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INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY McDERMOTT SANTLEY 
 
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 CLEVELAND, OHIO 
 191 I 
 
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 Copyrighted, 1911 
 By Mary McDermott Santley 
 
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 TO MY BROTHER 
 
 WILLIAM McDERMOTT 
 
 THIS LITTLE BOQK IS INSCRIBED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Orkeda 9 
 
 The Daughter of the Wyandotte 29 
 
 The Hymn in the Forest 45 
 
 Love's Guerdon 57 
 
 Poesy 66 
 
 Indices 67 
 
 Beauty 68 
 
 At Close of Day 70 
 
 The Message 71 
 
 Infinitude of Love 72 
 
 Not by Bread Alone 72 
 
 The Little Ocean Eagle 73 
 
 The Father's Bread 73 
 
 The Lady of the Beeches 74 
 
 Ho, For the Forest 75 
 
 His Great Book of Honor 76 
 
 Crown Jewels 76 
 
 The Mystery of the Snow 78 
 
 Gratitude 78 
 
 Shining, They Sing 79 
 
 In Memoriam — Josephine Dyar Houghton ... 79 
 
 Glad are the Harps 80 
 
 Enthroning the Day 81 
 
 Worship 82 
 
 El-i-she-ba 83 
 
 The Secret Place 84 
 
 Love 85 
 
 Light 85 
 
 I'm Dreaming To-Night 86 
 
 The Welcome 87 
 
 Mother's Garden 88 
 
 The Zenith of the Year ... 90 
 
 Lincoln 91 
 
 Palms— To Netta 92 
 
 To Marie— I, II, III 93 
 
CONTENTS— Continued 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lilacs 94 
 
 Roses 94 
 
 The Violet — To a Friend 95 
 
 The Victor's Voice 96 
 
 Morning 96 
 
 Overcoming 97 
 
 Christmas 98 
 
 With Him is Home 99 
 
 Easter Morning 100 
 
 Easter Anthem 100 
 
 Ascension Day . 101 
 
 His Brightness 102 
 
 The Bow of Peace— I, H, IH 103 
 
 Olive's Garden 104 
 
 At Olive's Foot 105 
 
 An Elect Lady — Susanna Wesley . 105 
 
 My Rose 107 
 
 Frances Willard 108 
 
 Deliverance and Thanksgiving 110 
 
 In the Presence of Niagara Ill 
 
 Merry Christmas 113 
 
 Familiar — Dear 115 
 
INDIAN ROMANCES AND 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
ORKEDA 
 
 Again, the man of science was roaming 
 In cypress-land — a domain most chary 
 In granting privilege ; most self-contained, 
 Dark, and secretive, of all tree kingdoms — 
 Returned, after a full decade in search, 
 Still, of a swiftest, highest perfection. 
 
 The song of the mocking-bird thrilled his soul 
 As in other days ; leaping growth and bloom ; 
 Tall, silent trees ; the dark flowing river 
 And the sly, silent, patient fishermen, 
 All there, all, as if not a night had passed 
 Since he fled them. But the small Indian girl 
 Was gone ! Instead, he saw a woman stand ; 
 Then all was changed, newer, more beautiful. 
 
 At their first meeting an evening gray rain 
 Folded them in ; and delicious coolness 
 Hung in beads from all the flow'rs and fronds ; 
 Even the cypresses stood in jewels, 
 
10 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Liquid pearls in gleam from top branch to foot ; 
 
 And Orkeda's dark eyes danced with delight 
 
 Above the crimson roses blossoming 
 
 On her cheeks ; their glow mingling with the tan 
 
 All round about them, picturing a life 
 
 Full of fragrance, exuberance, and warmth. 
 
 The man, Scotch-born, with shoulders honest set, 
 According with the language of his eyes. 
 Composed his thought in a reverent prayer ; 
 Then, approaching her in the cypress, asked : 
 ''Where in all this tropic wild dwellest thou. 
 So rich and rare and ripe in womanhood ? 
 I am here seeking the superlative. 
 Where creative luxuriance abounds. 
 And lo, it stands embodied before me !" 
 
 With a fluttering joy, she, Orkeda, 
 Gave answer : 
 
 "All this wild wet warmth is mine ; 
 'Tis my ancestral home. My great fathers. 
 For generations back, were Seminole ; 
 And 'true brave' — all my fathers were 'true brave.' 
 
 David's thought and heart leaped in consonance 
 To enfold this 'true brave' Seminole girl. 
 Conscious of the wealth of his possession, 
 He said : 
 
 "I would see your great wet fragrant 
 Empire. Come, Orkeda, with your canoe 
 Just at sun-up, to-morrow, round the bend 
 Where leans that great oak in his grey mosses." 
 
ORKEDA 11 
 
 Wond'ring, almost startled at his asking, 
 
 She backward stepped and answered not. After, 
 
 With glowing look she stood a moment, then 
 
 Retreated, as from royal drawing-room. 
 
 Dusk came between them ; and she found shelter 
 
 In the gray, bark-wrapped, flower-enwreathed nest 
 
 All folded round with arms of tropic trees, 
 
 That no curious river voyageur 
 
 Might espy it — a ''true brave's" hidden home. 
 
 And he, baring his head to the rain, stood 
 In summoned stillness that he might find again 
 His erstwhile self, strongly granite-bastioned 
 With buttresses from Scotia's great quarries 
 Of standard character, centuries piled; 
 But whose rock principles are interstrewn 
 With rare clinging lyrics, true poetic 
 Imagery; where, in the midst of thorn-clothed 
 Leaves, stand fearless blossoms of purpHng down ; 
 And all the hills in heather-pink are clad ; 
 Her banks and braes beautiful as gentlest 
 Mother's prayer, in its grace-pencilled trusting ; 
 Grateful for the prescience that sees her boy 
 A sterling man in the future golden. 
 
 As he stood, a picture in far-off Scotland 
 Stretched out before him, a dripping canvas ; 
 And a Scotch lassie was disappearing 
 In the shadow — his bonnie young sister — 
 This after the awak'ning of the thought : 
 "Janet is a woman, and something stirs 
 In that young soul, kindling and guiding it, 
 That seems like a sweetness and a rev'rence." 
 
12 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Since then, time, the wide ocean, and research 
 In fields of Science had divided them ; 
 And now, lo ! at the touch of the law of 
 Association the curtain is drawn 
 From the plate of the put-by camera 
 And undimmed the impression confronts him. 
 "Janet, Orkeda, how like — stay — unlike 
 Are the two !" 
 
 And David's thoughts were a fire 
 Of interest within him as he walked 
 Along the stream to his Indian-kept camp. 
 
 'Tis early morning and o'er the vast stretch 
 Of landscape awaiting in wonderment, 
 A soft light palpitates into new life 
 The myriad forms, until now undefined. 
 The thinning of the dense purple mist speeds 
 The emergence ; the rosy wings of light 
 Swiftly fan into flame the cypress tops — 
 Feathery plumes borne aloft on the tall 
 Gray trunks, to caress the soft floating clouds- 
 Uncanny, secretive, awesome sentinels. 
 
 A sudden, muffled sound of whirring wings 
 And a hurrying cloud of waterfowl. 
 Low-hung, enlivens the still awak'ning. 
 A silent, slow-flowing stream passes by, 
 Bearing away the night and fetching the day. 
 Yonder, around the bend, where that mighty 
 Moss-draped water-oak leans low, a canoe 
 In quiet glides in the midst of the stream. 
 
ORKEDA 13 
 
 Its mistress now and again gives movement 
 To its oars in unconscious grace, making 
 A masterful, unhindered, unhasting 
 Progress to meet a fresh, unfolding world. 
 
 Orchids bloom in these surrounding swamps, 
 
 Luxuriant ladies in rose and light, 
 
 With folds and frills and wings of melting dawn. 
 
 From amethyst to rose to golden fire, 
 
 At touch of the kiss of the lord of day. 
 
 Oh, rich and rare are orchids ! Drawing life 
 From hidden sward or giant free-flung tree — 
 Blooming in hiding to cheer solitude, 
 To keep in true balance the symphony 
 Of beauty, vital in creative thought. 
 
 The maiden at the oars, in soft purple 
 
 Flushed with rose, and winged with flutt'ring crimson. 
 
 With rosettes and fast'ning-bands of pale blue. 
 
 Was orchid true in heaven's adorning. 
 
 Leisurely came the canoe to the place 
 
 Where David waited 'midst the giant fern. 
 
 It came by faith, for no humanity 
 
 In all that morning's graciousness could be 
 
 Seen luring to a spirit of venture. 
 
 She questioned not the backing of her faith 
 
 Nor knew the all-pervasive lure of love. 
 
 As the canoe touched land, he stepped forward, 
 And with arms extended gave her welcome — 
 Tropical flower ! Woman, in all wealth 
 
14 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Of brilliance and innocence and trust; 
 With an air of protection quite natural, 
 Spontaneous and sweet, like that given 
 To a bewitching six-year-old maiden. 
 
 He called her "beautiful paradise bird !" 
 A bright smile beamed all about her, for she 
 Seemed a centre from which radiated 
 Ever on-going, wid'ning joy circles. 
 She wore paler roses on this morning, 
 The blushes fading away to creamy 
 Olive ; and a kind of sweet gravity 
 Resting on her face seemed frankly to hide 
 Secrets that belonged only to her race. 
 
 In this contact David felt a special 
 And peculiar pathos was hid under 
 That truthful and brilliant exterior. 
 The pride and exclusiveness belonging 
 To the Seminole she regally wore ; 
 And he felt that she, herself, was her best 
 And all-sufficient protecting angel. 
 
 Seated in the canoe they glided out 
 O'er the water just now brisk with ripples — 
 Glorious wide-flung blanket of jewels — 
 Reflecting the warm life-laden sunshine. 
 Both were silent — an unwitting, very 
 Part of the beautiful awe about them. 
 
 When, in far-gone days, the river set out 
 To make a path to the wide, open world 
 
ORKEDA 15 
 
 It flowed, and sang, nor took a note of time, 
 But dallied now by this plateau of bloom. 
 Then wandered on to that whereon great trees, 
 Stretched in prayer their arms to the high-poised clouds 
 For waters cool to lave their thirsty roots. 
 Fetching a whole river full of freshness 
 To their languishment, it made a winding 
 Path ; moving here, then swift flowing yonder 
 Round the jutting point, laden v/ith promise 
 Of abundant bloom along its borders. 
 
 The canoe crossed the ripples silently ; 
 
 And David was silenced by this meeting 
 
 With the superlative. The full flower'd 
 
 Mom folding in the cadence of its song 
 
 All things embodied in the thought of heaven; 
 
 Light, encompassing and illumining all ; 
 
 Informing all with a subtle clearness. 
 
 And breaking into showers of prisms 
 
 In the dew drops soft'ning all the green growth 
 
 And its crowning blossoming of color ; 
 
 Fragrance, distilled essence of beauty's bloom. 
 
 Touching the senses with delicate joy ; 
 
 Song, filling with ecstacy, the blue vault ; 
 
 Love, the Spirit of life owning the heart; 
 
 Reverence, toning, guiding the assembling thought, 
 
 All, all more superlative than his dream. 
 
 In simple directness of speech he asked : 
 "Orkeda, sweet, whither are we going? 
 Tell me, while floating down with the current. 
 Tell me who you are ; why I find you here." 
 
16 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 ''It is easy, David," gently she said; 
 
 "I am Indian-American, daughter 
 
 Of this land of moisture and bright color, 
 
 Playmate of the breeze and the flamingo. 
 
 This, my home land kissed by the fervid sun 
 
 Is Seminole ; hot, true, never-failing ; 
 
 Always bursting into flower of new life ; 
 
 Always this land and my people are one. 
 
 These tall cypresses are like my fathers — 
 
 So high and straight and mighty their brown trunks 
 
 Asking no leave of any man to wave 
 
 Aloft their feathery tops in freedom. 
 
 Oh ! we take not the condescending gifts ! 
 
 The white man cannot give what is our own. 
 
 "This land, the air, the brilliant-winged birds, 
 The song, the bloom, the perfume they are ours. 
 My great fathers — Seminole — have a pride, 
 A chaste purity, greater than all tribes. 
 Each beautiful daughter roams in freedom 
 Over the streams, and o'er the bright, warm land, 
 Each brave true to his protecting honor." 
 Then she was silent, and David silent. 
 
 Her last phrases fell so low, and softly, 
 And were borne by the on-going ripples 
 Down to the great sea ; spread to a wide world ; 
 Pride of spirit, chastity and honor. 
 Character-virtues of the Seminole! 
 
 Here was a light David had never seen, 
 And he was absently busy with it. 
 
ORKEDA 17 
 
 And Orkeda held the lazy paddles, 
 
 Nor took a note of the lack of talking; 
 
 For when gliding through this grandest cypress 
 
 Forest, the solemn beauty of the scene 
 
 Ever filled the mind with wordless wonder. 
 
 At last, the man in semi-consciousness 
 
 Felt his soul taking in great draughts of the 
 
 Mystery that slept like the long ages 
 
 In this land of the Seminole — proud Brave! 
 
 "Mystery!" he cried; "And thou, Orkeda, 
 
 Greatest mystery — to be unfolded ! 
 
 The red man's blood well nigh lost in the white, 
 
 And this matchless unassailable pride ! 
 
 This thought expressed in educated form 
 
 And this delicate refinement of grace ! 
 
 Sprang all these like the tree-fern out of the 
 
 Black, wet earth stretching away from this stream ? 
 
 Tell, lass ! I would you tell me who you are !" 
 
 Gently the boat still went adown the stream. 
 Which lay like a broad, black, velvet ribbon 
 Dividing all along the winding way 
 The flowery borders, each from the other ; 
 And she smiled and said : 
 
 "Thee puzzles thyself, 
 And 'tis all so easy to know, David. 
 Grandfather went up the coast to the land 
 Of Pastorius and of Penn, and found 
 Kindest men in all the great Father's world, 
 And sweet women with calmness on the cheeks 
 And dainty, white-frilled borders to their caps, 
 [III] 
 
18 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 And eyes reflecting a loving justice, 
 And hands that knew how to give comforting 
 Service; Hke the Friend of man loved to give. 
 And they took his great, red hand within theirs 
 And told him in simple words and earnest : 
 'Friend Gray-feather, thee is welcome.' 
 Then he sat on their deerskin, at their feet, 
 To learn well all the beautiful lessons 
 About the inner light the Spirit gives." 
 
 A solemn, knowing little pause came here ; 
 A pretty consciousness, and she went on : 
 
 "All the bright awesome days went swiftly by, 
 
 And he could not help it, but he loved her. 
 
 The blithe and orderly teacher, Anna. 
 
 She wore a soft smile, and a dove-gray gown 
 
 When she stood to be his wife, in June-time, 
 
 And they came here to live on the border 
 
 Of the blue lake where the flamingo flies. 
 
 They spent all their days in teaching the Braves 
 
 How to find the Light that lighteth the world. 
 
 How to know what means that tender word — Friend. 
 
 "It was by the bright water my mother 
 
 Came to them. And they called her Lilian, 
 
 When she grew tall and beautiful she went 
 
 Away up the coast to the old homestead, 
 
 And at the Seminary she studied 
 
 The concord of sounds, and her soul rippled 
 
 Out its inner thoughts in sweetest music. 
 
 When her fingers touched the ivory keys — 
 
 For Friends had learned that song was worship, too." 
 
ORKEDA . 19 
 
 Then she was silent, and the canoe neared 
 The land, and they went to the secret spot 
 Where orchids had their sacred place to bloom. 
 And she bade him stand aside, for her hands 
 Trembled with haste to gather the brightness — 
 She loved them so — and to caressingly 
 Hold them a moment ere she gave them him. 
 She thought this place adorned like Paradise ; 
 This bloom and beauty, the touch of which was 
 Ecstacy, was the flowering of love — 
 'Tis true perfection of maturity, 
 Can only come forth where Divine breath is. 
 
 Laden with riches they sought their canoe; 
 
 A well-made primitive boat, light, spacious, 
 
 High in the sides, and strong-ribbed with cypress ; 
 
 He scattered the bloom at her feet, 
 
 And again the prow was set for down-stream, 
 
 And they cut through the perfect reflections. 
 
 That lay on the surface of the water, 
 
 In a dream, till David awoke again. 
 
 Still longing for more of her sweet story, 
 
 Till she said : 
 
 "Thee is a greedy David! 
 Thee wants more of my mother, Lilian? 
 She loved our beautiful lake and the warmth. 
 So came back down the coast to her father's home. 
 The young Brave, her playmate, was now a man, 
 Full of honor, waiting for her coming. 
 He had much dealing with great merchantmen 
 Who wanted the fine alligator skins. 
 And the soft, fur coat of the brown otter. 
 
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 ^'^ INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Then he bought shining jewels for Lilian, 
 
 And little cups beautiful as sea shells. 
 
 She loved fine stuffs that let the sunshine through, 
 
 So, at the wedding wore an airy robe — 
 
 'Twas soft like rose leaves, and shimmering bright." 
 
 Then she paused to trill a few notes with a 
 Master mocking-bird who, high, led her on 
 And up, in voice rapture, to heaven's gate. 
 She paused ; then playful said : 
 
 "There's little more, 
 'Tis of myself — I am a tropical bird ! 
 A family of flamingoes live near. 
 We are friends. One bright bird is my lover. 
 He circles near ; alights ; looks wistfully 
 At me. Then I stroke his soft-rose feathers 
 Where they shade into pearl and that to white, 
 And I know the secrets of bird nesting. 
 And the secrets of the paradise flow'r. 
 Oh, my heart adores the pure, white orchid ! 
 And, besides knowing all these wild things. 
 My mother teaches me books and the songs. 
 Thee knows it now, David, and this is all." 
 
 While they glided on through the mystery 
 
 Overshadowing the winding channel. 
 
 The greater mystery of life-mating. 
 
 Was at work within each silent being ; 
 
 Silent, though wildly throbbing in answer 
 
 To Love's call. For the first time the girl felt 
 
 The pain of great joy, and bursting to tears 
 
 Sobbed: "What is this, David? This hurting pain!" 
 
ORKEDA 21 
 
 Their hour had come. With care he changed his seat ; 
 Put his arms about her, saying: 
 
 "Not pain, 
 But such a love as transforms thee, sweetest, 
 Thou art no longer to thyself, lassie. 
 But to me ; and I to thee. Orkeda ! 
 Sweetest name my lips have ever spoken !" — 
 Tight'ning his arm — "Resting, so securely 
 Pain has taken quick wing; Love nestles close, 
 One guest — No mine, no thine, but ours. Sweet, 
 Forever !" 
 
 "And David," she arch replied, 
 "What of my beautiful flamingo bird ! 
 Ah, but thee is a most cruel lover !" 
 Her eyes and whole being going to him 
 In confession that came close to the 
 Borderland of worship, and foreshadowed 
 Unquestioned trust, unbroken harmony. 
 
 Each had separately coursed the river 
 
 Times and days before this, and the solemn beauty 
 
 And weird mystery had always held them 
 
 Speechless ; the soul according with the scene — 
 
 A pictured majesty of creation — 
 
 The dark, awesome river, the banks aflame 
 
 With gorgeous velvet blossoms, and flow'ring 
 
 Vines in clamorous embrace of gray trunks. 
 
 All enfolded in silence that outpoured 
 
 Sentiment in a reverent baptism. 
 
 Gliding on for long in grasp of such spell. 
 Suddenly, as they rounded a sharp bend, 
 
22 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 A whirr of wings, then the shrill startled cries 
 Of wild fowl awoke them out of their dream. 
 
 "Ah, David, that talking cloud of soft-rose! 
 How I love the floating shadow of it. 
 And the stirring voice coming out of it !" 
 And he thought, if he thought at all, of her 
 Unrestrained life, her vivacious wisdom. 
 
 Now the girl and man saw they v/ere nearing 
 The end of their long wind and put to shore. 
 Here Orkeda's kin lived in a tiny 
 Japanese-like home of bamboo and bark. 
 And piped the music of their hearts on reeds 
 In high-glee concerts with the morning birds ; 
 Or at nightfall, in flutings silky soft 
 As hint of zephyr fondling poppy blossoms. 
 
 The voyageurs tied up for the night, and 
 
 David saw a new phase of Indian life. 
 
 When morning came, their canoe bore them forth 
 
 To coast along the border of the lake. 
 
 Looking out o'er the expanse of water 
 
 It seemed a limitless azure ocean — 
 
 Bluest sky and sea made the universe — 
 
 And the thought of space, for the Almighty, 
 
 Grew in David's mind ; the prospect widened. 
 
 Ever widened, till he touched the borders 
 
 Of the concept of the illimitable. 
 
 It was just a gleam of revelation 
 
 That gave birth to a quenchless aspiration 
 
 That would forever look onward and up 
 
ORKEDA 23 
 
 To Light, on the confines of creation, 
 
 Which floods all things — all — with its effulgence. 
 
 In his mind surged the thought : "I've glimpsed it ! The 
 
 Unspeakable glory ; at the centre ; 
 
 From which evolves the ever on-going, 
 
 The eternal Word ; from whose Spirit-springs 
 
 Leaps the continuous flame of being." 
 
 Blue vaulted sky, unfathomable sea, 
 
 Blending in invisible horizon, 
 
 He thought a fit symbol for magnitude ; 
 
 And David's mind was forever feeling 
 
 For magnitude, for the superlative ; 
 
 While Orkeda ever seemed to have all 
 
 Things within herself. The Divine touched her. 
 
 And she, untrying, kindled in response. 
 
 Ever the "still, small voice" is the mighty, 
 
 And this her inward ear knew how to know. 
 
 The Great Spirit knew His own creation. 
 
 The child whose trust and joyous simple ways 
 
 Reflected in purity His great truths; 
 
 And "Love," "His new, best name" and strongest bond. 
 
 Purest, sweetest, held her at one with Him — 
 
 She was Nature's child and Nature was God's. 
 
 The bright morning, the blue wave, the blue sky. 
 
 All, an immensity enfolding them, 
 
 David, ever seeking outward word. 
 
 Asked ; "Orkeda, lass, tell me you are mine !" 
 
24 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 "Ah David ! dost ask if the wing is made 
 
 To cleave the air? If this blue about us 
 
 Speaks the Great Spirit's enfolding beauty? 
 
 The elixir of it His breath of life ? 
 
 Thee is near me ; thee looks into my eyes ; 
 
 And still thee asks, 'Tell me V 
 
 "Yea, I love thee ! 
 
 But there's somewhat more speaking in my heart 
 
 To say to thee. I feel no barrier 
 
 Rising in a bramble of concealed words 
 
 To divide us ; though thee's of other race. 
 
 I know the Great Father loves thee and me ; 
 
 That from the long ages past He is the 
 
 Indian's Father. He fills the breast of His 
 
 Red child with loving kindness ; then his thoughts 
 
 Have wisdom in them and clean honor ; 
 
 And in his soul springs great scorn of a lie. 
 
 He walks in the forest with high-stepping, 
 
 As a king might ; kind to all his tribesmen. 
 
 And with fairness meets e'en his enemy. 
 
 But the cruel white man meets him as a 
 
 Thing to be robbed and driven off the earth ; 
 
 To be filled, like himself, with evil thoughts, 
 
 Instead of a being to whom God gave 
 
 A vast kingdom, and a mind to know Him. 
 
 Oh ! the Great Spirit is bountiful in 
 
 Simple kindness ! making His wishes clear. 
 
 And when the white man bends to Him, 
 
 Listens, and hears, and right action follows 
 
 His sins will be no longer as scarlet ; 
 
 And the Father, all-merciful, forgives 
 
 Even treachery, if one puts on the 
 
 Sackcloth of repentance, and honors right." 
 
ORKEDA 25 
 
 Her cheeks were aflame, her eyes burning bright, 
 And David said : ''Tell me all thou meanest." 
 
 While he leaned forward in an eagerness, 
 And the canoe bore them over the wave. 
 She said, most calmly and with dignity : 
 
 "The redman honors his word in his heart. 
 The white man smothers his word in language, 
 And when he seems to seek cannot find it. 
 He takes our land and gives us what stays not ; 
 And he holds from us the land forever. 
 He sends us on, ever on, with soldiers 
 At our backs ; pushing us over prairies, 
 On and on, till the hunting-grounds vanish. 
 
 "The Great Spirit gave us our wilderness 
 With all the sky and the air above it ; 
 The flowers in brilliant colors scattered 
 About the roots of the great cypresses, 
 And the rivers and all these bright waters ; 
 The birds all lustrous in paradise plumage, 
 Having throats to pipe the songs of angels. 
 He gave the Seminole a heart for peace, , 
 For justice, and for his own mother-land. 
 He gave him, too, a strong will to hold these ; 
 And a power to show the white man justness. 
 
 ''Thee knows, David, our silence and patience 
 Settle on the face in a great sadness. 
 And the white man calls it an ugly name ; 
 But thee has seen us here in our own home, 
 
 [IV] 
 
26 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Resting in plenty with music and joy. 
 Now, I've told thee of this outside sorrow 
 That sometimes nips my heart, else so happy." 
 
 A few moments of stillness, then she asked : 
 
 ''Is thee Friend, David? Thee is like them, true." 
 
 He replied : 
 
 "You will find me friend and true." 
 And he spake with words heavy with a new 
 Concept of the value of Indian thought, , 
 
 And was silent — his heart beating wildly 
 To free her forever from sense of wrong. 
 
 And back they came to azure sea and sky ; 
 
 And the boat drifted lazily along 
 
 The margin, above glist'ning sands and shells. 
 
 Strewn little more than arm's length below them. 
 
 And he spoke to her of fields of research, 
 
 Of the lure of exuberant nature — 
 
 Heat and dripping wet, riotous blossoms, 
 
 The strange, poisonous secretions of reptiles — 
 
 ''All these I sought for science' sake, lassie, 
 And lo ! swift and far have they receded ! 
 And thou, of highest type, art come op'ning 
 The gate to vaster fields and nobler thought ; 
 And I glimpse the Divine creative power. 
 The Supreme Intelligence guiding all !" 
 
 "Thee sees it ! Does thee, David?" she exclaimed ; 
 
 "The springs of life are in the Great Spirit. 
 
 Ever my mother loves to lead me on 
 
 Through all these vast aisles of thought, high-arched. 
 
ORKEDA 27 
 
 Wondrous lessons she learned from that mother, 
 From Lilian, the refined Quakeress ; 
 How all joy and strength, all flow'ring color ; 
 Sweet concord of sounds ; all bliss eternal. 
 Are precious stones found in the foundations 
 Of the thought-temple of the Universe! 
 
 Lazy waters left them; she seized the oars 
 And the boat sped o'er the sparkling surface, 
 Away and away, till the liquid blue 
 Of lake and friendly bay met and mingled, 
 And David's astonished soul leaped speechless : 
 For the bay, sheet of a thousand acres 
 Of water lilies, smiled fragrant greeting. 
 Orkeda, at home with them, laughed joyous ; 
 "See ! my heart goes to thee in gift, David, 
 Wide, like this great expanse — blossoming in 
 Sweet thoughts to bless thee. Seminole lilies, 
 David ! Spread from seed of Divine sowing." 
 
 And the man of Science made fervid answer : 
 "My own lily-orchid ! sweetest, rarest, 
 O lilies fair ! of all the wond'rous gifts 
 From the Creative hand, most bountiful !" 
 
THE DAUGHTER 
 OF THE WYANDOTTE 
 
 The soft snow lay in vanishing patches, 
 A background for the upspringing grasses 
 And brave flowers — Claytonias, Hepaticas 
 And the rest of Flora's most delightsome 
 Offerings, — smiling their way thro' an impact 
 Of seasoned leaves and broken bits of twigs, 
 Like soft enamel spread on forest floor 
 In mosaic such as Persian weaver 
 Might never hope to emulate, with all 
 His skill in toning and laying color, 
 A near-by meadow showed fresh springing green, 
 Set off with hint of dandelion gold ; 
 A pair of robins lifted their heads high, 
 List'ning the notes of the arriving Spring, 
 And then on glad wing piped the sweetest song 
 Ushering in the vernal ecstacy. 
 
 Sensitive in response to symphony 
 Sebastian's heart, thrilling with the glory, 
 Beat in limpid, tenderest music. 
 The measures rounding up to highest note ; 
 Amalia, with the morning, reigning there. 
 
 29 
 
30 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 The cottage was back, yonder in the field 
 Encased in a network of gray branches, 
 Which e'en now were making ready to burst 
 Into leaf and bud and myriad blossom. 
 Back on the stony hillside were the goats 
 Returned, after yielding the morning milk, 
 To grazing bracken and dry thistle straw — 
 And there breathes not a chemist on any 
 Wizard's peak can tell how this makes good cream. 
 
 When the sun's rays lit the purple lakelet. 
 Lying at the bottom of the basin 
 Down there before their door, then Amalia 
 And her father left the sand-white table. 
 Whereon had stood their bowls of bread and milk. 
 And with swift feet sought the marshy margin 
 For the water-birds, tho' the woman's heart 
 Refused to harm one delightsome feather, 
 Crying out: ''Father, thou New World Rajah, 
 Draw not the bow, they are beautiful life ! 
 Often have I longed on strong wings to cleave 
 Like them, in a sure poise, the morning air." 
 
 The birds skimmed the marshes and swiftly dropped 
 
 To concealment. From a clump of tall shrubs 
 
 Emerged Sebastian, lover of beauty — 
 
 Rhythmic power, outcome of balanced guidance 
 
 At the hand of Purity and Wisdom — 
 
 And Amalia stood erect before him, 
 
 The embodiment of his ideal ; 
 
 A Wyandotte chieftain was the father 
 
 And the fair daughter of an eloquent 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE WYANDOTTE 31 
 
 Preacher of the gospel was the mother ; 
 And song and story tell of intellect, 
 And of beauty as a rich endowment 
 Of daughters of such romance origin. 
 
 A meeting of Rajah, man and maiden, 
 
 The girl, vivid in beauty, firm in poise ; 
 
 And robustly sensitive, the young man. 
 
 The father's brow darkened ; his eyes, fashioned 
 
 To conceal, instantly covered their depths ; 
 
 For his dove with the violet-gray eyes 
 
 Had given a joyous smile of welcome 
 
 To this son of Spanish-English parents. 
 
 He took from her hand the bow and arrow, 
 
 And sped the gray-feathered missive afar 
 
 To the centre of the high hanging shield, 
 
 Half hidden midst the great cedar branches. 
 
 But the chief was not trapped into a smile ; 
 For a jealous instinct of protection 
 Was alert to hold this precious daughter 
 To himself ; she, the one beautiful link 
 Left to tell the tale of a zealous love. 
 Wedlock and the almost fierce fireside joys; 
 And then the farewell to pale Angelique — 
 Woman of fair brow and gentle manners, 
 With a golden gift of ministration, 
 A daily setting forth of Christian faith. 
 
 Spring in the Northland is a late comer, 
 But the cold brilliant blue and silver skies, 
 Toning into richest sunset colors 
 
32 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Away on the far edge of the prairie 
 
 At nightfall, and the tingling frosty air 
 
 At length change to warmth of hue and feeling, 
 
 And man and nature stir with new life. 
 
 The rose-purple haze of early budding 
 Gave place to tender green of bursting leaf, 
 And the forest floor showed a consonance 
 Of color — blossoms springing ev'ry where — 
 And in joy Sebastian and Amalia 
 Went forth, part of the divine harmony; 
 Scarcely touching with swiftly flying feet 
 The crowns of the stones in the full river 
 They crossed ; the swishing rush of the water 
 While a part was also a refreshing 
 Variance in the crescendo of song 
 Of the springtime of their hearts and the year 
 The rocky walls running along the stream 
 Bore on their fronts masses of tender vines 
 And newly greening twigs and damp mosses, 
 Giving forth a wild delicious fragrance, 
 Which the hurrying winds carried afar. 
 
 Amalia's Indian blood bore her onward 
 In an easy advance of her lover, 
 'Till she reached a point far up the stream 
 Where, sitting on a half hidden boulder 
 She awaited him, and the water rippling 
 Over the toe of her boot, face aglow 
 In setting of dark luxuriant hair. 
 
 Somewhat crestfallen at being distanced, 
 
 At length the young man, out of breath, sat down 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE WYANDOTTE 33 
 
 By the splendidly vital girl, saying : 
 ''As a vanishing dream, swift and silent, 
 You lead on and are gone, only leaving 
 The echo of your footfalls, like faintest 
 Perfume in your path, a trail to follow." 
 
 Answered the loyal daughter of the chief : 
 "I love to chase o'er hills and through tangles 
 Like a wild doe ; I love the great untamed, 
 The vast wilderness chorusing in voice 
 Of penetrative spirit-sympathy. 
 Wild nature is sonorous harmony. 
 No king of beasts or birds would do me harm, 
 For my mother's gentle blood diffuses 
 Kindness e'en when commingled with the wild ; 
 It courses in my veins a wise Mentor. 
 
 "I would you had known her, my pale mother ; 
 A devouring flame was my father's love 
 For her ; its intensity consumed her. 
 And, Sebastian, he holds me with the grip 
 Of a dying man ; I am hers and his. 
 At times, when he sitting near worships me, 
 , My body is a-quiver with strange thrills, 
 Not of fear, for no coward element 
 Goes to my making ; the rather is it 
 The activity of Good — the kind author 
 Of my life, to whom I trustingly fly 
 With such sweet confidence — a loving child ; 
 Then in him there follows a gentleness, 
 He a child, and I, like mother, leading. 
 Think you he will ever give me to you ?" 
 
 [V] 
 
34 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 "Yes, when he finds a gaining in the giving, 
 That you are more Amalia with myself 
 Added thereto ; then the old chief will feel 
 That the hills of the happy hunting-grounds 
 Are round about him, the Great Spirit near." 
 
 The list'ner's face was bright with happiness ; 
 Sebastian confidently came closer. 
 Pressed her two cheeks with his warm hands, saying ; 
 "Precious one ! How our hearts leap with the Spring ! 
 The buds of hope are bursting into flower, 
 All is one boundless world of harmony." 
 Then her hand in his : "How sweet this concord ! 
 Music is not outward sound but inward 
 Concept and response of pure melody ; 
 The outward ear need not reflect a tone !" 
 
 "Oh, 'tis wonderful!" exclaimed Amalia; 
 
 "I know 'twas great Beethoven's spirit heard !" 
 
 He smiled in brooding silence, then went on : 
 "Yes, Music is spiritual harmony. 
 Vibration of units affinitive. 
 Sensitively set to a master key ; 
 Even the deep bass of the lion's roar 
 Is part of the triumphant symphony 
 Of divine Nature, kingdom of concord. 
 It is mental — color and light, kindled 
 Into pulsations by the living heart ; 
 Witness Mozart's soul, a luminous pearl 
 Momently reflecting all melody. 
 How delicately in accord he was 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE WYANDOTTE 35 
 
 With the Infinite psalmodist sublime ! 
 For only so could he with one moment's 
 Vision enjoy the whole orchestral sweep 
 Of a theme that possessed him. Vision, 
 I have called it ; rather, 'tis impression 
 On consciousness, whether by sight or sound 
 Or touch of concept inspirational. 
 The elements of harmony must be 
 Pure color or tone : In the universe 
 Is no nicer symbol of it than Light — 
 Glorious whole of color, sacred Lyric, 
 Of old, the morning stars sang together." 
 
 'You are in deep water, my metaphrast," 
 Said the girl, stooping to gather a fern. 
 When she lifted her head a flute-like chord, 
 A symphony, sounded in heart of each, 
 Their meeting eyes singing the song of it ; 
 Illustration of harmony, music, 
 More eloquent than all his fine phrases, 
 And the moments of silence following 
 More sweetly impressive than vocal tone. 
 
 These two were fashioned as like and unlike, 
 Were two vital parts of one perfect tone. 
 They first met in the far-away old world. 
 Where the Wyandott chieftain and daughter 
 Dwelt all the rounding years of her girlhood. 
 
 On the banks of Western rivers were told 
 
 Strange stories of American Indians, 
 
 How, in remote times, they and the swarthy 
 
36 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Men of the East drew the same mother's milk. 
 
 And the red man of the West longed to see 
 
 The palms and plains of the old kindred-land. 
 
 They crossed the seas and on o'er hoary lands, 
 
 Whose plains and hills were richly adorned 
 
 With pink anemones, and cyclamen, 
 
 Oleanders and tall golden iris ; 
 
 Stood entranced before tow'rs and minarets, 
 
 In pale-rose-tinted marbles rich as gems. 
 
 Precious, in carvings like fine wrought laces 
 
 Adorning robe of earth's purest Queen; 
 
 Climbed the mountain paths where roams the ibex, 
 
 And strange birds find quiet place for their nest ; 
 
 And passed strange peoples, whose lives seemed to be 
 
 All wreathed about with garlands of poppies. 
 
 Whose brown faces were as in sleep, save for 
 
 The dark eyes, like wells centuries in depth. 
 
 In the far sunrise gates the pale wife fell ; 
 
 The little Amalia weeping, at seven ; 
 
 And from thence leading the almost savage 
 
 Father, for only the child subdued him. 
 
 Beautiful were her lessons in letters, 
 
 And in religion under Zaretta, 
 
 With dark dream eyes of noblest India, 
 
 With understanding ablaze with the Truth 
 
 Unfolded to her Oriental mind 
 
 By simple mission teaching of the Christ. 
 
 The years multiplied, the bud developed. 
 
 At length came womanhood and a longing 
 
 For the plains of far-off America, 
 
 The wonderland she breathless learned about * 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE WYANDOTTE 37 
 
 When, on those days that are India itself, 
 Long days whose very feel of atmosphere 
 Is mystery, Zaretta dreamily 
 Pictured the glory of her birth-country ; 
 And when, unafraid, she went with "Rajah" 
 To wild bits of wooded plain and mountains, 
 And they sat down in the leaves, he holding 
 Her tender hand with such tremendous force 
 It was well nigh crushed ; while not a murmur 
 Escaped the lips of the loyal learner 
 As he simply told her of the hunters. 
 His tribesmen, the great forests, the rivers 
 And the "much-big" ocean of long grasses 
 In which ran wise and swift, the prairie fowl ; 
 Then followed long silences, till the girl 
 Roused him and led him back to Zaretta. 
 
 V/hile they strolled in Persia, came the lover. 
 'Twas on a wide-flung plateau of roses — 
 Roses of wealth of color and fragrance 
 Whose scent intoxicates the orient 
 Till it dreams ; and the blending crushed petals 
 Come forth as silken rugs, embodiment 
 Of soft persuasive harmonic colors. 
 
 And here, Sebastian wandered, scarce conscious 
 
 Of a sense material or earthbound ; 
 
 And here, all distinct from the pervading 
 
 Somnolent life, devoid of ambition. 
 
 Face to face, he met princess Amalia, 
 
 Princess by very right of endowment. 
 
 The strong touch of her presence awaked him 
 
38 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 To wonder why she was here in the midst 
 
 Of oriental tintings and fragrance ; 
 
 For that one first moment of her coming 
 
 Into his consciousness was a touching 
 
 Of the chords of melody familiar, 
 
 A subtle undertone of "Home, Sweet Home ;" 
 
 A Home he had known far across the seas, 
 
 High-overarched by wide blue open skies 
 
 And furnished with breath of vital wildness ; 
 
 And lo ! the note supreme leaped into life 
 
 And the lyric of his being was perfect. 
 
 In the midst of blossoms joy and perfume, 
 
 The sojourn in the East drew to a close ; 
 
 But the tense chord that bound the longtime friends, 
 
 Strange Indian trio, kindred in spirit, 
 
 Almost refused to lengthen for distance. 
 
 For the bond was friendship's own and truest, 
 
 And cried out for the warm human contact. 
 
 But the wise love-reflecting Zaretta 
 
 Mind aglow with active intelligence, 
 
 With pathetic dream eyes — windows of soul — 
 
 Feet planted on soil of the orient 
 
 Must stay for her awaking sisters' help. 
 
 Her heart glad in its ministry of truth. 
 
 And Amalia's bright face was turned to her 
 
 As she stood under mellow Indian sky 
 
 In the fragrant mantle of loyalty. 
 
 Bravely turned to her, and there was kindled 
 
 A fire of gratitude within her heart, 
 
 A sweet incense of appreciation. 
 
 For Zaretta's years of loving guidance, 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE WYANDOTTE 39 
 
 Whose flame would glow though seas divided them. 
 And she said her farewell and kept her watch 
 Till the loved form vanished in the distance ; 
 Then sails full blown with elixir of hope, 
 They sped to the old Rajah's Paradise 
 Beside the full flowing Western rivers. 
 
 From the dreamy indolence of the East, 
 To the West beginning to inove in dream. 
 Is a far stretch, but there is a subtle 
 Kinship, the quietude of dormant earth, 
 In a sense 'tis nature unteased by man ; 
 The former wraps her drapery about her 
 And seems to lie in a forever sleep ; 
 While the outward silence of the latter 
 Seems to urgently cry out for action — 
 At bay, but ready to leap all restraint. 
 
 Time had wrought changes for the Wyandottes ; 
 There had been Councils and land-dividing, 
 And the marching of tribes to new frontiers. 
 Still they loved peace, knew something of mercy. 
 Could spread the deerskin for an enemy ; 
 Delighted, as of yore, in the cheerful 
 Notes of the flute, and in the hoarser sound 
 Of the turtle-shell in the melody, 
 Making the thick forest vocal with joy. 
 
 The returned chief found his people astir. 
 Waking to the voice of enlightenment. 
 Smoking the Peace-pipe with the Pale-face. 
 Increasingly sacred ties were forming 
 
40 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Between the noblest types of the red race, 
 With hearts eager to respond to honor, 
 Whose very faith in an unknown Spirit 
 Made good soil for the seed of Christian faith, 
 And those fair people having high concept 
 Of the brotherhood of all the Nations. 
 
 In early days the old Chieftain's tribesmen 
 
 Had "much-big number," more than the grains of corn 
 
 That rounded up the great measuring tray. 
 
 Standing in the foreground of the wigwam 
 
 When each one dropped his grain on counting day ; 
 
 Great undivided Wyandotte Nation ! 
 
 So by the head waters of Great Rivers, 
 
 The Chieftain and his fine earnest daughter 
 
 Proudly met the remnant of their people 
 
 And took up with them simple nature-life. 
 
 Full fruition followed Springtime budding ; 
 
 Love was enthroned in the young heart's kingdom ; 
 
 Purpling vineyards smiled under Autumn sun ; 
 
 But the old Chief's face was dark and glow'ring 
 
 Hinting savage revenge in embryo. 
 
 And Amalia and the lover were wise 
 
 And enjoyed their visits in his presence. 
 
 For theirs would be no match in strategy 
 
 Pitted against the wiles of a chieftain 
 
 Whose blood still held a taint of the savage ; 
 
 While they had a keen unspoken feeling 
 
 That the passion, jealousy, was equal 
 
 To traitor's silken gown and hidden steel. 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE WYANDOTTE 41 
 
 The daughter used all bright wit and tender 
 
 Soothing to ease the heart of the father. 
 
 Often, while sitting on the bramble slope 
 
 Above the quiet lake in the moonlight 
 
 They listened almost sadly for the song of the owl, 
 
 Still 'twas sadness with a misty lining 
 
 Of the glad, for 'twas echo from towers, 
 
 The shadowy tow'rs of Ahasiab, 
 
 Broken silent and lone where the owl sang 
 
 His moonlight watch-song in distant Persia, 
 
 And the bards of the ever-fading past. 
 
 Whose mystic songs Zaretta knew so well. 
 
 Moved like ghosts in the pale uncertain light 
 
 Made dim or expectant by passing clouds. 
 
 And then they talked of Zaretta, faithful. 
 
 Bearing to the modest shrine fresh roses. 
 
 The Angelique shrine in that ancient land ; 
 
 And Rajah was once more the kind father : 
 
 And the days were a sunrise or sunset. 
 
 There was stillness in the November air. 
 Which was a conglomerate of vapor; 
 An incense of Nature's ripened juices. 
 Bracing and delicious satisfaction ; 
 And Amalia, returning from her long 
 Ramble, strength and joy were in her stepping, 
 And her face a psalm of light and glory, 
 Picturing of the divine in Nature ; 
 Her drapery, all crimson and golden 
 Interwove with saffron and pale blue tint 
 Brought together by touches of soft rose, 
 Fell from her shoulders in royal foldings, 
 
 [vij 
 
42 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 And was donned in memory of the East, 
 And of Zaretta, lover of color. 
 
 The purple of the approaching ev'ning 
 
 Was quietly displacing the warm light 
 
 Of retreating day, when the girl, conscious 
 
 Of an element of awe about her. 
 
 Passed near a clump of sumach bushes, 
 
 The spirit ear attentively listening ; 
 
 Not a twig moved, nor seemed there breath of beast 
 
 Or man with soft expulsion to disturb 
 
 The silence ; but a voice of urgent power 
 
 Spake within her own breast the word, "Beware !" 
 
 Gathering her scarf away from the bushes 
 And moving a little out of the path, 
 She saw before her Sebastian asleep 
 On his wolfskin spread under an alder — 
 A wonted enjoyment e'en in the frost — 
 And her father arrayed in the trappings 
 Of Indian royalty, now seldom worn. 
 In headband and silver bobs and feathers, 
 Thirty silver half -moons hanging over 
 His shoulders ; the talisman of his tribe. 
 Hieroglyph turtle-shell, on his breast, 
 And girded round with precious wampum belt ; 
 His feet in moccasins, green silken lined. 
 Her cheek turned pale, to icy streams her blood, 
 For in his raised hand was the tomahawk, 
 And in his eye the demon of vengeance. 
 She spake, her voice sudden, fearless command : 
 "O Rajah! stay thy hand, demon Hfted! 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE WYANDOTTE 43 
 
 Hear, Rajah! 'Tis wonderful how, even 
 In the act, the Great Spirit halts us ! 
 And takes the tomahawk from the ugly hand, 
 As His great Christ takes it out of our hearts, 
 And He is one holy passion of Love ; 
 And this tomahawk," which she firmly grasped, 
 *Is Hate, and has no edge when met by Love/' 
 
 The Indian's face turned a livid ashy 
 
 Yellow. Rent by the demon he uttered 
 
 A cry that rose to the very heavens 
 
 And fell at her feet broken and vanquished. 
 
 Then, her beautiful eyes lifted to catch 
 
 The reflection of God's protective smile, 
 
 She said in sweet humility, whose base 
 
 Was obedience : "I thank thee, O Father ! 
 
 Thou ever-present 'Help of the helpless'." 
 
 She dropped beside her parent, stroked his brow, 
 
 Calling him "Rajah" — name of endearment 
 
 He loved on her lips — ''Rajah, he is gone ! 
 
 The monster, hate and jealousy, is fled ; 
 
 Your "dove with the violet eyes" loves you ; 
 
 Come, ere the sun closes his eye to sleep. 
 
 Come home with your children, son and daughter ; 
 
 I love you alone, one golden measure, 
 
 When I hold Sebastian's hand two measures ; 
 
 The much-big trays used on the counting days 
 
 Will be so small the love will spill over, 
 
 And Rajah will be one swift antelope 
 
 Leaping glad to drink the rivers of it." 
 
44 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Sebastian was kneeling close at her side 
 And when the old chieftain's eyelids lifted, 
 Revealing a smile in the bead-like eye, 
 He raised the Indian's head, saying : "Father, 
 The Great Spirit placed high in the heavens 
 The moon and the stars and the mighty sun, 
 A great orchestra of light and glory ; 
 The Great Spirit made a brighter glory 
 Than the stars by night and the sun by day. 
 For He made Amalia, and gave her thee — 
 A crown of honor. She, loyal and brave. 
 Shows forth His greatness in ratio of her own 
 Reflection of His spirit and His love ; 
 And this intelligence neither the stars 
 Nor sun inanimate do know aught of. 
 She is honored with the grace for following 
 After wisdom, and joy follows her way. 
 Glad am I, with her, to give you 'tendance." 
 
 The last drop of savage blood had vanished, 
 The Christ-like compassion had consumed it. 
 The unbending restrained heart was melted, 
 And the eyes, re-born, eloquently spoke 
 His new resolve in a baptism of tears. 
 
 The morning came up out of fleeing night 
 
 In a chariot of shell-rose and gold. 
 
 With banners of opal and of azure. 
 
 Bringing with it an autumn air of balm 
 
 And all fitting grace for the bridal morn ; 
 
 And flute and bird notes piped the wedding march ; 
 
 And the Rajah's blessing was their crowning. 
 
THE HYMN IN THE FOREST 
 
 Back o'er sleeping meadows sunkist, 
 Through long vistas of morn and eventide, 
 Back to unbroken forests stalwart, 
 Standing in picturesque battalia ; 
 Robed in shimmering gold and silver, 
 In lavish outlay of emerald, 
 Or in the autumn battles with wind 
 And frost, a holocaust in vivid red. 
 The brilliance putting a glow of light 
 On others royal in darkest wine — 
 Battalions of protection mighty. 
 Standing in strength and vigor amidst 
 The hills and streams of regnant Nature. 
 Back when the pearls of dew reflected 
 Only unrestricted forms and colors ; 
 The air delicious with the aroma 
 Of a thousand flowers — fragrance diffused 
 For the pure delight of spilling sweets — 
 And winging birds in all brilliant hues 
 Sped by the breath of rapturous song. 
 Nor faltered in fear of hidden harm, 
 Shone vivid 'gainst the azure heavens ; 
 Back to hour of unbroken concord 
 And majestic beauty, proclaiming 
 Creator whose mind is symmetry 
 And works attuned to the key of joy ; 
 
 45 
 
46 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Back to the Schoenbrunn! — beautiful spring! — 
 
 And there she stands ! Gray Eaglet ; her scarf, 
 
 A blue wind-filled diaphonous sail, 
 
 Reflecting a keen sky of autumn — 
 
 Winter courier with cold banners 
 
 Come to greet my lady October ! 
 
 In her palm she lifts the bright water 
 
 And drinks the pure delicious coolness ; 
 
 From the finger tips shakes the remnant drops, 
 
 The globules falling into the lake 
 
 Helping and sharing its abundance. 
 
 Glorious Gray Eaglet ! gathering leaves 
 
 Down fallen from the Linden bowers 
 
 And wreathing her robe all round about 
 
 With the ovates of sun-lighted gold ! 
 
 A light breeze sways the forest branches, 
 And bees hum their hymn of industry, 
 And sip the sweets of the late blossoms. 
 
 Eaglet's wide-set eyes see the beauty 
 
 Of the vast kingdom of harmony 
 
 Enfolding her in a majestic 
 
 Tenderness — an undisturbed Nature. 
 
 Not only is she keen of vision. 
 
 But is acquainted with regal thoughts. 
 
 And daring and swift-winged in action, 
 
 Descended from the remote Eagle, 
 
 Whose plain footprints on the deep-down rocks. 
 
 Washed by blue and vast sweeping waters, 
 
 Write him one of the first families 
 
 Of proud and regal America. 
 
THE HYMN IN THE FOREST 47 
 
 To-day the dream is less a lazy, 
 Fragrant balm poised in the atmosphere, 
 Than sails wafted by spic}^ delight 
 Of progression, eager to give out 
 Secrets brought from the far mountains. 
 Whose tops are lost in a blue haze of sky. 
 
 Now Gray Eaglet, sitting near the spring 
 At the foot of the declivity, 
 Feels the delicious stir about her, 
 And with dancing eyes and eager feet 
 Springs from her revery, and forward 
 To her canoe, leashed to a young elm — 
 Its crown reflected on the surface 
 Of the lake in swirl of gracefulness, — 
 The young deer, gentle and unafraid, 
 Browsing near; in coat, a beautiful 
 Spotted fawn, listens and follows her — 
 For hills, foxgloves and asters, bright-hued 
 Birds and the roan, antlered roebuck 
 Are at one with man in primeval 
 Friendliness of trust and loyalty — 
 Follows her and holds her in his eyes. 
 Liquid brown depths suggesting pathos. 
 
 The beautiful birch boat speeds away, 
 Gray and swift like a young eagle's flight. 
 And back to the shore comes the refrain, 
 In mellow contralto rich in color, 
 "O Non De Yoh ! O Non De Yoh ! 
 Spirit, 
 
48 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Lord and King, 
 O Non De Yoh, I praise Thee!" 
 Her blue scarf a misty, full-blown sail, 
 Vanishing from sight in the distance, 
 Speeding Eaglet and her soul in song. 
 And setting the echoes to sweet chimes 
 Whose symphony floats down the ages. 
 The Psalm, "O Non De Yoh, I praise Thee" ! 
 
 II 
 
 In the days when the beautiful vale 
 Of the Tuscarawas, long and wide, 
 Was vast stretch of majestic forest, 
 Beech and linden, oak and conifer 
 Swaying, sighing in a recital 
 Of prophecy, that intruding winds 
 Wafted over distant mountain peaks. 
 While beasts and birds and flowers dreamed 
 'Neath the shadow of their wide-flung arms. 
 And the stately, imperial iris, — 
 Gallantly guarded by her pale green 
 Sword-leaves — with her purple gauze petals 
 Drooping about her like wings at rest. 
 Serried, wide-flung plateaus of delight; 
 Trilliums and the sweet violets 
 And the white and rosy long-stemmed phlox ; 
 Gay-plumaged birds and dusky maidens. 
 The red deer, and the red men, brothers, 
 All in this cool shadowy palace 
 Shared the flickering sunshine falling 
 Through foliated over-arches. 
 
THE HYMN IN THE FOREST 49 
 
 And the halls where silence was ever 
 Silence vocal : sometimes with dreamy 
 Suggestion of tone in protoplasm 
 Arranging its elements into 
 Lullaby, like sweet, perfumed water 
 Flowing o'er rocks into mossy bed, 
 And sometimes corridors resounding 
 In antiphonal of thunder-crash — 
 Nature's majestic harmonics, all — 
 Sprites and nymphs and Flora's favorites 
 Marshalled into one list'ning conclave. 
 
 On the threshold of this vast palace, 
 Rested feet far-come from other climes. 
 Blue eyes from under ledge of pale brow 
 Peered down the long vistas of beauty, 
 And read the Great Spirit's glad command : 
 'Lift up ye gates ! Ye great doors fly wide ! 
 Enter brave messenger of wisdom !" 
 List ! from hill to hill the echoes fly, 
 'O Non De Yoh, I praise Thee !" 
 
 The "brave messenger" gathered all this 
 Nature-people round him in wonder ; 
 And Gray Eaglet, young, slender, came close, 
 Stroked his sleeve, then sitting at his feet 
 Fixed her searching eyes upon him. 
 Heard the message of the Great Spirit 
 Falling in song-cadence from the lips 
 Of the messenger — sweet words of love 
 That touched her heart with a joy of life ; 
 Strange, yet a wondrous benediction ; 
 
 [viil 
 
50 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 New, yet a light that enveloped her, 
 
 And she was lifted into a realm $ 
 
 Where thought is enrobed in a garment 
 
 Of letters, and stands out tangible. 
 
 The Christ, the Truth, had kindled her heart, 
 
 And it sang with simple, untutored 
 
 Joy and reverence, the glorious song 
 
 "O Non De Yoh, I praise Thee !" 
 
 And the mission-man brought to the chief, 
 
 Fabrics soft in texture, bright in color. 
 
 To lure attention and confidence. 
 
 From out these gifts Eaglet seized the scarf, 
 
 Aerial and heavenly blue, 
 
 Softly invisible like unto 
 
 Vanishing incense from an altar. 
 
 And wrapped it round her in filmy folds. 
 
 And the mission grew, and at the foot 
 Of the declivity — near the spring. 
 The Schoenbrunn, in cool crystal flowing 
 Out through the web of roots of linden 
 And elm, onward hast'ning to the lake — 
 Was built the chapel, and from its tower, 
 Modest, but pointing to heaven's blue. 
 The bell sent sweet harmony afloat 
 On all the winds that swept the valley, 
 Rolling, flower-embroidered valley. 
 Through which the Tuscarawas wandered — 
 First church bell to enrich Ohio's 
 Forest with the sweet hymnal echoes. 
 
THE HYMN IN THE FOREST 51 
 
 Gray Eaglet, the contralto songbird, 
 
 In birch canoe loved to skim the lake 
 
 Waking silver ripples on its surface, 
 
 In rhythm with the coming of the dawn, 
 
 As it sailed to the sleeping valley 
 
 With sunrise kisses, pledge of new life. 
 
 To fling in wake of rosy flushes 
 
 On the thousand leafy minarets 
 
 Crowning like a glory all the hills ; 
 
 For her spirit was in unison 
 
 With flowing waters, the dawn and song. 
 
 And Netawatwes, the Delaware, 
 
 Smiled, in thought, when her glorious song 
 
 Made silver chimes of all the echoes — 
 
 His deeper tones rounding the chorus. 
 
 And these nature-men, simple and strong, 
 Met God's other people — with blue eyes 
 And hair of golden bronze, and fervid 
 Hearts impelling eager, zealous minds — 
 And stirring peace illuminated 
 By the lamp of learning, reigned a queen ; 
 And the valley was in transition. 
 And here no bold specious artifice 
 Of civilized man came to thrust blade 
 Of steel into the sinews of trust 
 Of the simple, unafraid Redman. 
 So all the wide plains and hills gave up 
 The charter of their lavish wildness. 
 And their majestic oaks were laid low; 
 From their loins were hewn the architraves 
 And pillars for the Halls of Justice, 
 
52 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Whose panels were of their cedar trees. 
 And in the Tuscarawas valley 
 Nestled hamlets, wide-thrown from the hand 
 Of the Great Spirit, where dwelt in peace 
 A people of quiet industry, 
 And of charming trust and simple ways. 
 In Gnadenhutten, tents of grace. 
 Beautiful Moravian hymns arose, 
 A curfew at setting of the sun ; 
 In Lichtenau, whole armies of gay 
 Jonquils danced o'er her sunlit meadows ; 
 And Salem, the serene and quaint, sat 
 In the midst of the moss-green valley, 
 Bordered with frill of wild hyacinths, 
 Like modest young Quakeress, in cap. 
 With blush and joy coyly held in check. 
 
 Ill 
 
 In stately steppings the years pass by 
 And change is written on the forehead 
 Of Nature, and her bosom nurtures 
 Strange children. Cornfields cover the hills ; 
 The gentle fawn is now a startled 
 Creature with ears alert, in refuge 
 In some still-spared thicket of hazels ; 
 And flowers are set in trim borders ; 
 And wild roses and forget-me-nots 
 In thoughtful grace cover Eaglet's dust, 
 And he who rises to greet the dawn, 
 Hears the birds in circles over it, 
 In rapture, sing in sweetest carols — 
 "O Non De Yoh, I praise Thee!" 
 
THE HYMN IN THE FOREST 53 
 
 From out the years, and from far-distant 
 Prairies, comes another Gray Eaglet, 
 Seeking the Schoenbrunn, beautiful spring. 
 The lake, and the gliding birch canoe — 
 On her breast a knot of filmy gauze, 
 Ethereal, like the vanishing 
 Incense from an altar of prayer — 
 To visit the shrine of Gray Eaglet, 
 Daughter of that flown and peaceful past. 
 
 The Tuscarawas glides ever on. 
 
 And all the valley stretches wide, 
 
 But gone are foxglove and aster ; 
 
 And the Schoenbrunn of an undisturbed 
 
 Nature withdrew, when the forest fled. 
 
 And sought protected outlet through the 
 
 Friendly fissures under ground ; 
 
 And the little lake perished from thirst. 
 
 From out the years comes no familiar 
 Voice of greeting? Are the ages past 
 Locked in a grim silence eternal ? 
 
 Ah, hark ! Gray Eaglet of the present. 
 With longing heart wistful and tender. 
 The beatitudes of truth and peace 
 Unfold wide wings over all these plains. 
 Stretching from that long-past Century 
 And its daughter, whose grace quickened 
 Into activity of blessing — 
 Poet and teacher in the wildwood — 
 Gray Eaglet of the diaphanous 
 
54 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Scarf, weaving broideries of sunlit 
 Ovates, down fallen from the linden ; 
 And who, first of all that mission, took 
 The Truth into her understanding, 
 Because her child heart was simple trust, 
 And of purity white as the snow. 
 And the valley was attuned to her 
 Key of praise ; and all the people, pale 
 And warm of hue, joined in her chorus 
 "Spirit, 
 
 Lord and King, I praise Thee !" 
 
 And e'en now, on soft ev'nings, mellow 
 
 Notes of rest rising into triumph. 
 
 Make sacred the hour of moonrise, 
 
 And with hushed hearts the wide valley thinks 
 
 "Gray Eaglet sails by in cloud canoe 
 And the stars sail with her rejoicing;" 
 And the church bell sounds in interlude 
 Calling in sweet, solemn tone to prayer. 
 While the Tuscarawas onward flows 
 Its quiet rippling part of the hymn. 
 And far contralto notes, rich and strong, 
 Carry the melody to His ear 
 Who sitteth on the arch of heaven. 
 Dispensing blessing, honor, and power — 
 
 "O Non De Yoh, O Non De Yoh, 
 Spirit, 
 
 Lord and King, I praise Thee !" 
 
THE HYMN IN THE FOREST 55 
 
 With unfurled wing she flies 
 
 Athwart the ev'ning's silent hush, 
 
 Across the deep blue skies. 
 
 Her cloud canoe speeds swift and far, 
 
 Ethereal gauze her sail, 
 
 Up, up, her song to heaven's door, 
 
 Touching with grace the vale. 
 
 Gray Eaglet flies 
 Athwart the skies ; 
 The deep blue arches ring ; 
 Time beats are told by wing. 
 
 Oh, rich and strong 
 
 It floats along. 
 The far contralto song. 
 
 The melody to His ear 
 Is winged with truth, and clear ; 
 Blessing and honor now 
 Crown regally her brow. 
 Let Eaglet sing His praise — 
 "O Non De Yoh !" let her sing— 
 "O Non De Yoh, I praise Thee, 
 Spirit, Lord and King."' 
 
LOVERS GUERDON 
 
 The air was laden with delicious fragrance 
 
 Like to that which touched to sweet sounds Sapho's lyre, 
 
 In the fair, long-past hyacinthean days. 
 
 For 'twas Maytime in Tuscarawas valley; 
 
 And the slumbrous Moravian village 
 
 Rested under canopy of fruit blossoms 
 
 And with pink and blue hyacinths at her feet. 
 
 In joyous rev'rance walked the band of pilgrims 
 Over the grassy paths to the gray cottage. 
 With its Dutch gables and door of wide welcome. 
 Snugly nestled 'gainst the tall fence of iron 
 Which encircled the solemn burial ground 
 Where rested the dust of the early Fathers 
 Also the ashes of the Convert Indians. 
 
 The morning sunlight had but touched the treetops, 
 When, at the weather-beaten door, Rodolphus 
 Asked admittance, by a forced-gentle knocking; 
 Then, to stand beside the mound of Indian dust 
 In the midst of the still Garden of the Dead. 
 And the stately and venerable woman, 
 The widow of Abraham Blickensderfer, 
 With a hand that spoke of blessing and of power, 
 Took from its brass hook near the southern window 
 The ponderous key, whose persuasive turning 
 
 57 
 
 [vm] 
 
58 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 For three-score springtimes had unlocked the great gates 
 Of the picturesque little burial ground. 
 
 With a smile as if from a far-off dreamland 
 
 And a voice like the flow of refreshing waters, 
 
 She bade the maiden Ulrica turn the key 
 
 And guide the pilgrims along the quiet paths. 
 
 When her simple gown, russet-green in color 
 
 Brushed past him, Rodolphus, trembling, held his breath ; 
 
 And standing by the heaped-up mound, covered o'er 
 
 With last year's locust pods entangled with leaves, 
 
 She, Ulrica, stooping, gathered a great thorn 
 
 And gave it him, her eyes of hyacinth blue 
 
 Looking mistily into the depths of his ; 
 
 Her lips murmuring, "Oh, these thorns pierce the heart, 
 
 For they ever bring to mind the cruel wrong !" 
 
 Humbly he took the thorn, and hand that held it, 
 His heart pierced by a burning cruel arrow — 
 Cruel ! since both bliss and pain followed Love's dart — 
 He found words: "My heart is tempest ; thine is rest; 
 Ah ! I would keep thee, thorn and all, Ulrica !" 
 
 The pilgrims went their way ; fell the evening dark. 
 The awakened maiden wandered o'er the paths. 
 Murmuring : "Here he walked, the tall Rodolphus ; 
 Here his pale gray eyes were like fire — shining love ; 
 Here he said — Ah God ! I know not to say it. 
 But he loved me. He is gone ! I am alone !" 
 The beautiful pink hyacinths on her cheeks 
 Turned pale. The summer days put on their glory ; 
 And when she showed new guests the burial ground, 
 
LOVE'S GUERDON 59 
 
 Ever she strove not to take up the great thorns 
 That wild storms had riven from the locust trees. 
 
 And he, the pilgrim, smitten one, the lover, 
 
 Walked away to his far mountain-home country 
 
 The joy of love a pang, a thorn, within his breast. 
 
 There was a battle on between his honor 
 
 And the response of his being to true love. 
 
 He and the blonde Bertha of the near foot-hills 
 
 Had been companions always, and were "promised" ; 
 
 But his heart cried to heaven for Ulrica. 
 
 He essayed to lose the material thorn 
 
 Which, gray and long, pricked in his tunic pocket, 
 
 But his captured will granted not the parting. 
 
 At length he reached his fragrant, embowered home, 
 
 A low cottage clinging to the mountain side, 
 
 And barred himself in from an intrusive world 
 
 And sought in text-book philosophy to bar 
 
 Concession to an insistent consciousness — 
 
 Ulrica and the cruel thorn, and behind. 
 
 Ever standing, the palely endowed Bertha 
 
 In shadow, mutely protesting and pleading. 
 
 And she, tending the lambs of her father's flock, 
 Preparing the long wool for the worsted cloth, 
 Thinking the while that Rodolphus was long gone, 
 At last awoke to wonder why he came not. 
 And the days lengthened, and it was midsummer. 
 In all the past they had been contented mates ; 
 Their only world had been the two rustic homes 
 And the long winding pathway that lay between. 
 Theirs had been an early childhood promising 
 
60 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 And no day had ever been so impelling 
 
 As to make the long bond firmer and closer. 
 
 The heavy clusters pendant from his grapevines 
 
 In response to sun-touch were purple and sweet 
 
 And the cool ev'nings of vintage time loomed near 
 
 When Rodolphus, pale and with burdened footsteps 
 
 Sought the hillside where Bertha tended her flock; 
 
 When he drew near she turned and hastened from him. 
 
 But in the sunset hour they stood together 
 
 In gray mood, by a bit of hedge near the fold, 
 
 And when he spake of Ulrica and the thorn 
 
 There was a glistening of steel in her mild eyes 
 
 And she said : 'T hold your promise. Go your way : 
 
 For I hold you are bound beyond the loosing." 
 
 And she fled homeward thro' the dark'ning shadows. 
 
 He, vaguely thinking and stepping, wandered back 
 
 To his crisping vines and heavy-hanging fruit, 
 
 His comfortless philosophy, and closed door. 
 
 This comfortless study in abstruse writing 
 
 Was sought only to aid a forgetfulness; 
 
 'Twould be a sure barrier, kind and opaque 
 
 And shut out the appealing, life-carrying 
 
 Thought, that, like an embodied vision of joy, 
 
 Waited before his heart, seeking admission. 
 
 He held as sacred a betrothal promise; 
 
 The pure gold of the fibre of loyalty. 
 
 So his heart knew, would ever stand untarnished. 
 
 He had not sought Ulrica; insistent love. 
 
 His being, all unknowing, enfolded her: 
 
 And she was purity white, high-souled and warm. 
 
LOVE'S GUERDON 61 
 
 Clothed in simplicity of rugged garments. 
 And man and maid stood upon a base of truth — 
 These mated two made ideal unity. 
 *Ah God !" he cried ; ''I cannot be disloyal 
 To my love, for love is truth and constancy. 
 Yet I have this long promise to another — 
 A good girl — my friend — worthy of all kindness." 
 
 Spring had come again and the blossoms were sweet, 
 
 For 'twas Maytime in Tuscarawas valley. 
 
 And in the eventime, the far, brilliant stars 
 
 Spoke to Ulrica at her open'd casement — 
 
 They, reigning in beauty and constancy of poise 
 
 In the blue sky, high-throned above all changes, 
 
 All the dust-laden atmospheric turmoil 
 
 Emitting peace and light, elemental strength. 
 
 And she was conscious of joyous fortitude 
 
 Of something she knew not how to analyze 
 
 But reverently thought : "It is a God-gift." 
 
 Happy Ulrica ! Her attentive spirit 
 
 Felt the touch of the Divine love revealing 
 
 Constancy as a never-flitting angel, 
 
 And Love as the quick'ning spring and sustenance 
 
 Of universal life which could not falter — 
 
 And she knew Rodolphus had not forgotten, 
 
 Though ne'er an echo had come from the far hills. 
 
 Her early song again in tune with the birds, 
 Was a joy to the lark, and to her grandame. 
 She had been reared in sweet Bible ways of trust 
 And the sure sight of faith knew her loved one true. 
 Moments leap to years in great soul-encounter ; 
 
62 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 And in seeming these two had wandered as one 
 Through the deep vales of profound experience. 
 The Future became Present and then the Past, 
 And Ulrica's life was a brave psalm of hope; 
 And she sang her tender, honest requiem 
 For the martyred Indians into many hearts ; 
 Planting thornless roses of a sweet fragrance 
 All round about the burial enclosure, 
 To regale the villagers and all pilgrims. 
 Joyous Ulrica ! These only saw blessing 
 And power as fruit of loving trust and service. 
 At length had passed many years of garnering 
 And face and mien pictured the golden riches. 
 
 Simple Bertha of the pastures nursed her "wrong," 
 Nor could she yield a farthing's worth of justice. 
 She lived under the law of "eye for an eye," 
 With no high outlook reaching to the stars. 
 Till at length her narrow face knew not to smile. 
 Her bound heart knew nothing of the freedom-beat 
 Following a sacrifice and forgiveness, 
 But ever begged a moiety of pity. 
 
 And Rodolphus, whose conscience, over-zealous, 
 Magnified so as to shut out clear vision. 
 In monk-like fashion denied himself all joy, 
 But read and re-read the letter of his bond. 
 Though a subconscious song of joy filled his heart, 
 And nightly the winds whispered Ulrica's name. 
 
 Long years of vintage passed on their purple way, 
 And his locks whiten'd during the long still frosts, 
 
LOVE'S GUERDON 63 
 
 And philosophy was exchanged for painting ; 
 
 For round about him were the reposeful hills, 
 
 A sure enfoldment of suggestive beauty; 
 
 And ever his refinement of sympathy 
 
 Waxed greater, and he was in touch with Spirit. 
 
 Reverently he felt the creative breath. 
 
 Its constant impellment to activity. 
 
 Till, soul on fire, he enkindled the canvas ! 
 
 Ah those pictures ! — abounding sincerity — 
 
 Singing their song of proportion and beauty, 
 
 Of a satisfied mightiness of forest. 
 
 Of light as a joy, and of right perspective; 
 
 Also of life-giving wide spaces of air; 
 
 Choruses of protesting resignation. 
 
 As tempestuous waves driven from a wide 
 
 Ocean freedom into a land-locked harbor. 
 
 The mighty sons of nature, with patient ear 
 
 Close laid 'gainst the door of her lab'ratories. 
 
 Are the alembic in which master-secrets 
 
 Are made transparent to the awaiting thought, 
 
 And as well to the mind in dreamless repose. 
 
 So stood out the developed Rodolphus' soul 
 Upon canvas in marvellous portraiture — 
 Reams of canvas in stacks round about his home — 
 The exceeding abundant answer to faith. 
 Here were patience, command, spiritual sight, 
 Living refined color of purified thought; 
 Grace, the reflection of harmonic nature. 
 Seems it that divine intelligence of Good 
 Barred Love's pathway to bequeath this legacy ; 
 
64 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Barred, but Love held there — unquenchable fuel, 
 Warming the roots of progressive production — 
 The flame beneath the refining crucible. 
 
 In the equipment for master-workmanship 
 
 All weakling attendants — impedimenta — 
 
 Were denied. The spirit-bond between himself 
 
 And a virgin world, in unison with Love, 
 
 And a master-culturist named "Art" stood forth — 
 
 Rodolphus all unmindful of the wonder. 
 
 The years in their ever-moving pageantry 
 
 Halted that they might set a seal of blessing; 
 
 For the mature corn was burnished and golden, 
 
 And bright were Ulrica's blossoms in the midst. 
 
 Quick came a summons sweeping down the valley, 
 
 And Bertha answered, wafting back on the winds, 
 
 "Release ! The Shepherd calls to greener pastures !" 
 
 Crowned with blessing of freedom and attainment, 
 Rodolphus set out for the Tuscarawas 
 Whose banks were a glory of fragrant color — 
 Forty years of apple blossoms and Springtime, 
 And of sweetness of cherishing constancy. 
 
 The thorns of the long-ago burial ground 
 
 Were covered with soft-scented, whit'ning blossoms. 
 
 Ulrica, in wondrous springtime drapery — 
 
 For she came forth clothed in abundance of life — 
 
 Opened the door of the gray-gabled cottage 
 
 With glad hand, while the eyes shone like melting pearl, 
 
 And met her lover with the inhering poise 
 
LOVE'S GUERDON 65 
 
 Of the stars that nightly lighted her casement. 
 And — despite all the years and the silvered hair — 
 In greatly refined manhood he stood revealed, 
 The tall Rodolphus, his gray eyes shining love ! 
 His strong arms bearing a wealth of sentiment — 
 Red roses and lilacs quiv'ring with fragrance, 
 While in shadow 'midst the clustering petals 
 Lay misty clouds of hyacinth blue. 
 
 NOTE 
 
 A lasting picture on memory's wall is that of a 
 visit the author made, one May, to the picturesque 
 village of Gnadenhiiten (German for "Tents of 
 Grace") in Tascarawas County, Ohio. Here in the 
 midst of the burial ground stands the monument 
 erected to the memory of the one hundred Christian 
 Indians, who were enticed by promises of good 
 treatment into two houses and killed by a com- 
 pany of white men, in March, 1782. 
 
 The best men of that day denounced the treach- 
 ery in unsparing language. 
 
 M. McD.S. 
 
 [IX] 
 
66 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 POESY 
 
 Poesy — a compelling art — 
 In putting forth the truth a moving power 
 
 Fetching the heart ; 
 E'en philosophy becomes a winsome flower 
 
 In such setting. 
 
 Thou art the violet, 
 Lasting offering of beauty and delight. 
 
 A thought in coronet ; 
 Oftener than all other learning might 
 
 Wearing laurel crown. 
 
 Thou art sonorous music ; the shepherd's flute 
 Across the sandy down ; 
 
 Of sweet friendship, the wine of juicy root. 
 Thou art the blossoming of grace. 
 Thy fragrance clinging like constancy. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 67 
 
 INDICES 
 
 Our loves are indices. 
 I had a sister ; her soul was beautiful 
 Like the valley lilies 
 
 She watered tenderly, and loved and wore. 
 Her thought was sterling worth 
 Expressed in animated loveliness ; 
 Her service regal grace ; 
 Nor took she note of it as sacrifice, 
 E'en in lowliest office. 
 
 More precious than all lilies the two babes 
 Placed within the arms of her solicitude. 
 Inextricably her fingers clung to them ; 
 And so her clinging thought was. 
 About her heart-strings love entwined them 
 *Till night came forward in silent sandals 
 And the summons-angel touched the harp ; 
 And chords forgot to vibrate, fingers to hold. 
 
 How she loved them ! 
 Sterling worth and tender grace, 
 The lilies and her Httle ones. 
 
68 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 BEAUTY 
 
 Dear Lord, Thy world is beautiful 
 'Tis pure and wide and sweet, 
 
 Its hills are fine, its meads are fair ; 
 Here strength and beauty meet. 
 
 One morn I watched the dawning come 
 Soft stepping out of night ; 
 
 A quiet ripple on the Sound, 
 
 Touched here and there with light. 
 
 The mountain's majesty sublime, 
 Wrapped in a cloud of mist ; 
 
 The vapor veiled the tow'ring head ; 
 By it the feet were kist. 
 
 And then the gray awoke with joy. 
 The mists were crimson-red; 
 
 The Bay a sheet of crimson lay ; 
 The mists and it were wed; 
 
 The texture, in its warp and woof, 
 
 Ethereal, remote; 
 A sound of breath, a touch, a stir, 
 
 Naught would be there to note. 
 
 A daring lark now burst in song 
 And winged its skyward way ; 
 
 The crimson 'bashed forgot its hue 
 And morn was azure-gray. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 69 
 
 I climbed the mount in very joy, 
 
 The sound lay far below. 
 A moving web of humming birds. 
 
 In iridescent glow. 
 
 I stood upon the crest's high floor, 
 
 Lo, breath of song stood still ! 
 A bed of violets was spread ..• 
 
 Near crags upon that hill ! 
 
 A mass of royal beauty, pearled 
 
 With shining tears of dew. 
 Smiled up to me their wealth of thoughts, 
 
 Dear violets in blue. 
 
 In rev'rent thought, I stood, dear Lord, 
 
 Touched with their preciousness ; 
 Of all that lavish morning's wealth 
 
 These chief est were to bless. 
 
 A high and far-receding sky ; 
 
 A mighty peak alone ; 
 From awesomeness the place took on 
 
 The tender warmth of home. 
 
 Nothing, in all Thy nature- world, 
 
 Such nearness seems to have. 
 Such modesty, such sweetness, grace, 
 
 Such wealth of precious love. 
 
 Their hearts, their faces, touch our own 
 In innocent appeal, 
 
70 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 And that their gift to bless, with ours, 
 Comes from one Source, we feel. 
 
 How wide Thy mercies are, dear Lord, 
 Thy balanced beauty shows 
 
 No spot of earth, else lone or drear, 
 But there a violet grows. 
 
 AT CLOSE OF DAY 
 
 In patrician woods, where violets sweet 
 
 And the bluest beeches grow, 
 When summer winds in balmy flight 
 
 Wake lyrics soft and low. 
 And the waning light in farthest west. 
 
 Sends back a crimson glow, 
 A pulsing kiss for flower and leaf, 
 
 Ere it fade to gray, and go : 
 
 Then sylvan sprites, in purpling green, 
 
 Their mystic secrets bring. 
 And the hallowed hour a fragrance seems. 
 
 While fancy plumes her wing. 
 And the ev'ning dreams, in quiet note, 
 
 And tender memories cling: 
 Then mellow bells from far-off hills 
 
 With new-born hope a-swing. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 71 
 
 THE MESSAGE 
 
 A blossom that grew in my garden, dear, 
 
 I bring to you ere the day closes ; 
 'Tis satin and pink to the heart of it, dear, 
 
 This sweetest of all the blush roses, — 
 Precious the message unfolded, my dear, 
 
 When its mission to you it discloses. 
 
 The petals were covered last night, my dear. 
 
 With the dew in a jewelled shower; 
 Now the purity, fragrance are thine, my dear. 
 
 For a precious but fast-fleeting hour ; 
 Lift your eyes to the Steadfast Hills, my dear. 
 
 See, the roses ne'er fade in Love's bower. 
 
 For substance of flower, of joy, my dear, 
 
 Of man — God's child, — and immortal. 
 Is the thought supreme of Mind, my dear. 
 
 Out-sent from the morning's portal 
 When the worlds were framed, and the stars, my dear. 
 
 Sang that wonderful song immortal. 
 
 God's thought took form in command, my dear, 
 And the mandates of Spirit change never — 
 
 All the fragrance and color and form, my dear, 
 Sweet, brilliant and true, stand forever; 
 
 To understand God is true wisdom, dear, 
 For immutable truth f aileth never. 
 
72 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 INFINITUDE OF LOVE 
 
 Love faileth not, it radiates 
 With Truth in channels wide 
 
 In ev'ry longing human breast 
 It waiteth to abide. 
 
 It hath no boundaries of time — 
 
 Eternity its home; 
 Its space no tow'ring walls confine — 
 
 The universe its home ; 
 
 No sweeter heaven can there be 
 Than restfulness in Love 
 
 'Tis grace and glory unto each 
 All other states above. 
 
 NOT BY BREAD ALONE 
 
 The streets were winding and dark and narrow, 
 Where her home-nest was tucked away, 
 
 Hidden within the dusky shadow, 
 Scarce knowing the sunshine of day ; 
 
 But when e'er she bought her measure of meal, 
 Blush roses she added in cluster. 
 
 She passed many years that were winters. 
 
 But summer alone reigned a Queen 
 In all the domain of her being. 
 
 Her smile was sweet, and the vivid sheen 
 Of the eyes that had looked upon sorrow. 
 
 In jubilant air of victory sang; 
 
 The joy in them flashed and fairly rang; 
 For the Word — His Presence — was with her. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 73 
 
 THE LITTLE OCEAN EAGLE 
 
 O swift wing'd bird, far up in the blue, 
 
 Whither away ? 
 Steady of poise and riding the storm 
 
 The livelong day. 
 Come gale and fury and blast anew 
 In gray of dawn or noontide blue ; 
 In seething roar or in thunder boom ; 
 The wrathful elements sounding doom, 
 When the mountain-surges break in the cloud 
 And swathe the earth in a water-shroud; 
 
 Yet, thou dauntless bird on pinions strong 
 
 Away and away thou sailest along. 
 
 High-poised and free, above all the storm 
 The livelong day. 
 
 Brave Ocean Eagle of matchless grace, 
 Frigate-bird, lord of the winged race, 
 Thy great dark pinions wide unfurled, 
 O'er-ride all blasts of a stormy world ; 
 Thou hast no doubt, but that finest pow*r 
 Of him who trusts is thy kingly dow'r. 
 And in tranquil strength, each day newborn. 
 Thou leavest home at the gates of morn 
 And knowest not fear, but soarest high 
 Triumphant, free, through the vast blue sky — 
 On and away, the livelong day. 
 
 THE FATHER'S BREAD 
 
 Oh, sweet, my Father, is the bread 
 
 Thy children have from Thee ; 
 'Tis health, and life, and thought, and love. 
 
 And Truth, and keeps us free. 
 
 [X] 
 
74 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 THE LADY OF THE BEECHES 
 
 There's a forest of royal beeches 
 
 Skirting the slope to the still ravine; 
 
 Where linger the fairies with dewdrops 
 'Till the depths are a glimmering sheen, 
 
 And the moisture plants and the mosses 
 Are ever clad in unfading green. 
 
 Sun-kissed is the slope of the hillside, 
 
 The leaves a-shimmer in burnished gold ; 
 There's a song by the blithesome cricket 
 
 And lambs wending their way to the fold. 
 As day wanes there's a quiet prescience 
 
 Pervading vale, the slope, and the crest. 
 And the crimson and rose are fading — 
 
 Blending to purple mist in the West. 
 
 As the ev'ning shadows fall darker 
 
 And sound the notes in a clearer ring 
 Comes a Lady, with song and color. 
 
 Comes in a lightsome crescendo swing. 
 Wearing robes of an autumn lilac, 
 
 Her pouch of color with grace to bring. 
 And the leaves of the tall young beeches 
 
 Dance in the morning in golden glee. 
 For my Lady with magic touches 
 
 Has made of their bolls a symphony — 
 Notes of light and scarlet and violet 
 
 And sapphire, blent soft as dove's wings be. 
 And the mauve-tinted trunks stand lofty, 
 
 'Midst their branches all plumed in gold, 
 Clothed in my Lady's royal velvet. 
 
 Color pure to the deep of each fold ; 
 And Pan's seven reeds sing her praises, 
 
 In those Pandean shrills, as of old. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 75 
 
 HO, FOR THE FOREST 
 
 Ho, for the forest and sunshine ! 
 
 For the cabin of warmth and joy! 
 Embowered in masses of woodbine. 
 
 Where the bird's nest — shy and coy — 
 For the monarch beeches, gray and old, 
 
 For the spice of the hemlock's breath ; 
 The lease of life its arms enfold, — 
 
 So our father's legend saith. 
 
 And Ho ! for the winding pathways, 
 
 The call of the hunter's horn. 
 Sounding till setting of sun's rays, 
 
 And heard in the early morn. 
 For nut-trees crowning sunlit hills. 
 
 For garlands of fragrant leaf, 
 And softly brilliant pheasant quills 
 
 For crown of the victor-chief. 
 
 Oh ! for the blessed comradeship 
 
 Of the constant, lofty trees. 
 For harpsichord in the flower's lip 
 
 Awaked by the wing of bees ; 
 For the autumn days with friends a-near. 
 
 When life is in mellow tune. 
 And woodland voices sweet and clear 
 
 Chant peace in a rhythmic rune. 
 
76 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 HIS GREAT BOOK OF HONOR 
 
 Home again from the fields, our toiler and friend, 
 A welcome most cordial, we haste to extend. 
 You're weary in heart, in muscle and brain ; 
 Have courage, you'll find over cost there's a gain. 
 From the op'ning of morn unto close of the day 
 Now prose and now poem contended for sway, 
 And blossoms were hidden by rank growing reeds — 
 'Tis something that flowers were found 'mongst the 
 weeds — 
 'Tis endeavor and toil and utmost of soul 
 Ere God will make ready the name to enroll 
 In His Great Book of Honor. 
 
 All hushed is the hour when dewdrops distil, 
 God scatters in silence o'er meadow and hill 
 His pearls of rich moisture, each blade to adorn, 
 The grass in his season, the green springing corn. 
 When in silence you trust He'll come to impart 
 In dew- falling-stillness rich joy to your heart. 
 Tho' you hear not a word youll know 'tis His voice, 
 His spirit of power your heart to rejoice. 
 For endeavor and toil and utmost of soul 
 God now in His love your name will enroll 
 In His Great Book of Honor. 
 
 CROWN JEWELS 
 
 Dost thou understand the treasures 
 
 Enfolded in the snow ? 
 Its exceeding, precious whiteness 
 
 Points a vital truth to know. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 77 
 
 A beautiful intelligence 
 
 And power and breath of Love 
 Pervade the fields of atmosphere, 
 
 From vale to heights above ; 
 And lo, whiteness and rare jewels 
 
 Wove in draperies of lace, 
 In triumphant color, dazzling — 
 
 Web of purity and grace — 
 Lightly clothing all the garden 
 
 Where stand creation's trees, 
 The blossoming into whiteness 
 
 Coming silent as rose leaves. 
 
 And in thousand forms and fancies 
 
 The iridescent gems, 
 Enwreathed in crowns of snowflakes, 
 
 In chains surmount the stems — 
 Nature's coronal of radiance — 
 
 And purity, alone 
 In such whiteness and crown jewels. 
 
 May come before God's throne. 
 
 He speaks to sacred Lebanon 
 
 And tallest cedars grow ; 
 And again commands a garment 
 
 Of His white and precious snow. 
 
 Can'st forget the snows of Lebanon ? 
 
 Faith ne'er is so remiss — 
 For Perfection's type of whiteness 
 
 Is the type God makes of this. 
 
78 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF THE SNOW 
 
 Hast thou visited the Nations 
 
 The wond'rous scenes to view ? 
 Crags and lakes and mountain summits, 
 
 And the works that man can do ? 
 Would'st thou delve e'en to earth's center 
 
 For wealth of gems and gold ; 
 To the beds of mighty waters 
 
 For pearls of price untold? 
 Would'st thou search the starry millions 
 
 Of worlds that roll in space 
 With the mighty glass of science 
 
 Their mysteries to trace ? 
 Would'st thou scan man's great achievements 
 
 With the shuttle of finance; 
 How the currents and the lightning 
 
 Send swift a magic lance 
 To prick the channels of the Universe 
 
 That their blood may flow in gold ? 
 Not in all this wealth of marvels 
 
 With all they may unfold 
 Is found more mystery of wisdom 
 
 Than is in the snow enrolled. 
 
 GRATITUDE 
 
 Oh, in this wondrous time, this gracious hour, 
 A stately song, a hymn of gratitude 
 
 Ascendeth, for the healing and the power 
 In the touch of the ever-present Truth ; 
 
 For the oneness of the Father and the Son 
 In the glory that was light ere its symbol 
 Or foundations of the earth were begun. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 79 
 
 SHINING, THEY SING 
 
 Poised and serene in softest blue, 
 High swung above mist and the clouds, 
 
 Shineth a star ; — 
 Shimmering luminous silver. 
 Unfaltering, precious and true — 
 
 Shineth afar. 
 
 Unfading, eternal and high. 
 The substance and center of suns. 
 
 Truth the White star. 
 Out-sending all life-rays and light. 
 Fills with glory the earth and the sky, 
 
 The near and the far. 
 
 All stars shine in symphony sweet ; 
 In constant reflection of truth, 
 
 Shining they sing. 
 All nations and tongues hear their voice, 
 Unceasing in consonant speech, 
 
 Tranquilly sing. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 JOSEPHINE DYAR HOUGHTON 
 
 Thy heart, dear friend, was a garden rare 
 Yielding blossoms of beauty and grace ; 
 
 Thy joy was to scatter the lilies fair 
 
 That the perfume might sweeten the place 
 And flow'rs of hope might blow. 
 
80 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Horas turned almost fourscore and ten 
 Her hortensial glass of golden sand 
 
 'Neath the world's blue sky for thee ; and then 
 Thy feet sped on to the better land, 
 Love's loveliness to know. 
 
 Thy skillful hand sketched the sweet goodbye; 
 
 And what but lilies fair could it be ? 
 The blossoms pure 'gainst a bit of sky — 
 
 Thy Mizpah, a thought of Christ, for me — 
 "The lilies, how they grow." 
 
 GLAD ARE THE HARPS 
 
 Glad are the harps in the great antiphonal 
 Of joy ; for the healing and the power. 
 The life-baptism in the coming of the Christ ; 
 'Tis the glory of the Father coming near ! 
 His loving hand dispensing all the light ; 
 Omnipotence precluding stress and fear. 
 
 Glad are the harps in the anthem sounding. 
 For He knows us ! and calls us by our name 
 To His shelter in the cleft of the rock, 
 To the bonds of activity in Love, 
 Where the Christ is the shepherd of the flock. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 81 
 
 ENTHRONING THE DAY 
 
 In the early morning shadow, 
 
 Looking outward to the sky, 
 All is blue and floating purple, 
 
 Noiseless in its passing by. 
 
 Lo, the darkness is divided ! 
 
 Just a ray of bright'ning light 
 Glints unformed immensity, 
 
 And the morn salutes the night. 
 
 Light and glory dawning, dawning. 
 
 Purple passing into rose. 
 Phantoms pushing on the mystic. 
 
 Form stands out and darkness goes. 
 
 Precious pearl in band translucent 
 
 Cordons space below the blue, 
 Holds in poise for breathless moments : 
 
 Brilliance now of golden hue. 
 
 Diamond flashes wake and kindle 
 
 Earth and sea in one vast gem, 
 Fire and rose and blue commingle 
 
 Light and green, in diadem. 
 
 Higher mounts the sun all regal 
 
 And the day is king once more ! 
 Light and power and joy are regnant 
 
 From the East to Western shore. 
 
 (XI] 
 
82 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 WORSHIP 
 
 Our Father, God, unchanging Love, 
 
 We lift our thought to Thee ; 
 All grace Thou art — below, above — 
 
 All power and majesty. 
 Our hearts beat still, for Thou art near 
 
 And reverently we wait 
 In sacred hush Thy voice to hear, 
 
 To praise, with heart elate. 
 
 Triumphant, strong, the song we bring 
 
 When it reflects but Thee, 
 When closely to His side we cling 
 
 Who mounted Calvary, 
 And left a path transcendent, bright, 
 
 To lead us up to God, 
 The way illumed by holy light. 
 
 The path His feet have trod. 
 
 Assurance comes : "Lo, Thine we are !" 
 
 The "still small voice" we hear ; 
 No sickness, sorrow, death can mar 
 
 When Love and Power are near. 
 As children, Fafther, glad we come. 
 
 Our trust in Thee complete ; 
 Our Peace Thou art ; our restful Home ; 
 
 Our God ; our Paraclete. 
 
 i 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 83 
 
 EL-I-SHE-BA 
 
 El-i-she-ba, God's worshiper, 
 Whose eyes are starHt wells 
 
 Filled from the depths with constancy, 
 Blue violets of the dells, 
 
 With depth of tone and faithfulness 
 Their look a sweetness tells. 
 
 Thou standest at the gates of night 
 
 Where pass the toilers by ; 
 Some have wrought well and happy go ; 
 
 Some halt in step and sigh ; 
 Some trail in dust a broken wing — 
 
 A multitude goes by. 
 
 Those needy, willing, contrite, meek, 
 Thou touchest with thy song ; 
 
 The glory of God's knowledge — light — 
 Thy face reflecteth strong. 
 
 And healing balm flows unawares 
 The human line along. 
 
 A tenderness and strength divine 
 
 Enfolds each weary one. 
 God owns thy service ; and His grace 
 
 Shines out a very sun. 
 In rays of light and warmth and life, 
 
 When His will has been done. 
 
84 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Thy voice hath notes of sweetest strain, 
 
 Christ's love the melody. 
 Melting despair to tears that flow 
 
 At touch of sympathy, 
 The healing touch of perfect Love 
 
 And blind eyes ope and see. 
 
 El-i-she-ba, God's worshiper, 
 
 How beautiful thy feet ! 
 Faithful o'er thorny, rugged ways. 
 
 And through the meadows sweet ; 
 Thy face reflecting radiance. 
 
 Thy song with strength replete. 
 
 THE SECRET PLACE 
 
 The secret place of His Presence 
 
 Is effulgent with love and light ; 
 Those who dwell in that flame of Life 
 
 Receive gift of illumined sight ; 
 To them is given the blessedness 
 
 Of the might of Love to know 
 All grace and power of tenderness, 
 
 Of light the transcendent glow. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 85 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Love, the impelling excellence of Grace, 
 
 Of life the enkindling fire, 
 Bestowment of balm of tenderness ; 
 
 Love, the chiefest of all desire, 
 Filling all immensity of space, 
 
 A binding conserving law ; 
 Is all continuity of strength ; 
 
 From Love all good, all might we draw. 
 
 LIGHT 
 
 Dear Father, God, All-Life, All-Love, 
 
 Thy universe is Light ; 
 Thy glory is beneath, above ; 
 
 With Thee there is no night. 
 All wisdom, beauty blend in one — 
 
 A concept wholly Thine. 
 Christ Jesus, the immortal Son, 
 
 Stands forth, the Truth divine. 
 
 The brightness of His coming heals, 
 So sweet all-power is Light; 
 
 To sin and blindness it reveals 
 The tenderness of Might. 
 
86 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 I'M DREAMING TO-NIGHT 
 
 Of the long ago I'm dreaming to-night 
 
 When our life and joy were one, 
 And laughing we danced in the flow'ry mead, 
 
 We roamed 'neath the same bright sun. 
 
 The little brown schoolhouse is standing true, 
 
 Four-square to the world around ; 
 The noontide comes and each fair lover-girl 
 
 Seeks her mate with joyous bound. 
 
 And we skip and laugh in our bonnets blue, 
 
 To the cool and bubbling spring, 
 Where delicious in tang the peppermint 
 
 Grows round it in magic ring. 
 
 And the ice-cold spring and the biting mint 
 
 Lure the girls the summer long ; 
 And each small, pink palm makes a drinking-cup, 
 
 Each tongue sings a burning song. 
 
 And the skies are blue, and the wild rose sweet ; 
 
 Our arms twine each other round ; 
 And the mistress wise and the maidens fair 
 
 Weep when "last schoolday" comes round. 
 
 Fades the dream — 
 
 And those dear young days of the long-ago 
 
 Up the steeps of life have wound, 
 Though white like snow are the lover-girl's locks, 
 
 Each, mint near a spring has found. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 87 
 
 THE WELCOME 
 
 Now God be praised, good captain, 
 We're nearing heaven's shore ; 
 
 The heaven of home and country, 
 Where the royal seagulls soar. 
 
 High o'er the blue sea sailing, 
 O bird, on great white wing. 
 
 Thou comest me to welcome. 
 Home tiding sweet to bring. 
 
 I stretch my arms up to thee. 
 Brave bird from Golden Gate ; 
 
 Thy instinct is God-given 
 In path so high and straight. 
 
 Oh, in my far home harbor 
 Thou gavest me delight ; 
 
 My one white bird, my lover ; 
 All grace in thy high flight. 
 
 Nor flag, nor shore, nor sunshine 
 Are so like home, white bird ; 
 
 Thy great wings now curve to me ; 
 My prayer, my voice, is heard ! 
 
88 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 MOTHER'S GARDEN 
 
 Our mother loved the garden mould 
 In the springtime of the year. 
 
 To dig and plant and sow and trim 
 And to sing her hymn of cheer. 
 
 The flowers loved the mother-touch 
 And sprang in rapturous glee, 
 
 With all their sweets and colors fine 
 Showing forth their loyalty. 
 
 In that fine old-fashioned garden. 
 On a sun-slope of the farm, 
 
 She filled the beds of mellow soil 
 With the fragrant things that charm. 
 
 And with many that were useful 
 In meeting old-fashioned need ; 
 
 Near the southernwood and tansy 
 Were planted the larkspur seed ; 
 
 Sweet-william and the four-o'clocks 
 And old-fashioned marigold 
 
 And bells of pink and white musk-plant 
 In flowers their story told. 
 
 And dear old-fashioned mullein-pink 
 'Midst long leaves of pale green down 
 
 Arrayed its wealth of blossoms rare 
 In deep-crimson velvet gown. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 89 
 
 Here daffodils and peonies 
 
 And bachelor buttons true, 
 Bride-of-the-mist, or mourning widow, 
 
 Each bloomed in its season due. 
 
 And the lilacs and wild roses 
 
 Giving out a breath most sweet 
 Waved in grace and bloomed in blushes 
 
 Near the gateway, as was meet. 
 
 A summer-house stood in the midst, 
 
 A bower of rest and shade, 
 With honeysuckle round and round. 
 
 And with woodbine overlaid. 
 
 Here glinting, twinkling, humming bird — 
 
 Flower ever on the wing — 
 Held one in rapt suspended thought, 
 
 Fairie, wondrous, sentient thing! 
 
 And roses trailed the cottage eaves, 
 
 Blushing deep to be so high. 
 While birds, nested in the branches, 
 
 Flew forth, singing, to the sky. 
 
 All things that grow — and her children — 
 
 Were the mother's loving care 
 And 'midst these, pruning, training. 
 
 We would sketch her portrait, fair. 
 
 [XII] 
 
90 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 THE ZENITH OF THE YEAR 
 
 'Tis crossing the meadows 
 Knee-deep through daisies and fragrant clover, 
 Up the rye-crowned hill, and on and over 
 
 To the wooded slope'; 
 Delicious the air and the sun is high, 
 And music owns the sweet June sky, 
 
 And the birds soar there. 
 
 'Tis the cool ravine, 
 With sere leaves' rustle smothered in moss. 
 Where the tall trees throw their arms across 
 
 In stately cathedral arch ; 
 And the silence sounds touch the inmost ear 
 Confidential in tone and softly clear. 
 
 And the heart sings back. 
 
 'Tis the anvil chorus 
 Of harmony sounds in poetic dream ; 
 And nothing cares, but all things seem 
 
 In Jubilee of growing ; 
 A blending of humming bird, rose and June ; 
 The breath of the day with the light in tune 
 
 To note of one clear bell ; 
 All color, all life in soprano tone ; 
 The essence divine of all worth known ; 
 
 One clear sweet bell of rejoicing. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 91 
 
 LINCOLN 
 
 Born are the years : The years are gone ! 
 
 But a pungent fragrance dings 
 To all the memories, fold in fold, 
 
 Like that Rosemary brings. 
 Rosemary, precious flower and leaf 
 
 From climes that are old and sear, 
 Sturdy and rugged, green and stiff, 
 
 With sky-tint blossoms dear. 
 
 The fragrance touches the dormant, 
 
 And ashes to being leap ; 
 The brave of living yester-years 
 
 Wakes from his guarded sleep ; 
 And he stands in mantle fragrant, 
 
 Of wisdom and of love — 
 A sturdy, homely, rugged one. 
 
 But gentle, like the dove. 
 
 Through all the years no other son 
 
 So royal crown has worn 
 Brilliant with stars of loving deeds 
 
 As on his brow is borne. 
 No malice dark, but charity 
 
 Graven in burnished gold — 
 The watchword he proclaimed for men 
 
 Through all the years will hold. 
 
92 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 He stood in the breach for Freedom, 
 
 Stalwart and grave and sad, 
 Tho' the smile was ready, waiting 
 
 To change the face to glad. 
 Thoughts of his tender justness. 
 
 Compelling, like a prayer. 
 The deeds of power and kindness 
 
 Earth's lowly great shall dare. 
 
 PALMS 
 
 TO NETTA 
 
 There are palms, so numerous palms 
 
 In the stately paradise home ; 
 In single and in armies 
 
 The delightsome expanse they roam ; 
 Victorious palms and lordly, 
 
 Tossing plumes in the upper blue, 
 A glist'ning regal coronet, 
 
 Proudly worn as rulers do. 
 
 So num'rous palms the great King needs 
 
 To bestow on those who love. 
 Whose lives are an active service, 
 
 And on those who stand and love. 
 Patiently guarding the gates of truth 
 
 With unflinching but tender hand ; 
 With face like a shining glory 
 
 In glistering robes who stand. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 93 
 
 TO MARIE 
 
 I • 
 
 From her cheek the roses had stealthily flown 
 
 When Mother breathed, ''Darling," in tenderest tone, 
 And closely she folded you to her warm heart 
 Her precious girl-baby ; Tears unbidden start — 
 
 The world all without was enmantled in snow ; 
 
 Within all suffused with affection's warm glow. 
 
 II 
 
 The days of your childhood have receded far; 
 
 Stately angels now come the gates to unbar ; 
 They swing to the fields where endeavor is free 
 And Hope, reigning a Queen, stands beckoning thee. 
 
 The secrets of Wisdom untiring you've sought ; 
 
 Her messages still will inspire your thought ; 
 A vision of woman, prophetic and clear. 
 She shows you erect, bearing strength, grace and 
 cheer. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Now June-time is come on that far golden shore, 
 Where the ocean waves lap at the sunset's door. 
 And arms of the saffron-rose twine round the palm 
 And the white sea-gulls in the summer's calm. 
 Charmed to stillness of wing, list the silver horn 
 Of retreating angels in the wake of morn — 
 They have put in thy arms a beautiful boy — 
 As thy mother, thou f oldest to thee thy joy ; 
 Now, Love's holy blessing rests down upon thee, 
 Blessing warm and abounding like sunset sea. 
 
94 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 LILACS 
 
 In far-away Persia, in sun or in snow, 
 The beautiful lilacs like well to blow ; 
 
 Lilacs with more of the rose than the blue, 
 And in Sheraz gardens the white ones, too. 
 
 In Osaka's temple they wave with grace; 
 
 Their perfume and bloom make sweet the place. 
 From the slopes Caucasian their seeds have flown, 
 
 And in all far nations their blooms are known. 
 
 Oh, precious the clusters of plumes that wave 
 In silvery purple, and all climes brave! 
 
 Their fragrance delicious pervades the spring — 
 'Tis essence of love in the censer they swing. 
 
 They are fragrant breath and flutter of grace, 
 A blossoming old-fashioned tenderness. 
 
 O heart of friendship, how like they are you ! 
 Your sweetness of grace to their sweetness true. 
 
 ROSES 
 
 Roses, my roses — 
 And 'tis all my heart can sing. 
 
 For are not you just — Roses ! 
 And no dear delightsome thing 
 
 One-half your sweets discloses. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 95 
 
 O rare, my Roses ! 
 Your chalices o'erflowing 
 
 With bouquet of precious wine 
 Pour out a soul-communing 
 
 In accord with heart of mine ; 
 Stately poising in your bowers. 
 
 In the cloud of fragrance caught, 
 You reign Empresses of flowers. 
 
 Fairest blossoming of thought. 
 
 THE VIOLET 
 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 The precious fragrant violet 
 Tells of the Spring and thee ; 
 
 Singing its song in forest shade — 
 Exquisite, royal, free. 
 
 In the quiet nooks of Nature, 
 Where shade and scrag abound, 
 
 And the thought of man is wanting, 
 The violet is found. 
 
 No flower in all God's kingdom, 
 
 Richer in dainty grace. 
 Touching the heart with tenderness, 
 
 From out its modest place. 
 
 And ever this fragrant blossom, 
 The sad heart makes to sing ; 
 
 Ever the message it sends forth, 
 A sacred joy doth bring. 
 
96 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 THE VICTOR'S VOICE 
 
 O burdened one, 
 Put by your tears and sorrow ! 
 Life dieth not; put by your fears! 
 The Victor's voice rings down the years 
 
 "Eternal Life! Eternal!" 
 In the might of understanding rise 
 And know 'tis yours, the precious prize, 
 Eternal Life! Eternal! 
 
 The Christ brings joy — 
 Awake and freedom's pinions try ! 
 With Love and Power always nigh 
 The triumph song fills all the sky, 
 And lilies spring to kiss the feet 
 
 And Christ is conqueror I 
 Twine roses sweet and sing of faith, 
 
 And joy in its fruition; 
 The living Truth, the living Love 
 Reigns here and now, below, above. 
 
 Eternal Good ! Eternal ! 
 
 MORNING 
 
 A band of pearl and opal 
 
 On the azure curtain of sky. 
 Mist overhanging the valley 
 
 Softly purple and gray in dye; 
 The hillside a-blush with heather. 
 
 Beneath its mantle of dew. 
 And all the quiet places 
 
 With fragrant violets blue. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 97 
 
 OVERCOMING 
 
 Fair Margaret, O fair Margaret ! 
 
 Of the sand-dunes by the sea, 
 In shadow of the tow'ring cliffs 
 
 Held in perplexing revery, 
 Lift your eyes to highest summit, 
 
 Sheerest granite though it be. 
 
 You have passed your midnight sorrow, 
 And the daybreak comes apace ; 
 
 Know that yesterday's red footprints 
 The kind sands will soon efface. 
 
 And reflection of all goodness, 
 Lasting sunshine, light your face. 
 
 Then climb ! shrink not the rocks tho' sheer, 
 Though scarce a niche for climbing feet 
 
 And scarce a twig for grasp of hand ; 
 On highest top there's rest, oh, sweet! 
 
 And friends and bloom and cooling shade 
 Your coming gladly wait to greet. 
 
 The wide-stretched strides heroic take, 
 Faint not ; but palm 'gainst rocky face, 
 
 Cling! climb and cling, rare Margaret! 
 This last needs not a half the grace 
 
 Your power of sacrifice displayed. 
 Yielding to others prestige place, 
 
 The tender ties, the home, the care. 
 
 All that to heart is sweetest, best. 
 
 The dearest idols did not spare. 
 
 Put by the anguish — sacrificed. 
 
 [xmj 
 
98 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Hail ! O hail, rare Margaret ! 
 
 Your feet attain the Horeb height 
 Unfading mosses kiss then, cool, 
 
 And plain and tree a wondrous light 
 Reflect ; a light whose rays inform 
 
 Of joy that knows not sorrow's night. 
 Here fields of labor open wide 
 
 The workers throng — a gladsome sight — 
 And palms and lilies here abound ; 
 
 Refreshing streams course with delight. 
 
 Fair Margaret, O fair Margaret ! 
 
 As on faith's upward soaring wing 
 You understood the All of Power 
 
 Good to earth's frailest child to bring 
 Sundered were all the ties of flesh 
 
 And you learned how to God to cling. 
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 Softly the spheres of the universe turn 
 Bringing to climax the glorious year. 
 And good-will abounds and the Christ is here ; 
 Each heart a censer sweet incense to burn — 
 Incense of love for which all alike, yearn. 
 For high, and for low, a chalice of cheer 
 Pours out the rich gift that crowneth the year- 
 Censer and chalice each pour in its turn. 
 Oh, beautiful Night ! on Judah's far plain. 
 
 Resplendent in robes of purple and light, 
 And vibrant with joy when the Heralds sung, 
 To all open hearts, Christ cometh again, 
 
 And always 'tis sunburst of Christmas light 
 When love is serving and the peace-hymn sung. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 99 
 
 WITH HIM IS HOME 
 
 The sunset rays throw over all 
 
 The peace of parting day, 
 The ev'ning shadows softly fall 
 
 And veil earth's cares away. 
 
 The wide world hastens to its rest 
 Beneath the eaves of home ; 
 
 One lifts His eyes toward Olivet 
 And climbs its slopes alone. 
 
 All day He serves the multitude, 
 The Bread of Life bestows ; 
 
 That others may go free He toils, 
 Their ev'ry need He knows ; 
 
 With waning day His yearning heart 
 
 Seeks not its own repose ; 
 But with His vital urgent load 
 
 To solitude He goes. 
 
 And Olive's shade enfolding Him, 
 He spends the night in prayer ; 
 
 In Him the Father, He in God ; 
 His very home is there. 
 
 Our Friend He is ; with Him our home ; 
 
 He is our guiding star ; 
 He, very Love, makes royal haste 
 
 The rest-gates to unbar. 
 
100 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 EASTER MORNING 
 
 Fair, like a maiden, Easter morn approaches 
 Adorned in robe all 'broidered with pale flowers ; 
 
 With soft rose-tint of hyacinth it blusheth, 
 Or shimmereth in gold which early showers 
 
 And the sunlight have brought the gay daffodil ; 
 
 And shy pansies gather at the foot in frill : 
 Like maiden cometh with joyous step and free, 
 
 With accelerating pace she draweth near, 
 And all about her an aureole we see — 
 
 Rays from the star of Hope shining white and clear- 
 Majestic singers come, joyous in her train. 
 
 And answering back in echoes from the hills, 
 "The Lord is Risen !" And the sacred anthem thrills ! 
 With ''Hosannah in the Highest!" for refrain. 
 
 EASTER ANTHEM 
 
 The night was still in hush of silence holy, 
 And hast'ning angels o'er the Syrian plain, 
 
 In poise within the prescient quietude. 
 Diffused their rosy blossoms like the rain 
 
 That f alleth softly on the waiting earth ; 
 And fragrant dawn came in on quiet wing. 
 
 Awoke the sleeping earth with whispered thrills ; 
 And kindled beauty, one with radiant Truth, 
 
 A pictured anthem lay on all the hills ; 
 
 All Nature sang: "The Christ is risen. King!" 
 Light burst the bars ! Let men and angels sing ! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 101 
 
 ASCENSION DAY 
 
 'Twas a finished work, triumphant, 
 
 That made the ascension day. 
 When Jesus reached the last outpost 
 Of that wondrous guiding way. 
 
 "Father forgive them" had been spoken ; 
 
 The crown of thorns been set ; 
 His "lama sahacthani' wailed; 
 
 The prophecies been met, — 
 For destroyed had been the "Temple ;" 
 
 In three days again been raised. 
 He had walked the path to Emmaus ; 
 
 His disciples been amazed 
 When they knew the Master risen, 
 
 In the morning by the sea ; 
 Where He blessed the bread and brake it 
 
 On the shore of Galilee. 
 
 He had taught them all the blessedness 
 
 Of obeying His command ; 
 On the right side they had cast their nets 
 
 And abundance brought to land. 
 And their understanding blossomed 
 
 When He brake to them for food 
 The inmost meaning of the Scriptures, 
 
 The Spiritual good. 
 
 He bade them go, to ev'ry Nation, 
 
 Preach the gospel that makes free ; 
 Promised greater things than He had done 
 
102 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 In works that yet should be ; 
 And to the band of followers 
 
 Still near their Master's side 
 The Holy Comforter He promised 
 
 To send them — to abide — 
 With uplifted hands He blessed them ; 
 
 The clouds began to move 
 And His earthly garment vanished ; 
 
 He was folded round with Love. 
 
 O'er the cross, the grave, all matter, 
 
 He ascendency had won. 
 Not a wrong was left to conquer ; 
 
 His all-saving work was done ; 
 And awesome glory shone o'er Olivet 
 
 While the Father called Son. 
 
 HIS BRIGHTNESS 
 
 'Tis the coming of His brightness 
 Transfigures earth and me ; 
 
 And the hush His glory bringeth 
 Is sweetest symphony. 
 
 For 'tis only scintillations 
 Of love that kindle light, 
 
 And *tis always Love's outgoing 
 Its fount keeps sweet and white. 
 
 And 'tis singing at our service. 
 
 In lowly paths divine. 
 Life becomes a benediction 
 
 Dear Christ, like unto Thine. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 103 
 
 THE BOW OF PEACE 
 I 
 
 Ah, it was glorious, my heart, that day, 
 When all the winds were let loose on the hill, 
 x\nd clouds the great sky-dome hastened to fill, 
 
 To stand up wrathful, as in vengeful fray ; 
 
 Then, quick, serenely lighted with a ray 
 Of sheen about their edges, in a frill, 
 Bright, from the central sun on God's own hill ; 
 
 For majestic power ruled in love that day. 
 
 Oh, in smoky-silver curtains, how the rain 
 
 Swayed with the wind and cracked its sheets of 
 wet! 
 
 Its fury spent, the furrowed cheek of the hill 
 
 It kissed ; and we knew, heart and I, again, 
 
 When the wondrous bow in the clouds was set, 
 
 That peace enfolded us, and all things, still. 
 
 II 
 
 Peace wraps the hill in mantle of soft light. 
 'Tis kin to fragrance ; 'tis like unto rest 
 Granted after turmoil in the long quest 
 
 Of an anguished soul for heavenly light, 
 
 When darkness flees and comes a radiance bright 
 Of all God's signs most beautiful and best, 
 From distant east the bow spans to the west, 
 
 And all the world's encompassed by His might. 
 Benignly mirrored in the ordered rays 
 
 From violet through the prism to the red. 
 'Tis precious promise from unchanging Mind, 
 Witness of Love's unforgetting tender ways. 
 
 **My Peace I give you," the great Master said. 
 The serene light of peace — to all mankind. 
 
104 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 III 
 
 "Oh, wondrous day, when tempests all had fled 
 And over earth at first pale sunlight lay, 
 Quiet forerunner of a brighter ray. 
 
 And royal purple curtains wide were spread, 
 
 Then veiled by mists of soft and shad'wy red. 
 High circling over all, a shining way, 
 A bow of solvent gems of every ray 
 
 Of light and color from Love's hand had sped! 
 And this not all, for on that day my shroud. 
 
 Leather-darkness, fell heavy at my feet. 
 At first, all seemed, to me, but softly bright ; 
 Then quick there was nor heaviness nor cloud. 
 
 For Christ had spoken in His accents sweet 
 And flashed the brightness of His coming — Light ! 
 
 OLIVE'S GARDEN 
 
 At foot of Olive's hill the Garden stays ; 
 
 And in it stand the giant bronzed trees, 
 
 Scarred and furrowed ; yet in the sunset breeze 
 Their crowns of tender leaves glint in the rays 
 That soon will lose themselves in ev'ning's haze 
 
 E'en now in homing ffight the swallow sees 
 
 Her own dark wing a shadow lay on these. 
 Mayhap the bird has flown o'er distant ways. 
 
 And 'neath the roof of leaves her quiet breast 
 May glint in soft white comfort in the night. 
 
 Above the mountain's brow appears a star ; 
 To heart and mind comes consciousness of rest ; 
 And shadowed earth and purple tinted light 
 
 Chord with the sacred notes in mem'ry's bar. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 105 
 
 AT OLIVE'S FOOT 
 
 Here oftimes Jesus came with heavy heart, 
 
 No friend a-near, 
 To touch with quick'ning words the springs of life, 
 
 To waken cheer. 
 O bHnd ! O fool ! that mighty heart of love, 
 
 Ineffable 
 To grieve, and force its blood, compassionate. 
 
 In agony 
 To bead the brow ; in the dark, alone, in 
 
 Gethsemane ; 
 To weight Him down with the sins of the world, 
 
 Him who loved thee ! 
 Who underwent the thorns, the cross, the death — 
 
 Bore all the griefs — 
 Yet, He, thy Life, thy Lord, arose supreme ! 
 
 O Life, O Love, ineffable ! 
 No voice so sweet, so tender as Thine own — 
 
 So compassionate 
 It whispers now : "Come all ye weary ones, 
 
 Ye heavy laden." 
 
 AN ELECT LADY 
 
 SUSANNA WESLEY 
 
 Born, London, 1669 ; Died, Bristol, 1742 
 
 Two centuries with measured stately tread 
 Have joined the marching ranks of all the ages, 
 Down the aisles of the storied past receding. 
 
 Since first the flowers of thought enwreathed her 
 brow, 
 
 [xiv] 
 
106 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Forerunning golden fruitage and revealing 
 A regal intellect enthroned ; till now 
 
 Scarce thought in woman, lovely clinging, 
 
 Could be found — two hundred years and more 
 Since first in London she those flowers wore. 
 
 Clothed in the garments beautiful of truth 
 And maiden graces, heaven-born and sweet, 
 Strong, yet kindly, stood she for what was best 
 
 In girlhood, as when wintry storms of life 
 Beat round her ; stood in calm, supremest rest. 
 
 Patiently and with courage subduing strife ; 
 Leading in higher thought with ordered zest. 
 
 When sons to her in faith came with their need 
 
 Deftly she ravelled tangled skeins of creed. 
 
 O Priestess of Epworth ! still dost thou shine, 
 
 A guiding star whose steady ray earth's daughters 
 
 Well may follow ; securely poised in height 
 
 The shifting years shall see it reigning far. 
 Two sons with thee in greatness and in might 
 
 Of influence enthroned in honor are, 
 Beck'ning the sons of men to Love and Light. 
 
 One taught redemptive grace in metered line 
 Sweet lyrics sounding o'er the plains of earth 
 
 In cumulative force, majestic, fine. 
 And one, almost thy counterpart was he. 
 With logic keen uncovered sophistry. 
 
 Taught men to hear the Spirit's pard'ning voice. 
 
 Know His indwelling presence and rejoice. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 107 
 
 MY ROSE 
 
 In far sunny Ind, where I strolled one day, 
 I gathered a carbuncle rich and red ; 
 
 I looked at the sun through the precious gem, 
 And a bright burning coal I saw instead ; 
 
 Then I chose the ruby from other shore ; 
 Red-sapphire gem oriental. 
 
 Of all precious things should I ask aught more? 
 
 In garden with slope to the sunny south 
 
 I gathered a violet-dark-red rose 
 One morning in June, while glistened the dew 
 
 Like profusion of gems on these, on those — 
 The soft velvet petals, and leaves dark green — ■ 
 
 A rare dark rose from Eden blown 
 Over paradise walls by breath unseen. 
 
 I said to my rose, "Your blood hints of Life ; 
 
 You move ! Ah yes, and your breath tells me so ; 
 Your cheek to my own presses soft and warm 
 
 Just where the sun kissed it awhile ago ; 
 The touch of his lips enhanced other grace 
 
 And fragrance you lavishly yield, 
 And a brighter tint on your robe I trace. 
 
 "Luxurious rose, meant for full deep life. 
 Your velvet and satin and bloom and glow, 
 
 Your breath of perfume all given, by whom? 
 The heart answers softly, T know,' T know.' " 
 
 My Rose ! She is flower and woman too, 
 A blessing for all intended ; 
 
 And the high, and the low, from care to woe. 
 
108 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 My Radiant Rose ! She has jewelled mind, 
 
 Love reigns in her eye and glows on the cheek, 
 
 And her spirit is rare and her grace of mien ; 
 God gave her to me of Heaven to speak ; 
 
 His Word and His stars the lamps for her feet, 
 Her heart to be Holy Temple, 
 
 For the loving Lord it is cleansed, made meet. 
 
 The rose and the woman ! Ah, who need sing 
 Of gems that are precious, "which is the fair" ? 
 "Or the rose, just kissed by the morning sun", 
 
 "Or woman whose heart is a temple rare" 
 "Or the glowing coal, the carbuncle bright" 
 "Most brilliant gem, oriental" ! 
 For, 'tis she who reflects Love's holy light! 
 
 The Lord built a city, and gems are its walls. 
 
 The Jasper and Beryl and Chrysolite 
 And the gates are of costly, rarest pearl. 
 
 In the midst of all the Lamb is the Light ; 
 And roses, and lilies alternate grow 
 
 For the crown of His creation ; 
 For the one whom the Master loves to know. 
 
 FRANCES WILLARD 
 
 'Tis afternoon once more 
 
 And the bright lake shimmers and dreams ; 
 The white sand along its edge 
 
 Alive with child mound-builders, seems 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 109 
 
 A plain of long ago. 
 
 The tall motionless, vine-wreathed trees — 
 Their domes touching the clouds — 
 
 Sentinel stand o'er all one sees. 
 
 From white embowered tent 
 
 Notes fraught with earnest praise and prayer 
 Rise and fall in cadence, 
 
 Awakening the list'ning air, 
 'Tis woman's hour of gratitude 
 
 And supplication grave; 
 And she is there of gracious mien, 
 
 Gentle and firm and brave. 
 
 The brow refined is lifted, 
 
 Her spirit breathes in quiet tone 
 Complete consecration — 
 
 Father and loving child alone, 
 All other presence hushed — 
 
 Resolutely she takes the hand 
 Of all-sustaining Power: 
 
 A woman beautiful she stands ! 
 
 Forth for native land she went 
 
 All in defensive armour clad — 
 "The panoply of Love" — 
 
 And mountain, plain, and valley glad 
 Gave back a smile of love. 
 
 Her footprints into blossoms rare — 
 Emblems of purity — 
 
 Sprang up — sweet lilies pure and fair. 
 
110 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 DELIVERANCE AND THANKSGIVING 
 
 I 
 
 Christ was there, dear heart, on that rugged shore 
 Where, angry, the wild sea rolled in its might. 
 And o'er the deep blue sky, full-sailed and white. 
 Clouds, like hurried ships, scudded on before. 
 Till the wind dropped wing, and the mighty roar 
 Grew faint and fainter, and the sunset light 
 Was herald of fast on-coming of night. 
 And storm fled our hearts and the rugged shore ; 
 While tattered and torn the cloud-ships passed by, 
 Then vanished — were lost in the deep blue sky — 
 For Christ spake ; and was stilled the voice of fear ; 
 Gone, forever, despair ! and hope pressed near ! 
 God's wing was our refuge, as on we sped 
 To this fragrant marsh, by the salt sea fed. 
 
 II 
 
 Now the gray morning comes with rifts of light, 
 Threads of rose and blue all under the gray, 
 Spreading soft through the woof of break-of-day. 
 There's hush in our hearts in this morning light. 
 Christ's love is enfolding. His coming, bright, 
 Transfigures the dark ; 'tis glorified day ! 
 'Cross the marshes' beauty we wind our way; 
 With royal iris at left and at right. 
 And 'tis June, dear heart, and the pale, wild rose 
 With its subtle breath sweetens all the air ; 
 And all things are nestling, new life to bring. 
 Onward, the river of joy overflows, 
 Refreshing with hope, freeing thought from care. 
 And grateful our paean of praise we sing. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 111 
 
 IN THE PRESENCE OF NIAGARA 
 
 By the height and the calmness led 
 
 To seek a transcending view 
 The watch tower lifted its head 
 
 To the fields of calmest blue. 
 And was kindled the flashing light 
 
 Of a wonderful brilliant eye 
 In the lantern poised on the height 
 
 Of the tower that touched the sky. 
 
 And it glimmered and shone far out 
 
 O'er the seething furious wave 
 That reared 'midst the rocks and lashed about 
 
 In the echoes of wreck it gave. 
 Still, afar shone its guiding ray 
 
 Away out o'er the mighty deep 
 Where in repose the billows lay 
 
 As in calm and dreamless sleep. 
 
 At morning dawn to the tower's height 
 
 Earnestly mounted the watchman true ; 
 Swiftly his keen and far-sent sight 
 
 Swept the remote expanse of blue. 
 And he thought of the mighty hand 
 
 In whose hollow the sea lay still, 
 The awful power of that command 
 
 That built a water-wall at will. 
 
 That always with roar and with sweep — 
 
 In step with the marching of time 
 The unmeasured volume, vast and deep, 
 
112 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 Moving in majesty sublime, 
 Would descend the escarp with grace 
 
 In a flow of dissolving gems, 
 'Though swift the leap o'er the rocky face, 
 
 E'en from brow to instep hems — 
 
 The rainbows, the dash and the roar, 
 
 A commingling of regnant power 
 With beauty of color, and the soar 
 
 Of the chant in its flight to the tower 
 Was the winging of grace alone ; 
 
 Bearing from God's alembic, fine. 
 Full measure of rhythmic might and tone 
 
 Written on highest keynote line. 
 
 In the watchman's thought the decree 
 
 That the waters pass not the command ; 
 That forever the mighty sea 
 
 In obedient bounds should stand. 
 Caused a silent and rev'rent poise. 
 
 In presence of the Majesty 
 Which stilleth the sweep and the noise 
 
 Of the tumult of people and sea. 
 
 Truth speaks from a watchtower high 
 
 Calming tempest-tossed waves of fear; 
 Love shines, a warm and flashing eye 
 
 From the summit of highest sphere, 
 A light o'er surging billows wild 
 
 Of human thought or angry sea, 
 That no wreck of any trusting child 
 
 In all His kingdom of light should be. 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 113 
 
 MERRY CHRISTMAS 
 
 In the far-off long-ago 
 
 There was a beautiful Christmas day, 
 
 And the eyes are moist, and they softly say, 
 
 'That wonderful long ago !" 
 
 And the billows of white rolled far and wide, 
 To horizon's rim that Christmastide, 
 
 A marvel pure and fair. 
 There was shout at dawn-break, "All is well!" 
 And a cloud of great, warm snowflakes fell 
 
 All day, through the silent air. 
 
 And our hearts were filled with joy, 
 There was fur-lined sleigh, as trim as could be, 
 Quite ample enough for him and for me, 
 
 And our hearts and all our joy. 
 
 And it smoothly slipped along 
 To the tune of the mellow sleighing bells, 
 An echo of all the harmonic swells 
 
 In the billowy way along. 
 
 "A Merry Christmas!" "Merry!" 
 Said the music, the snow and our hearts in tune, 
 With as loving a lilt as birds in June ; 
 
 "A dear old Christmas!" "Merry!" 
 
 Night came in that long-ago. 
 And brightly the Holly enwreathed the wall, 
 Witching and merry the Mistletoe's call, 
 
 That evening long ago. 
 [xvj 
 
114 INDIAN ROMANCES 
 
 The Mistletoe bough hung high ! 
 Its enchanting spell bro't roses sweet 
 To the cheeks of the maid with graces meet 
 
 For the stately minuet ; 
 And glee notes rang thro' the festive hall — 
 The notes of the merry Mistletoe's call — 
 For the Mistletoe hung high, 
 
 And the Holly enwreathed the wall. 
 
 Merry Christmas on the wing ! 
 For like birds came the flight of the years, 
 Swiftly, surely, with joys and with tears; 
 
 Christmas joys on peaceful wing! 
 
 Our trim little sleigh we had ; 
 We slipped from the hollows to hilltops fair, 
 Each hand in each, and were ever aware 
 
 Of wealth in the other we had. 
 
 For we knew the Christmas King ! 
 He was Love, the Ruler, in heart of each. 
 And trust and peace He reigned to teach ; 
 
 The tender Christmas King! 
 
 To-day, as in long ago. 
 Sweet bells, of the fifty jewelled years. 
 Ring clear, and the eyes are soft with tears, 
 
 For now, and for long ago. 
 That wonderful peace Christ brings to men 
 Is a benediction, now as then ; 
 
 And the Mistletoe bough hangs high ! 
 
 Still high the Christmas Holly! 
 
AND OTHER POEMS 115 
 
 FAMILIAR— DEAR 
 
 God sent us not a strange New Year ; 
 
 It came familiar, ermine-clad, 
 Or bearing palms and roses glad, 
 
 For world-wide folks, a world-wide cheer- 
 Pan's pipes a-flute, and bells rang clear ; 
 
 With jollity and welcome mad. 
 It came a sturdy hope-filled lad, 
 
 Reliant, strong, and full of cheer. 
 And climbed to zenith. Now it wanes, 
 
 And Christmas festival is here ; 
 Each heart at home with well known things ; 
 
 For Love, the King familiar, reigns. 
 He crowns with joy the speeding year ; 
 
 To each His wealth of peace He brings.