October leaves. 83 The trees an added strength betray Out-garnered from each summer day Of heat and showers and grateful dew To fare the winter bravely through. Serene and bright their gray bark shines Amid the verdure of the pines That towering heavenward, lifted high, The message bright catch from the sky, Reflecting in their changeless dress The Love that ever shines to bless. Come with me to the gladsome wood And learn of something great and good. With whir of wing, with startled eye A woodcock flashes wildly by With constant faith in nature's power To guard him thus in fearsome hour. He quickly drops amid the brush Nor moves to break the listening hush. Have they, the living of the wood. Learned more than man has understood? Forgetting self to touch the spring That moves with life each living thing? How can Intelligence then prove A better way wherein to move 84 Than keeping closely to this Power To learn these secrets every hour? WINTER Strong, cold, enwrapped in glistening snow, Their life sap buried far below, The woods defy each wintry blast That sweeps amid them fierce and fast. Like howling demons through their limbs Or grand, majestic funeral hymns. The Storm King throws his challenge out; His whirlwinds toss the trees about. They, moaning, writhe and bend each way, Their outer branches wildly sway In rhythm weird and tempest's glee, That shouts in keenest ecstasy Until the darkened heavens quake. And down the drifting storm clouds shake Tremendous sighs and groans that sound Like rumbling drums, as, bound on bound, They leap like tyrants in their power Then burst and scatter out a shower Of hissing screams that cut the air To voice a depth of wild despair. 85 Now with a lull they murmur low And breathe unutterable woe, Soft, tremulous, and far and faint Protests the broken, pleading plaint Far in the distance vanishing A mystical and witchlike thing. Then with a sudden furious rush Shrieks back upon the sudden hush A blast that voices louder still Its triumph and unvanquished will. What power the mighty tempest wields! Before its strength the strongest yields And bends like reed before its sway When roars the storm like fearful prey. But when its rage is spent and done And shines the bright benignant sun Upon the quiet of the wood, Fair nature smiles serene and good, Because obedient to that Will That silent bids it: "Peace, be still." 86 CHEERFUL LAMPS 'T^ atydids and crickets here '*-^ Keep up a din, And from out the thickets near Where they'd crept in, Fireflies are flashing out. Dancing Hke the elves about Each Httle flame. See them quickly come and go While I vainly long to know What is their game. Happy they must surely be, Gay little sprites; Flitting so, so merrily On summer nights. Silent ! not a voice have they. Nor another choice but play Without a sound. Every one a tiny lamp Glowing, flashing 'mid the damp Darting around. Ho ! you little fireflies What do you see? I -■■ 87 You are surely very wise It seems to me, Carrying your lamps along So you may not travel wrong When 'tis so dark. Flowers bloom when days are bright, You ne'er open in the light Your flowery spark. Here, and there, and everywhere Flash, flash you go. In the damp and dewy air How burn you so? Instant here and then afar Like a brightly gleaming star Shining on me. What! has something gone awry — One I miss, he's ceased to fly — Where can he be? Oh, you little struggling one Down in the grass. Hurt perhaps and quite undone, I fear. Alas! Carefully I'll rescue you From the chilly drenching dew. My! how you squirm! Why! you're not a firefly StruggHng in my hands so spry! You're a glowworm. Creep away, you tiny mite, Feebly and slow. Sending forth your yellow light Pale as you go. Join your comrade fireflies. Make men ope their wondering eyes As free you give Sparkling lights the nights to bless, Giving them bright cheerfulness Long as you live. A FITTING NAME Were I to give a truer name To any butterfly I'd call it something much the same — I'd call it flutter-by. —M. G. K. SIGNS OF RAIN a LITTLE elf in a jacket red, He slapped his knee, and he bobbed his head And said to his wife, he said, said he: "It surely must rain quite soon. I see The leaves of the ash are upside down; There's a whirl of dust on the road to town — Went opposite way the sun has gone — We'll surely have rain before the dawn." The stars hid away at the fall of night. The moon gave never a bit of light And the tree-toads called from tree to tree: "It is going to rain, we can plainly see." The lightning flashed where the stars had been. And the thunder crashed where the moon crept in From the rain that quickly came with a dash On the thirsty earth and the road splash, splash. But the little elf in his jacket red Went out for a walk without hat on head And was caught in the shower before he knew And it soaked his raiment through and through. 90 Then he hurried home at a rapid pace, But said to his wife with an odd grimace: "When the signs are right for rain, I say, One can take a bath almost any day." A SONG OF GLADNESS ^OliNG a song of gladness, •^""^^ Wear a happy smile. Laugh away all sadness, That's the proper style. Start it in the morning Soon as day is light ; Every trouble scorning — Keep it up till night. When the day is dreary Sing it loud and clear ; No one will be weary Of a song of cheer. People will be singing Joining in the song. Setting echoes ringing All day long. -M. G. K. 91 OLD FRIENDS GROW DEAR /^ LD friends grow dear and dearer yet, ^-^ Their presence brings no vain regret. Each truth in us they fondly see With friendship's loving loyalty. So many years faith's seal hath set We would not break it, nor forget | The days that passed so happily And brought the heart-unlocking key : Old friends grow dear. j '■« Amid new scenes our friendship's debt ' Unmeasured is. Then fondly let | Our hearts grow young again to be :| Once more in that dear company, The while we feel with eyes dew-wet, j Old friends grow dear. ] 92 LARKSPUR I^H, LOVELY flowers tossing high ^^ Your spires of shaded blue, To sport with zephyrs passing by And smile from dew to dew! As bright amid the green you sway All graceful in the sun, The butterflies flit down each day, To greet you one by one. Oh, light as thistledown they drift. So beautiful, so free. While petals frail you gently lift. Sweet faces, modestly. Oh, blooms of blue, oh, wings of gold, Could breath of summer air, A more bewitching beauty hold To grace a garden fair? Dear Larkspur, answer me to-day The thing I long to know While through the trees the breezes play And murmur, murmur low. 93 Pray tell me, Larkspur, can you see From out your countless eyes? And will you tell confidingly How I can be as wise? Oh, voiceless life! Nay, whisper swells ] A thought I know divine, j And to my inmost heart it tells j Your creed — ^the same as mine ! | No questionings ! To do and be 1 A part of all the Good, j To meet each moment joyfully ! Since fully understood. ] DAILY BREAD •^tJ'o-DAY I'll give what good I have, ^^ Nor think about to-morrow, Content to know my sure supply Will come. I need not borrow. Because I sow the best I have And keep on planting daily, My daily harvest will be rich. My sheaves I'll carry gaily. —M. G. K. 94 MY GARDEN'S GUEST "T^ERE, in my little garden plot, ^ On walks of velvet grasses, Grow sprays of dear forget-me-not To please her as she passes. The purple iris, royal bloom, In regal ranks is showing, And on the air its rich perfume The gentle breeze is blowing. And pink and blue the columbines Have ope'd with springtime weather, And buttercups and eglantines Are smiling close together. The birds outpour their sweetest songs From bending trees above it. And honey-bees in eager throngs Come, too, because they love it. The bridal wreath shows double rows, A happy omen truly; It whispers, "Courtship's near its close, ril wreathe the bride's brow duly." 95 The lilacs nod, the tulips raise Their cups to greet her sweetly, And lily-of-the-valley pays Its tribute here discreetly. And down each perfumed winding walk She passes like a fairy With gentlest cadence in her talk And steps so light and airy. Oh, sweet my garden was ere she I took to wander through it But now it breathes more fragrantly Than e'er before she knew it. WEALTH OHE golden-rod May wave and nod To show its pleasant charms; But does its gold Upon the wold Distinguish gilt-edged farms ? —M. G. K. 96 DEC 27 1909 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide i Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies j A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIOmI 111 Thomson Park Onve Cranberry Township. PA 16066 (724) 779-2111 One copy del. to Cat. Div.