Ui f i'-^ Kiiiii ■ wUm 7si3 1 %i-.'i\ ^ ,-,., ^ ^ , ,v«i*3?i^7^-»H^ / - ^ X- " -- ; - ■ . I |||f?|j :' 1 1 1 ■ ■ 1 I n ^ ■ ^^1 -? 1 ^^^H :ilB ^^^^H ■^ ^P ^^H :^ ^^^^H t - iz:.ziz ■ i |: :H 1 Book 1.3_X-5-5 Copglit)J« „__ __llOi COPYRIGHT DEPOSm THE SILVER CORD AND THE GOLDEN BOWL THE Hbbcy press PUBLISHERS 114 FIFTH AVENUE XonDon NEW YORK /iBontreal I THE LIBRARY ©Fl «0^' CRESS, I Two CK>i^e» Received I THE LIBRARY ©F «0^' CRESS, Two CK>i^e» Received JAN. 25 1902 CLASS A^ XXa No. -2- a z^i^ COPY a TS3.r3J •T-37 S:r Copyright, iqor, by THE ec » <*«(ccc TO fatf^tt antJ 0itxtf^tt AND TO THE MEMORIES OF YOUTH THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED. Of the universal mind each individual man is one more incarnation. Emerson. For out of the old fieldes, as men saithe, Cometh al this new corne fro yere to yere ; Chaucer. CONTENTS. PAGE Clear Shining After Rain 11 Sonnet : On Browning's *' Saul " 13 Blind Eyes 14 Anointed 16 The Way of Life : An Allegory 17 On Gloucester Shores: By Summer Seas 27 By Winter Seas 28 Love — Human and Divine: New Worlds 30 Revelation 32 Peace at Evening 33 God, the Poet 34 Sonnet : To My Mother , 35 But When Three Sonnets on Life 37 The Unattainable 40 A Woman's Reasoning 41 7 8 Contents. PAGE A Woman's Tears 42 Victoria Kegina 45 Decoration Day, 1900 47 A Sea View 51 Unsatisfied 52 " He Being Dead, Yet Speaketh " 54 Easter Hymn 55 Friends Passed Away 57 By the " Deep Pool " of My Childhood 58 Three Quatrains on Poetry 59 Easter Morning 60 Revelation 63 Through all the Way 64 Songs of Chivalry : My Lady at Her Casement High 65 The Gardener at His Mistress' Gate 68 At Her Evening Prayers 71 January, 1901 72 Winter Twilight 73 Winds of March 74 Beyond the Sunset 75 Victory 76 Two-Score Years and Ten 77 'Mong Shadows Deep : Rondeau 78 Malachi xi. 3 79 Like to Some Storm-Belated Bird. . . o 80 The Vision 88 Contents. 9 FAGB Poems of Early Youth 83 Answer Song of Spirits 84 April 87 After Dark 88 April : Upon the Bridge that Spans the Conewango. 89 Invocation 9q Summer Evening , _ 92 Induction to an Antique "Wedding Song 93 Two Sonnets : A Thought 95 When I shall Die 97 Two Youthful Songs : Lover's Song 98 Arcadian Shepherd's Love Song 100 Indian Summer 103 An October Night 104 Harvest Time 106 Harvest Done 107 Trees and Men 108 Silhouettes : Walking Village ward at Evening 109 Where Winter Silence Reigns Ill Song 112 Christmas Carol 113 Fragments of Early Verse 116 To the Lady Una 117 To 118 10 Contents. PAGE An Imitation 119 Two Poems Written for the Old School— Chmriberlain. Class Song— 1891 120 Two-Score Years 122 Songs and Sonnets to the Seasons. To Chloris (Spring) 130 The Violet 131 The Dandelion 132 To the First-Blown King-Cup 133 To Summer— July 134 To the Wild Strawberry 135 Summer Rain 137 Haying Time 138 To Autumn — Ceres 139 September 140 To the Swallow (Progne) 141 Thistledown 142 To Winter. 143 November 144 The First Snowfall 145 December 146 The Flowers are Dead, but They Will Live Again 147 THE SILVER CORD AND THE GOLDEN BOWL. Clear Sbtntng Hfter tRain. Across the silent purple hills, Thro' cloud}^ rifts of amethyst, The setting sunlight softly thrills, And wraps the world in amber mist. A new fresh world it seems to-night, Untouched by any thought of woe ; I stand alone, and from my height Watch the clear colorings come and go — On village spires silvery white, On windows touched to ruddy glow, On nearer stream that glistens bright Along its winding shadow flow. How calm it is, and yet in truth, One hour ago a wild storm swept These hills and valleys ; whilst in ruth The world was bowed — the heavens wept. 12 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. But now what change ! The golden mist Creeps over hill and sky again ; These smiling valleys, sunset kissed, Catch God's '' Clear shining after rain." So sends He storm to every heart ; No perfect peace but comes thro' pain : We can but calmly take our part, And wait '' Clear shining after rain." Sonnet. 13 Sonnet ON browning's ^' SAUL." thou, who see'st with the larger sight ! G-reat poet, who in '^Saul" hast imaged clear The verities of life, and brought more near The purposes of God ! We hail thy might, And take in its effulgence of new light. Thy eucharistic teachings. Pain grows dear For peace that may o'ertop it, and all fear Dawns into hope, dispersing earthly night ! So clear it seems with thee, this larger hope ! The mastery attained, (tho' unattained). By man's mere striving to his soul's full scope For highest good. All near perfection gained Through seeming evil— evil wrought above Our human thought by God's Incarnate Love. 14 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. So much, so much, we cannot understand ! So much that leaves the heart unsatisfied ! Oft-times we turn beneath God's chast'ning hand, And in the passion of our human pride, Feel that our mighty Maker is unkind, Because we cannot see — our eyes are blind ! We cannot see why we should suffer so. Who have not deeply sinned nor gone astray. blinded eyes, how can we rightly know How far we wander from the blessed way ! Our finite vision cannot see above us The stretching shade of the Almighty wing; We cannot know how truly God doth love us, Nor how He strives from pain His peace to bring. Blind Eyes. 15 We cannot know because our eyes are blind ; We turn away from His anointing hand, And, groping, seek that we can never find, Until, in perfect peace, we calmly stand Content to wait till we shall plainly see In the new light of an eternity. i6 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Hnotnte^♦ Hour after hour in darkness and alone, A sightless beggar at the Temple gate, With palm out-stretched for pittance, doomed I wait : The multitudes pass by, nor seem to own My presence by one word — no gifts atone For the long loneness of my exiled state ; No comfort comes from dull priest's idle prate, My heart rings back unanswering as a stone. But lo, close by my side a footstep sounds ! Cool fingers on my eyelids — all the place Goes reeling with the sense of life set free ! And in that wak'ning glory where new bounds Seem wrought for darkness, looms one liv- ing face ! Now, Master, Lord, my Lord ! I see ! I see ! ! The Way of Life. 17 AN ALLEGORY. She had come back to the home of her childhood — to the Httle cottage on the cliff that overlooked the sea. The walls were dis- colored and the windows glared out with no look of recognition in them, like the eyes of a man long dead — as her father's eyes had looked that awful day when they found him on the sands after the devastation of the storm. The little child that clung to her skirts whimpered for the accustomed hand, but no look of answer wakened in the face. She was remembering ! For the moment, the child was as though it had never been — the struggle, the suffering, the cost ! From the salt marshes below came that indescrib- able breath which brought with it the sense of a past purity and peace, and the lack of the knowledge of good and evil. Again life was all sea color and sky line — long glints of 1 8 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. sunlight across the sands ; and there were no storms to be feared but the devastation of the flood. Oh, God ! oh, God ! ! The mist came up and with it the chill of the sea. The child's voice rang out impera- tive as Fate. The woman lifted it from the cold rocks and warmed it in her bosom and it was comforted. The wind came up and blew across the sands — there was the sound of rain in it as the human voice sometimes carries the sound of tears. Her mother's voice ! Ah, God is good and death is merci- ful ! What could her mother have said ? Then once again the child, attesting its in- dividuality, crooned and cooed, and, to the woman, the past was not and the future was swept away and the present wore but one ineffable phase — Motherhood ! And she ministered to the wants of the child. The clouds swept by under the stress of the wind, and the moon peered out as from cavernous recesses, and the sea for a moment was illumined. Then a dark shadow came noiselessly creeping along the slippery rocks of the path — a shadow that wrought itself and was lost in the figure of a man. Up the un- accustomed path, toiling with whisper of re- proach at every step, the figure of a man. The Way of Life. 19 The moon came out and shone upon the sea and upon the rocks, and the woman, with that burden of warmth at her bosom, felt, through the clouds of shame and of darkness, the promise of the coming of peace. Peace! Peace ! ! And yet, would she forget ? A voice sounds suddenly. Not now the voice of the wind nor echo of the voice of the dead — the voice of a man — passionate, low — with the sound of pleading, the music of memory in it. " I have come from the ends of the earth ! I could not abide. I love you ! I love you ! ! " How is it with the woman now ? Where is that cry for peace ? Far in the distance from some forest, comes the cry of a wild thing — trapped it maybe — hunger- smitten. Again that voice: ''How long! How long ! ! I have supped of the cup of sorrow, I have drunken the dregs of remorse. I love you ! I love you ! ! I am not hers, I am yours — yours." Then the child stirred at the woman's breast, and she stood there in the shadow of the home of her innocence ; and her voice was as the voice of one who has overcome. *' I have supped of the cup of sorrow," she 20 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. said. "I have drunken the dregs! And they that have charge of the wine-press have meted out to me my portion." The man drew nearer and his voice was as the voice of one who pleads for his soul. ^^ I love you and you only," he cried. And the woman through every fiber of her being felt that call to her inheritance. Again the child stirred. '^Go!" said the woman. ^^You have loved me to my destruction ; but your child — spare the flesh that is your own." And the man, as one wakened from a dream, held out his arms pleading still ; but the woman said : " Go ! " And he went. And the light of the moon upon his face revealed it as it were the face of one in whom is fought a great fight — good with evil. And the woman watched him as he staggered down the long path and lost himself in the darkness of the rocks. And her face was as the face of one who is cruci- fied. II. ) All day the clouds had lain as beasts that crouch ominously, and the sea was, as I'i were, molten brass, and the odor of burning The Way of Life. 21 was in the air from the fallows below the cliff. And the fisherman's wife watched at the door of her cottage, for she was sore afraid ; and the voice of the sea prophesied from afar. Night fell and with it the fury of the storm ; and the Word of God was as it had never been spoken, for darkness was upon the face of the deep. The sea lashed in fury against the cliffs and covered the rocks with the foam of it anguish. Up the slippery steep, shadowless and alone, strove the figure of a man ; up the accustomed path, with murmur of reproach at every step, the figure of a man. The drench of the brine was in his garments and on his head, but in his face was the waken- ing of the light of the newness of hope. For lo, through the darkness of the night a beacon gleamed and illumined the rocks and the sea. And the light was the light of a casement shining afar from the cliffs, and the window was the window of home — home ! And the man stood at the casement and cried from without. And a woman walked in the silence of the room and a child hushed at her breast. And the light that shone in 22 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. the face of the woman was the light of the glory of her strength, for the babe sucked and was satisfied. And hope grew strong in the heart of the man and he cried again from without. And the ears of the woman were opened and she heard ; for the voice was the voice of one for whom she had waited. ^^ I have come from the ends of the earth, I could not abide. I love you ! I love you ! ! " And the woman heeded and hast- ened and loosed the fastenings of the door. But the man halted upon the threshold, for the smirch of the world was upon his gar- ments, and the face of the woman shone as it were with the shining of the hosts. But the woman reached forth her hand and drew the man to her hearth, for she was the wife of his bosom ; and her faith had not yet de- parted from her. And she gave him of the warmth of her fire and of the richness of her larder and stinted not. And he feasted for he was an-hungered, and warmed him for he was a-cold. And the woman questioned not but re- joiced, for her faith was strong within her and forgiveness was in her heart. And without beat the fury of the storm. *'I have supped of the cup of sorrow," he The Way of Life. 23 cried, ''I have drunken the dregs of remorse. I love you and you only ! " And the woman wept for she was glad. And from her was withheld the knowledge of the tree of good and of evil. III. There was rejoicing in the Depths, for a man had sinned— a grievous sin. There was music in Pandemonium and all the satellites of Hell sang together in the' pitchy darkness of night, and the smoke of the place rose up and shut out the vision of the stars of Heaven from the sight of the man. And the man laughed and the sound of his laughter echoed from afar off and the clamor of the angels of darkness was, for a moment, stilled. And the sun of his hopes shone on the eyes of the man and he saw not that the stars of Heaven were dulled. And all the way was lighted by lights contrived by the hand of man, and there was music and dancing and the rich sparkle of wine. There was a rustle of garments heavy with the richest woof of the lands ; there were eyes that sparkled and lips that burned and hands that 24 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. held out the wine of the dregs of life. And the man drank and was still a-thirst, and drank again and thirsted. And yet again he drank, and the wine had grown bitter to his taste, and the kisses that burned were as Dead-Sea apples — ashes upon his lips. Then it was that the man reached out his hands in the darkness of the way and cried piteously. And one heard and answered, and her feet made haste to compass the way of the desert. And the man stretched forth his hand and in it was the cup of the dregs of life. And the woman drank, for she knew not of the poison of the cup. Then the man cursed, and the eyes of the woman were opened and she fled. And the man followed calling piteously, for he walked in a dreary waste alone, and the sepulchers rose up whited in the darkness, and the odor of the tomb was in his nostrils, and the light of the stars of Heaven had been quenched. Yet still once more he sinned grievously and his body was as it were upon a rack tortured, and the fever of the wine of the dregs of life was in his blood. Then it was that he cried out in the anguish of his soul and knew not whither to his feet should turn. For the sands were as piercing glass beneath his The Way of Life. 25 tread, and he hungered and there were no fruits, and he thirsted but there was no drink. Then suddenly were his eyes, as at a touch, anointed ; and the smoke from the depths of the darkness of Hell dimmed, then blew about as by a great wind fiercely ; and behold he saw a vision, afar off, a height, and upon the height a woman standing. And the garments of the woman were as the garments of a virgin, and the glory of her face was as the purity of the face of a saint. And again the man cried out piteously — and the woman stretched forth her hand and smiled. And the man made haste and the piercing of sands was no longer under his feet, for the glory of the stars had wakened. And again he thirsted, and in the hands of the woman behold, a cup ; and in the cup, water from the depths of the springs of life. And the man fainted, for the way had been long, but the woman warmed him in her bosom, for she knew not of the curse of the leprosy of sin. So the man revived, and he drank of the cup that was in the hands of the woman, and the water from the depths of the springs of life entered into his soul ; and the glory was 26 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. as the glory of a new birth. And the clamor of the hosts of the Spirits of Darkness was stilled ; and the smoke of the furnace of fire cleared as by a mighty wind, and from the awakened glory of the Heavens a voice — as it were the sounding ef many waters ! And the voice cried : ' ' Eepent thou, and Live ! " And the man repented. And the flame of cleansing wrought as a finer's fire from within, and his face was as the face of one who is transfigured. Then the woman rejoiced, for from her was withheld the knowledge of the tree of good and of evil. On Gloucester Shores. 27 ON GLOUCESTER SHORES. B^ Summer Seas* These are the sultry summer days, When blue sea deepens in the mist To shadow'd gleam of amethyst ; And winds are still and surf beats low, And burning sun wakes yellow glow Along low-lying banks of haze. These are the sultry summer days, When winds are still, and shim'ring heat Glows palpitant and seems to beat Along the shore line like a heart : And loss and toil and pain seem part Of some sad world beyond the haze. 28 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl, II. mv mintet Seas. (At Eastern Point, Cape Ann.) I STAND upon the shore, And watch the waves all hoar Come whit'ning o'er a leaden-colored sea ; I watch the low clouds drifting, I long to see them lifting, But, in my heart, I know it cannot be. The piercing winds come blowing ; Far out to sea 'tis snowing, And soon, I know, the storm must reach the land. But still, in patience, waiting The coming and abating. Safe in the cleft of one firm rock, I stand. The wild storm beats around me, The raging winds surround me, My weary heart is chilled almost to doubt ; But suddenly uprising. There comes a thing surprising : A warmth of glory floods within, without, On Gloucester Shores. 29 The somber clouds have lifted, And where the wild foam drifted, The glory of the sunset fills the sea ; And with its promise tender, The quick'ning, purple splendor Fills all the storm with gladness, now, for me. For I in peace have w^aited. Until the storm abated, And God has sent His smile across the land ; While, flashing thro' the clearness, Comes the sweet sense of nearness, The comfort in the pressure of God's hand. 30 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. LOVE— HUMAN AND DIVINE. I. IRew Morl^a How small a compass holds a world in span ! One look, one touch, one space where two souls meet In one quick flash of glory, and complete A new world is ! A strange new world, yet man Goes treading it where scarcely angels can, Straight up to God, assured, unwav'ring, fleet ; So love makes worlds, inhabited, complete At the first moment, after love's own plan. And thou, who read'st so well the guiding chart, Hast found thy world ! Oh, harbored soul, explore Beyond these sunny shores that seem divine, Love— Human and Divine. 31 And, piloted thro' all this life's sure part Of storm and fear — on heights ne'er dreamed before, Find heaven's self in this new world of thine. 32 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. II. IRevelation* Eternal love laps round us like a sea, Changeless, against the rocky coast of years ; Past now all doubts that could be and all fears — Immeasurable — save that it, too, must be A while circumf'renced by life's destiny — (Grief's blinding mist, the dark'ning blur of tears) And we, whose earthly vision never clears The marge of time, must wait eternity. Then we, past human barriers of mind. No longer thro' a glass all darkly stained, Shall gaze reanimate to open sight ; And in that wak'ning vision, love shall find Its absolute expression — unconstrained In Love's own full apocalypse of light. Peace at Evening. 33 peace at iBvcninQ. (Written for and published by George W. Cable.) , The day had closed in gloom had not my eyes Beheld the last wild roses of the skies, Scattering their crimson petals one by one, Warm with the parting kisses of the sun Into the sweet calm bosom of the night. While, slowly deepening, the soft evening mist Through many colors changed to amethyst, Until it seemed, last of that wondrous list, The twelfth gem of the holy-city wall. Seen in John's mystic vision, had let fall Some faint ray of its glory on my sight. It passed, and all my fretted soul's demand Passed, too. Then, as a brooding mother might, God, with the gentle hollow of His hand. Smoothed the close folded coverlid of night, Above the still form of His dreaming land. 3 34 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. (3o^, tbe poet For us, the Poem of this world, God wrote ! The blank verse of the heavens, the remote And awful rhythmic measures of the sea ; All Nature's discords wrought to harmony. His brooks that run instinctively in rhyme, His leafy boughs that beat accordant time, His rolling seas, His hills and plains of verse ; His rhythmic stars that still in song re- hearse The Epic of Creation— these indeed, In God's own language, teach our human need. Our need of Him. Sonnet. 35 %onnct TO MY MOTHER. (Died, October 14th, 1898.) When I shall see your dear, dear face again, Shall feel your touch and look into your eyes; Trembling with a quick rapture, half surprise, That I so long without you could remain : When all is over — waiting and the pain Of your long absence. When, at your voice, skies Smile into summer though death's winter lies Knee-deep about me — when we meet again ! Oh, when we meet again ! I must repeat The glad new song that ever, in my heart, Keeps up its cadence with this one re- frain. When we shall meet ! I feel the message sweet 36 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. As birds do sunshine when the clouds depart, And God sends peace — ' ^ Clear shining after rain." But when I look upon that longed-for face again, It will be glorified ! The same dear face, I hope, Yet so uplifted from its earthly scope, I shall behold His image in it, and a thousandfold Be satisfied. Three Sonnets on Life. 37 XTbree Sonnets on %itc. I. Could we but stand beside Death's gate, and ask Of each outcoming traveler, What is life ? Could we but question each one when the strife Of this world ended. Could we take to task All human kind, and see them when the mask Was falling from each face with thought still rife ; The father, son and husband, mother, wife ! — Whal answers might we gain, could we but ask ! And what is life ? We stand at first and gaze ; The early morn is passed — the day begun — The busy forenoon of our heated day ; We venture forth upon the trodden ways. 38 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Noon comes and passes by — low sinks the sun! And we, 'mong evening shadows, stand and pray. II. We question oft, with sad, rebellious heart, Why God gives life at all ; since life is fraught With so much suffering — with so much dear- bought And bootless understanding. Friends must part. And lovers, as in all time, feel the smart Of this world's sad experience. Love un- sought Must waste its wealth in silence, whilst all thought, Turning to past delight, makes sad the heart. But life is more than love, and more than loss ; Immeasurable deep good we cannot see Ofttimes is wrought thro' ministry of pain ; And we who hope beyond life's heavy cross. Find in the vast thought of Eternity No useless strife — no battle fou^iit in t ain. Three Sonnets on Life. 39 III. A LITTLE brook goes babbling gently by, The summer winds above its green banks blow, No shadows in its shallow waters show ; The summer clouds above it seem so high. But hush ! with sudden change of melody, The same stream widens and, in gradual flow. Brook, deepening stream and river, as they grow. Are lost in wideness — and the sea is nigh. Oh ! trite comparison, so full of truth — So full of life's deep meaning now to me ! Childhood's unshadowed brook — the stream of youth — Man's strife and woman's love swept toward the sea — The mighty river of life's latest ruth ; All lost in wideness — Heaven's Eternity. 40 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. XTbe mnattatnable* The clear stars burn along the heavens to- night, In wak'ning radiance flaming fire on fire ; Too low for Heaven, too high for earth's desire, They lead, expectant, on the human sight, And leave it yearning still from height to height. A Woman's Reasoning. 41 H Moman's IReasonlng* Where is thy charm ? My love, I cannot tell ; Be thou content to know I love thee well, And ask no more. A woman loves not as, 'tis said, men do For a lip's beauty, for an eye of blue Ne'er seen before : But for a deeper something in the soul, A gift of mastery beyond control, All tho't above : For an ideal beauty — a deep grace, Which, oft indeed, no other one can trace, Does woman love. So ask me not wherein I find thy charm. In answering thee, I might my love disarm — I cannot tell ; Since from the perfect whole no charm could part, 'Tis for thyself, and only as thou art, I love thee well. 42 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl H Moman's Zcavs. A woman's tears! All yes, a woman's tears ! You, in your manly strength, say, '^ 'Tis not much That stirs the fountain of her hopes and fears — A woman weeps e'en at the slightest touch." And yet, so little do you know, indeed ! So little in your own life's stirring part. How deep that fountain is, what currents feed That fountain's troubled source— a woman's heart. When you are loved, you take it but your right. Saying, '^ She loves to love me. " Do you know Aught of that inner heart flood, whose swift might Sweeps to her eyes their first warm over- flow ? A Woman's Tears. 43 Or when you prove, in tenderness, to be Not all her love had thought you, do you take. In chiding to your heart, this comfort, she Her tears and prayers will mingle for your sake ? Or when your child— her hard-earned treas- ure — lies Safe on the heart that dared for it death's fears ! But then you would not question if those eyes — Those weary, wistful eyes — were filled with tears. Why question you at all ? Her tears are not The idle things the-y seem ; they are the flow Of darkly troubled waters, oft begot In hidden depths that you can never know. For woman's life is strange— yes, strange indeed And that which can but little time defer The busy schemes of men, demands its meed — 'Tis thought and smiles, 'tis thought and tears with her, 44 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. And so she weeps — sometimes she knows not why, Save that the heart is full ; and God has given This safeguard for her nature swept too high, Lest in its flood-tide should the heart be riven. Victoria Regina. 45 IDictoria IRcGina* To the memory of the Queen who above all things else was the Woman, this sonnet is loyally inscribed. Thou who hast felt a nation's heart-tide beat Along thine own quick pulses, hear again Thy praises rung from out the hearts of men ! (Soul cadenced as when guardian angels greet, Dust still of heavenly pavements on their feet And clash their harps in passing.) Where or when, 'Mong kings, 'mong queens, mere women or mere men, Gains not thy long life honor full and sweet ; For thou hast timed the pulse of thine own heart Too truly for discordance — hast known pain, (Love's pleasure bought) , all woman griefs, the smart 46 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Of bitter loss — swept now to life's rich gain ! This side the seas, we, too, would twine with green Thy many crowns — Wife, Mother, Woman, Queen ! Decoration Day 1900. 47 Decoration Dai^ 1900. THE OLD AND THE NEW : A TRIBUTE. God's messenger with blooms of peace, From Heaven's portal floating down, Has scattered promise of increase Throughout each quiet, fruitful town. For May has come and fulled and waned. With renewed promise of rich store ; While from the lavish gifts we've gained Blossoms— and something more. A mem'ry of the years passed by Wakes in our hearts and blooms again ! What ! do we hear the battle-cry ? The leader's call, the tramp of men ? The thunder of the cannon's roar ? The clash of conflict, trumpet's strain ? Ah, how the old wounds throb once more Beneath their scars with sullen pain. As every soldier hears the note That thrilled his heart so long ago ; 48 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. And sees, in dream, our banner float Where fresher streams of life blood flow. 'Tis on a newer, farther shore He hears once more the old command ; And scarred wounds throb no longer sore. For North and South march hand in hand. The calm that follows after storm, The peace of five and thirty years. Lies on old Lookout's rugged form And stills the fields Potomac nears. On Gettysburg the shadows wave, The peaceful shadows to and fro ; Above each tombless, unknown grave, The grasses whisper requiems low. Old Chattanooga blooms again, The laurel fills the mountain slope ; The wild flowers wipe the old red stain, And summer fields are fresh with hope. The angel of the arts of peace, With folded pinions hov'ring down. Stands smiling at the long surcease. The strifeless srrowth of field and town. fc.' When, suddenly, the summons rings ! Again the trump to battle calls I Decoration Day 1900. 49 And our furled banner boldly flings Its challenge to the hostile walls. And once again do widows weep, Once more the mother's hope must wane, And maids must waiting vigils keep While nameless graves grow green again. Now, to our soldier-brave each heart Its loyal tribute freely gives, The years have only eased the smart, The glory of the deed still lives. For never can our hearts forget The struggle, suff'ring, conquest, cost ; The deeds that stir the quick blood yet, The tales of brave lives nobly lost. Yet, not alone the fathers claim The off 'rings of our hearts to-day, We, too, would crown the sons, the same, The later heroes, with our bay. Once more the blighting breath of war Eolls scourge across our fruitful land ; And you, brave ones with many a scar, Who met the Demon hand to hand ; You husbandmen, who gladly beat The idle plowshare to a sword ; 4 5o The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. And let the call of country cheat The sickle of its golden hoard ; Ah, you who dared the soldier's doom, Who won for us the victor's palm, Know best how bitter was the bloom That bro't so long the fruits of calm. So to the father and the son Alike, we thankful tribute bring ; To one as both, to both as one, This praise we give, this song we sing. For never can our hearts forget The struggle, suff'ring, conquest, cost ; The deeds of heroes living yet, The tales of brave lives nobly lost ! A Sea View. 51 H Sea Dtew» AT COMING ON OF NIGHT. Now, from behind the farthest rock that drips With green sea-brine, a purple shadow slips — Another ^nd another come to be Part of the night, till lost in density, Sea, sky and shadow are immensity — And face to face is He who rules the sea ! 52 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Yet satisfied ? — Ah no ! Forever longing for some good beyond ; Forever waiting, with high hopes and fond, For some great overflow Of this earth's bounty slow. Not satisfied ? — not yet ! With what earth gives, however full the gift; We cannot yet our weary souls uplift From all this pain and fret That earth's best gifts beget. Not satisfied with all ! A longing still in every heart doth live, A longing for some good Fate will not give — A good that renders small What fullest wealth men call. Not satisfied ! O Lord ! Wreak not Thy vengeance on us while we wait. Unsatisfied. 53 Nor while we seem to loiter, being late ; For we at last have heard The mandate in Thy word. No more unsatisfied ! We come, O Lord ! and while Thou dost control, From chastened hearts, we feel the yearn- ing roll — Forgetting earthly pride Self being crucified. 54 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. ^*1Re Being DeaO, mt Speaftetb/* To the memory of Prophet. From age to age has God sent Prophet souls To meet with answering truth, the world's desire ; Whose lips have felt in sacramental fire The burning of the sacred altar coals, And leaped to ambient flame. In churchly stoles. In poet's garb, in commonest attire. These men have walked and let the heavenly fire Burn out to other's good — —The death knell tolls ! Then, suddenly the world, awakening, cries, With throbbing heart against th' insensate clay: '* Oh might I look into my Prophet's eyes, And hear his voice once more lead on the way ! " Thus, even as they call, with meanings new, His old words flash — death seals our Pro- phet true. Easter Hymn. 55 faster Ib^mn. Blest is the day that gave Thee birth, O Lord ! Blest is the day that unto this sad earth Gave Thee, a helpless babe — Incarnate Word— The fruit of woman's anguish. To humanity Gave Thee in flesh — Thou twofold mystery, Son of God ! Blest, too, that day which on the cross, Lord ! Saw Thee uplifted — saw the seeming loss Which was earth's gain — when of Thine own accord, Thou didst give up Thy life in weary pain, Opening Thy lips in blessings once again, Thou Son of God ! But far more blessed seems this day, Lord ! This joyous Easter, when, in new array, Thou art uprisen — when, Thy story heard Makes every heart a newer life to feel ; When even Nature, wakening, doth reveal Thee, Son of God ! 56 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. When Nature doth with newer bloom, O Lord! Bring from the depths of winter's hoary- tomb An after-type of Thee — when in accord All hearts lift up their hymn of praise to Thee, Thou risen One — hope of eternity, O Son of God ! Blest is the day when Thou didst rise, O Lord ! Thy sad atonement done — when with glad eyes Thy true disciples saw what they had heard From Thine own lips — saw Thy celestial birth. Saw Thee above the mightiest kings of earth, The Son of God I Friends Passed Away. 57 ffrien^s passed Hwap» Friends passed away forever from our sight, Dear friends that loved us once — oh, deep delight ! To feel they love us still beyond the night. Beyond the darkness and the night of pain, Where morning dawns eternal, will they wait Sometime, we know, beside the swinging gate. To greet us with the old sweet smile again. Beyond the darkness and the night of death. In the eternal dawning, with glad song. Sometime we hope to join the happy throng. And find the dear friends we have missed so long. Friends passed away forever from our sight, Dear friends that loved us once — oh, deep delight ! To know they love us still beyond the night. 58 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. 3B^ tbe *'Wec^ t^ool'' of /IDp Cbtlbboob. (On the little Conewango.) Far seen thro' woodland shadows cool and deep, In the perpetual evening imaged there, The tranced waters ever seem to sleep, Lulled by the spirit music of the air. So calm ! so quiet ! All the place doth seem Lost in the languor of eternal dream ! Three Quatrains on Poetry. 59 Ubree (Quatrains on poetry. I. There is no tphere, inhabited, untrod— No reahn but doth to poetry belong : In universal poem writ by God, World answers world from out the deeps of song. II. True poetry springs but from poet's heart ; This great world's tribulation and its woe. All human joys— the bliss of Heaven, in part, To round his perfect work, should poet know. III. The world seems dark— life's deep'ning shadows fall, The soul is desolate, the heart forlorn ; When, suddenly, forth sounds the poet's call ! Soul touches soul and anew world is born. 6o The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. lEastet /iDorntng* "CHRIST IS RISEN." MELANCHOLY bells ! let no sound linger Within thy throats — no hallelnjah note ! For Christ is dead — is dead upon the cross ! See, how from palm and pale outstretching finger Drip crimson drops, and where the scoffers smote, Deep crimson bars His riven breast em- boss. See, how His head in lonely anguish droop- ing On that pierced bosom, riven for our sake. Hangs low, as still in benediction stooping. One last rich blessing on His foes to make. See, how the purple shades are softly steal- ing Easter Morning. 6i 'Eound speechless lips and straining lids that rise, In human weakness wistful and appeal- ing, Half drawn above those Heaven-behold- ing eyes. But hark, oh hark ! what glorious music now The trumpet winds of early spring are bringing ! As thousand angels for that thorn-crowned brow, Were rapturous songs of coronation sing- A rapturous music thro' the world is sound- ing ; Unnumbered voices echoing the name Of Him who, far from pain and earthly wounding, Eeigns in that kingdom whence, for us, He came. Eing loud, bells ! your hallelujahs high ! He hangs no longer on the stained cross, For He is risen — risen from His pain ! 62 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. And 'midst the wondrous burst of harmony, Let your note sound ! Let all the heavens across, A thousand bells make music — whilst re- frain From seraph throats, His praise doth swell again ! Revelation. 63 IRevelation^ " For He shall give His angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways." As when, fresh from Heavenly altar coals, Charged angel censers, flashed across the dark Of human doubt, send the enkindling spark Keen-edged with burning into latent souls. 64 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. XTbro' all TLhc Ba^* In early morning, Mother, thou art with me ; In that first solemn hour of early morn — In that deep hush when dearest dreams are born, 'Tween sleep and waking, Mother, thou art with me. And all the day, in memory, thou art with me. Thy loved tones sound in each familiar word : And as in old days when I really heard And knew thee present. Mother, thou art with me. And still at night— in the sweet calm of evening, Longing, I ask of God one precious boon ; That thou, too, mayst remember morn and noon. And hold me thine in the blest calm of even- ing. Songs of Chivalry. 65 SONGS OF CHIVALRY. ' Hb^Q Xat)i? at Iber Casement Iblgb* My lady at her casement high, My lovely lady sits alone ; The shadows dark about her lie, The night winds softly round her moan. Amidst the shadow'd tapestries, My lady sits in lonely mood ; Beneath her gaze the meadow lies, The sparkling stream — the distant wood. Beside her casement swinging wide. My lovely lady sits in dream ; An open volume at her side Lies in the moonlight's silver stream. She dreams again the stories old, That all day long have thrilled her heart ; And maidens fair and warriors bold Seem of the shadows dim a part. 5 66 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. But look ! Along the sparkling stream, Thro' wood and meadow stretching wide, With clash of arms and helmet's gleam, She, dreaming, sees her young knight ride, Touched by the moonlight glinting pale, She dreams her young knight rides apace; She sees the gleaming of his mail, The glory of his upturned face. Eapt still in dreams of chivalry, My lovely lady strains her sight ; She leans far out her casement high, And sees, in truth, her waiting knight. For lo, one form more fair than all, More fair to her than any dream, Shows dark against the orchard wall ; She sees it in the moonlight's gleam. Her weary gardener all alone Sings some sweet song, half heard, below ; She feels the music of his tone, She longs the tender words to know. With maiden strife her heart doth long ; The dewy air comes burdened, sweet ; She hears the music of his song. She knows he doth her name repeat. Songs of Chivalry. (^'J She wears a rose upon her breast, The faded one he plucked at morn, She lifts it up as it were blest, And feels new life within her born. She dreams no more in moonlight pale : The knight has passed beyond her call — The shadowy knight in gleaming mail — But she doth hold best knight of all, The gardener at her orchard wall. 68 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. II. XTbe (Barbener at tns /iDistress' 6ate* She sits apart, doth my beloved lady ; She sits beside her casement all day long, Eeading old tales till, from her garden shady, The long, dark shadows round about her throng. She reads of knights, of many a gracious queen, Of courtly deeds that make her young heart beat ; Of kings who, in their rcyal garments' sheen, Bow to some beggar-maid's beguilement sweet. She reads of pages lonely and forlorn ; Of high-bred ladies, pitiless and fair ; She feels with grief her tender heart cords torn, And weeps to know the singer's tale of care. Songs of Chivalry. 69 Dreaming, till shadows thro' her chamber shady- Throng 'round her seat like knightly cour- tiers all ; For a fair queen is my beloved lady, And I am but the page without her wall. The humble gardener tending day by day Some gorgeous posies for my lady fair ; Striving each morn upon her shrine to lay Some dew-wet offering, odorous and rare. Some lovely lily for her bodice high. Some fresh-plucked rose to nestle in her hair ; Some sacred bloom to catch her bosom's sigh And feel its death most perfect resting there. I am her young page plucking with sad song The happy flowers, that soon my lady gay Will wear upon her white throat all night long, And in the morning, withered, toss away. For merrily this queen will dance to-night. To sound of voices tuning sweet and low 70 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. The tale I dare not utter, some brave knight Will whisper in her ear his careless vow : While I alone beside the swinging gate, Beyond the sound of dance and minstrel's call, With sealed lips must still in silence wait My lady's message at her orchard wall. But hark ! I hear a sweet voice speaking low, I catch the music of a light footfall ; My lady comes ! Ah, would that she might know The knight who loves her truest one of all. Is but the gardener at her orchard wall. At the Evening Prayers. 71 Ht Iber Evening praters* (Suggested by the picture of in the Gallery . ) O MY Beloved ! shouldst thou come to-night Attired in guise celestial, I would bow, Not daring yet to gaze upon thy brow Or catch the full gleam of thy princely might ; Only on bended knees would I delight, With trembling, down-cast eyelids, thus to bow. Praying as in some holy place — whilst thou — Thou might'st not deem me worthy of thy sight. But shouldst thou come, sick, lonely, poor and cold, Stripped of thy kingly pomps — oh, then would I, By love's own meekness rendered truly bold, Upraise thee in my heart of hearts so high. Thou ne'er shouldst miss thy crown of kingly gold ; So would love's jewels other pomps outvie. 72 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. January, 190U Listen, ye Nations ! Rulers contending ! Hear ye the Voice — trump of Apocalypse ! Dragon of War, from the seas uprising ; Clashing of arms and rumor of contest : Hear ye, Nations ! Winter Twilight. 73 mintcv Uwtltol3t. (Upon the Conewango.) All day the snow has fallen on the field That skirts the Conewango ; and to-night, E'en now at eve, the snowflakes cold and white Are falling still. In distance, half revealed Among the snow-capped willows of the field, Lie the chill waters motionless— my sight Grows dim in straining to yon farthest Ught Where wav'ring shadows up to darkness yield. And could I pierce beyond those shades, would I Find aught but meadows whit'ning, fields of snow And grim, dark woods ? Imagination wades Through wider fields than these, and my soul's eye Still finds monotony. Yet, God, I know Sometime Thou wilt reveal beyond the shades ! 74 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. mtnbs of jflDarcb. Winds of March, thro' leafless branches wailing, O'er fields of snow or meadows brown and drear ! Clouds of March, thro' the deep heavens sail- ing, When will the winter cease and spring be here ? Oh, newly wakened waters, slowly throbbing With musical, deep pulses, soft and clear ! Oh, lonesome woodlands, now forever sob- bing, When will the winter cease and spring be here ? So long to wait — so long the heart grows weary ! Thro' chilling silence strains the w^istful ear; No answer comes — the heavens are gray and dreary. When will the winter cease and spring bQ here? Beyond the Sunset. 75 Be^on5 tbe Sunset (Eastern Point, Cape Ann.) Beyond the shores that bound the realm of day, With shadows tender ; Beyond the hills that verge the evening's gray With purple splendor : Beyond the sunset, on to deeper seas, My thoughts go sailing ; Beyond the shining floodgates, borne with ease, Fair winds prevailing. Each thought a bark borne on its perilous way- Unmanned — unguided, Save that a path thro' all yon crimson spray Has been provided. For every thought a winged prayer for thee Goes outward sailing ; And God will watch that not one lost shall be, Or unavailing. 76 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. IDtctor^. We glory in our victories. What is victory ? We bow down to our heroes. Who are our heroes ? To him who feels but victory in arms, Who knows no victory beyond the flesh, We have no message, since the primal truth Strikes deeper— holding surest triumph still In utter downfall of all human hopes — The sheathing of the sword to take the cross That brings to fulness in a crown of life : Since oft immortal victories have come To conquered ones, while yet the conqueror stands Uncrowned but by mortal — this is life. Two Score Years and Ten. 77 Uwo Score 33ear5 an^ Ucn. (Written for a Golden Wedding.) A GOLDEN circlet — links inwrought, Two-score and ten, with rare design To where the meeting clasps have caught, Twin-gemmed, a ray of light divine. A golden circlet — year on year, Two-score and ten of links full fraught With life's swift changes, smile and tear ; And all the gracious round is wrought And clasped with gems — two jewels meet- Two marriage mornings, far and near, That hold a mimic world complete. And round it to a perfect sphere. Oh, gold encircled world that lies Safe in the hollow of a Hand, Where all the Graver's mysteries. We need not know nor understand ! We look with yearning at the links. And pray that many more may be Wrought in the circlet, ere time sinks Its count of years — eternally. 78 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. */IDong Sbabows H)eep» (Rondeau.) 'MoNG shadows deep, the waters flow. The darkling waters still and slow ; By banks where leafy willows green Bend, as in tenderness, to screen Heart depths that still more silent grow : No harsh winds o'er the waters blow ; No gentle breezes whisp'ring low, Disturb these silent wells, unseen 'Mong shadows deep. So in thy nature, Love, I know, Lie depths of tenderness below The sun-touched surface — depths serene ; Unruffled calms that only seen In times of trouble, warmest show 'Mong shadows deep. Malachi 11. 3. 79 /IDalacbi 1I1F, 3, The will of God, it tries us as silver in the fire ; And we whose souls are yearning in dross of earth's desire, Must feel the fiery mandates go searching to the heart ; Must feel the burning anguish, the cruel, bitter smart, Before we reach to uses of a purer, richer vein; The true worth of the metal beneath the dross and stain : So we who pine in weakness for uses holier, higher, Know there must come the cleansing of God the finer's fire. Before we shape in pattern to the grace of our desire. 8o The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Xifte to Some Storm^Belateb Mt^. Like to some storm-belated bird that lingers Far from its mates npon a winter's night, Beating its tender wings in sad affright ; So stands she now with soft, unclasping fingers, And wistful eyes that, in their strained sight, Peer far beyond the darkness of the night. O wistful eyes, that, in your tender sadness, So long have known the ministry of tears ! gracious mouth that to the heart en- dears A mournful smile above all youthful glad- ness ! weary heart, that never leaps with fears. Nor hopes for joy thro' all the coming years ! Like to Some Storm-Belated Bird 8i Would I might lift, one moment, thy dull burden, And, with my heart's deep sympathy, atone For all the sorrows thou hast ever known ; Would I might give thee some celestial guerdon, Some gift of love from the eternal throne To fill the dark hours when thou art alone. 6 82 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Ube IDision, A NEWER REVELATION. (1 Corinthians xiii. 12.) In massy jewels fit to wall the gate That leads to Godhead, lie the clouds to- night ! In Eevelation of a newer date, Just made apocalyptic — light on light As John saw gleaming from his Patmos height, Foundation stones. And so that wondrous list — Jasper and emerald and chrysolite^ Wakens in glory on to amethyst, Till all the Patmos vision looms in sight ; Then, on a sudden, dull gray mist and night ! Poems of Early Youth. 83 poems of ]£arl^ ISotttb : " There's rosemary, that's for remembrance" Thoughts of the past that rally Faster and faster like a flock of sheep Down-driven thro' a valle^^ Like cool, delicious waters bubbling up From unseen springs to the wayfarer's cup ; From hidden fountains, musically sweet, The waters of Remembrance spring to meet My outstretched cup this hour, and brim it full With memories of the past. 84 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Hnswet Qong of Sptrtta* FOR A FESTIVAL OF MAY. We come, we come, We come, we come ! From dewy bank And flowery dell ; From marsh-land dank And mossy swell, We come, we come ! From each woodland haunt and lair ; All the shadowed places where Hamadryads in their play, Dance the starry hours away ; Foot to foot and hand to hand With old ^olus and his band. Where Dripping Naiads, foamy white. Trip their mystic measures light, Or, all trembling, quickly hie From the wanton Satyr's eye ; Hiding where the willows sway If he seeks to make his prey. Answer Song of Spirits. 85 Where Hyacinthus, turning over, Sighs and will not yet recover, Though Apollo's kisses now On his cheek and on his brow On his faded mossy pall. All unheeded, warmly fall. Where In a wooded fastness deep, Young Narcissus, in his sleep, Striving once again to press His own imaged loveliness. Sadly dreaming, seeks to rise By the brooklet where he lies. Where Sweet Zephyrus, chosen lover, Seeking new gifts to discover Fit to bring his queen before ; From some hidden honey store Heaps a yellow fern leaf up. Fills with dew his wind-flower cup, And with Flora on a hill Or beside a loosed rill. Feasts until the sun is set, And his wings are limp and wet. 86 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Spirits of these haunts are we, Filled with spring-time mirth and glee. So blithely now, We come, we come ! From dewy bank, And flowery dell, From marsh-land dank, And mossy cell, We come, we come ! April. 87 HpriL The red-winged blackbird's liquid note From alder-bush by brook remote ; The red-brown col'ring of the trees, The bitter sweetness of the breeze ; All things conspire to let us know Of summer's coming, sure but slow, !Now April's here. 88 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Hftet Barft* O FIRST delicious nights of early spring ! When the warm dews are falling — when the air, Pregnant with subtile perfume everywhere, Seems some faint wave from Araby to bring : When meadow, pasture, woodlands whisper- ing, Are warm with their new verdure — when the bare Brown, stubbly fields, of fresh green, take their share Upon the wet banks of each bubbling spring. O fresh delights of the fast wakening year ! To wander in the meadows after dark. Catching no sound save where, far distant, clear. One lone lamb calls— to watch till, spark by spark. The stars are lighted, and to be alone With Him who calls this mystery His own. April. 89 BprtL UPON THE BRIDGE THAT SPANS THE CONE- WANGO. 'Tis winter on the meadow white and chill, Where Conewango's silent waters flow ; 'Tis winter on the dull stream— winter still Upon the bridge that spans it ; but below, (Where the first flush of spring begins to show Among the catkined willows, warm and bright). The stream is stirring now, beneath the snow, Like an awakened spirit ! How filled with solemn thought art thou to- night, my beloved waters ! — longingly, 1 lean above thee and, with wakening sight. Follow thy far, faint shadows till they lie So still, so deep, I almost seem to see Another world in their calm mystery. 90 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. irn\>ocation» May God bless you, my beloved ! In your hour of youthful gladness ; When the morning breaks upon you, When the dawning light is on you ; May God bless you then, My dear one ! Bless and keep you. When the joys of life are dearest, When the goal of hope seems nearest ; When your heart is newly thrilling, All your soul with new hope filling ; When the light is deep'ning o'er you, With life's tenderest hour before you ; May God bless you then. And keep you, My beloved ! May God bless you, my beloved ! In the hour of your affliction ; When the chills of night surround you, When the twilight shades are round you ; Invocation. 91 May God bless you then, My dear one ! Bless and soothe you. When the joys of life are fled, When your brightest hopes are dead. When no gentle voice is sounding. And your heart is sore with wounding ; When life's shades are deep'ning round you, May God's tenderness surround you ; May He bless you then, And soothe you, My beloved ! 92 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Summer JBvcning. IN THE MEADOWS. A TENDER haze is on the hills to-night, On the blue, distant hills — and, everywhere, A soft'ning glory in the summer air Wakens the dull sense to a clearer sight : little world 1 with what a calm delight 1 wander in these meadows cool and fair ; Feeling about me the uprising prayer — The solemn benediction of the night. Sought in the calm midst of this summer eve, The earth is full of rapture — hill and stream, These dew-besprinkled meadows, and the dim. Far distant woodlands ; e'en the winds that grieve, With their melodious sadness ever seem To join the glad soul in its wordless hymn. Induction. 93 INDUCTION Uo an HnttQue MebMng Sowq. The sheep are in the pasture and the shep- herd's gone away ; The sheep are in the pasture all this long, bright summer day ; And they alone must tarry, For the shepherd's gone to marry, And he'll not come back till morning ; well- a-day, well-a-day ! The wedding bells are ringing. The Troubadour is singing ; The bridal blooms, the daisies Delight to frame her praises Who walks with him she loveth best to-day. There is no thought of sorrow. No thought of sad to-morrow. For wedding bells are ringing The Troubadour is singing And she doth walk with her best loved to- day. 94 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. So while the sheep are waiting, and the shepherd's far away, Come, let us join our voices in a merry- roundelay ; Let us sing to merry pipes all the long, bright summer's day : While we alone must tarry While young Colin's gone to marry, Come, let us sing his praises, well-a-day, well-a-day ! Two Sonnets. 95 TWO SONNETS. I. H XTbougbt When death shall come, I would that it might be At the calm closing of some afternoon, When summer winds, with soft, familiar tune, Might breathe their last sweet requiem over me ; When all the twilight's blending mystery- Might lull my wearied sense ; when, o'er death's swoon, (Preluding, chance, some heavenly-cadenced boon). Might fall the full sweep of earth's harmony Oh, I would sink to sleep at eventide. Upon a summer evening's twilight hour, When flocks are silent and the country side 96 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Breathes but a soothing stillness — when each flower And wind and stream sinks to its quiet rest, Then would I sink upon my Maker's breast. Two Sonnets. 97 II. Mben ir Sball 2)!e» When I shall die, I would not my grave be Shadow'd by any chilling granite high, And overwrought with words ; but I would lie, If so I may, beneath some forest tree. Haunted all day by my loved minstrelsy Of birds and whisp'ring winds, that ever seem To the rapt sense, like sweet sounds in a dream — Fragments of some angelic harmony. So would I rest close to some loved spot where Oft on that solemn, silent hour of eve. Ere yet the stars have wakened, doth mine ear Catch a deep cadence thro' the misty air — Not wind nor stream, doth my rapt soul believe. But voice of God by nature echoed near. 7 98 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. TWO YOUTHFUL SONGS. WRITTEN IN IMITATION. I. %ovcv'5 Son^, THE SHEPHERD BY THE BROOK. Oh ! sing of my love ! sing ! sing ! All your rapturous praises ring ! Come ye Hours, and come ye Graces ; All ye nymphs from quiet places — Where the shadows shake and shiver, Where the green reeds quake and quiver- Come, oh come, ye nymphs, and sing While you loyal favors bring To her, in whose form and face Lives all beauty and all grace. Now she stands beside the brook, Leaning, with enraptured look, Where the trembling flecks of light Drift around her warm and bright. Two Youthful Songs. 99 And the waters softly press All her imaged loveliness, As she leans above the stream, 'Mong the shadows, lost in dream. Thro' the shades I see her blushes, When the wind amid the rushes, Like a voice, echoing near. Breathes its cadence to her ear. Does she dream as did Narciss, Longing her own face to kiss ? Is some image visioned there To her young eye still more fair ? Ah ! her eyes are now uplifting, And the love-light thro' them drifting. Tells my heart what face she sees Pictured there beneath the trees. Come, ye Hours, and come, ye Graces 1 All ye nymphs from quiet places — Where the sunbeams shake and shiver, Where the rushes quake and quiver. Come, oh ! come, ye nymphs, and sing ! All your rapt'rous praises ring For her, in whose heart and face Lives love's beauty and love's grace. LofC. 100 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. II. HrcaMan SbepberD's %ovc Som. Soft o'er the hills the purple clouds are lying ; Soft on the stream the sunset's ling'ring light Drifts into shadow — beautiful in dying As newly wakened love is in the eyes of my Delight. Deep as Love's eyes, with all their love with- in them, Flows the shadow'd stream beneath my longing gaze : Deep as her eyes when Love himself would win them Into sweetest mimicry of his own unf ath- omed ways. But where is my Love, oh ! where so long delaying ? So long 'midst the dews of evening chill and cold ! Two Youthful Songs. loi Chance, from her care her willful sheep are straying ; And she, alone, is seeking to bring them to the fold. Chance, all unguarded, she alone is calling Calling her lost sheep from their perilous way : Chance, even now, some sorrow is befalling, And death itself is making all this loveless, long delay. Chance, in her wand'rings, some other lad hath found her Guiding her flocks as in a waking dream : Chance, with his charms some other lad hath bound her. And I am left here love-lorn, piping music to the stream. Oh I where is my Love, and where so long delaying ? In pastures of bliss or mountain loneliness ? Where is my Love, and wherefore is she straying ? Quick, quick, oh flowing waters, help my longing heart to guess ! 102 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Soft from the hills the purple shades are dying ; Soft to my ear sounds a voice low and sweet ; Swift to my side my Love, my Love comes flying— Whilst the dark'ning waters thrill in their music at our feet. Indian Summer. 103 IfnMan Summer^ Bright after-math of summer days ! Scant sheaf of sunbeams Hghtly bound With flow'ry bands — the glowing rays That sunset gives thro' mellow haze And amber mist. 104 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Hn October IRt^bt Give me a matchless night ! Not such as June but as October gives,. When the spirit of summer wakes again, And in the soft moonlight, Bright, wilful Fancy lives, And all of Fancy's reeling, reckless train. Give me a night like this And I will weave romances fine as mist, Or as the vain Arachne's slender bridge, Where on, with fairy bliss, Oberon, flying kissed The loth Titania, deluding midge. Let shadows, here and there, The glowing whiteness of the moonlight bar, With blendings such as pearls on velvet make. And I will boldly swear I see Mab's rolling car, With all its gilded followers in wake. An October Night. 105 But let tree-tops whisper, And straightway will I say, ' ^ Hark, Ariel sings ! " And, saying, think I hear his lingering note Growing fainter, crisper. Timed to the whirring wings That bear him by safe seated on a mote. io6 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. I. 1bat\>est Uime. The buskers in the field are heaping high Among the shocks great stores of glistening gold, O'er which each, like a miser stern and old, Bends at his task with ever watchful eye : While thro' the misty, softly dappled sky, One circling swallow, than his mates more hold, Seeks to complete their summer tale — half told In the shrill sadness of his own faint cry. Now, from the pasture-land, the thistles old Send their last floating down to tempt the gaze Of the tired husker, till again he dreams Of things long passed and misty as the cold And shapeless fog, that, creeping o'er the haze, Fiuds him still husking by the faint moon- beams. Harvest Done. 107 II. Ibarvest Done, No longer now the fields and pasture path Eing with the voice of reapers. Sharp and chill Across the stubbly meadows crickets shrill Their lonesome music of the after-math : While thro' the fields and by deserted path I seek what broken grains are clinging still To hedge and frost- touched weed— nor take it ill Some other one more rich abundance hath. For when amid the stubble this most shrill, Quaint meadow music all is hushed— these high, Monotonous, sad cricket pipes are still ; When frost creeps thro' the pasture like a thief, Stealing all Nature's jewels — then will I Be more than rich with this small gleaner's sheaf. io8 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. TLvccs auD /IDen^ How strangely like in life are men and trees ! See, how yon forest maple bears its part In this life's struggle ; and, as fate decrees, Pours out its sweetness from a riven heart : See how the orchard tree must feel the knife Ere it the fullness of its strength can know ; While all the added richness of its life, It to some careful, chast'ning hand must owe. Thus over men and trees alike is passed The pruning knife of God ; and what the' strained And bleeding boughs are severed, if, at last, A richer fruitage to the world is gained. Silhouettes. 109 SILHOUETTES. I. Mamtng lDillaGe*mar^ at iBvcmnQ. Loud, blust'ring winds across the pastures sweep, The meadows all are silent under snow ; The voiceless streams no longer in their flow Break from the bondage of their icy sleep : Far from the drifting woodlands shadow'd deep, Smooth and untarnished on the vale be- low. Mid-winter's beauty lies — the glistening snow. And all things seem their Sabbath peace to keep. How white it is, and beautiful — this earth! Yon far-off village seems enchanted quite, Silent between the chill earth and the stars ; no The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. And yet, oh vale, how much of pain hath birth Within thy seeming quiet this fair night — How much of tumult thy calm beauty mars. Silhouettes. m II. Mbere Minter Silence IRetons. No chilling winds thro' the bare branches blow, Along the frozen brook no breezes play, All cold and drifted lies the glist'ning snow Within the barren, pathless woods to-day: No voice of wind is there — no chirp of bird, No rustle even in the stirless air ; No sound of life from the chill distance heard, Mars this one hour of Nature's silent prayer. So calm it is, the heart seems nearer here To its eternal Master's — and a thrill As of some mighty Presence hov'ring near, Seems all the sense with mystery to fill : E'en this deep silence, on the list'ning ear. Falls like a music from some finer sphere. IT2 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Song. Blow, winds, blow ! Toss the white snow Where she is lying ; Blow winds, blow ! She'll never know Why you are sighing. Eain, clouds, rain ! You come in vain Fresh breezes bringing Gone is her pain She's well again With angels singing. Christmas Carol. 113 Cbristmas CaroL Calm was the night, and beautiful the morn, When from the east the searching Magi came ; Calm was the night when Christ, our Lord, was born, And all the Heavens silenced at His holy- name. Calm was the night, the Magi came from far ; Lone in the fields the shepherds left their sheep. Hast'ning to where, 'neath Bethlehem's bright star, Earth's glorious Shepherd lay in His childish sleep. There, in a manger, Christ our Saviour lay, On the Virgin's arm, God's celestial Son ; Eound about His head shone a heavenly ray- Spirit, Christ, and Godhead, glorious three in one ! 114 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Guiding the shepherd by divine command, Angels, with sweet music, heralded the birth. Ever with rapt voices th' celestial band Told of peace, in heaven, of heavenly peace on earth. Thus broke the morn of an eternal day, Bright with a star that never more shall dim ; Sweet with a sound thro' all the heavenly way, Of angel voices rising in a rapt'rous hymn. Thus fled the darkness of a ling'ring night. Soft, on the hour when Christ our Lord, was born, All the Heavens waken 'd with a new delight, And earth caught the glory thro' silence of the morn. No sorrow mingled with joy of the night, God's mighty host, down drooping from above. Guarded the manger and, with pinions white. Shadow'd in His slumber the new-born Lord of love. No cross was there — no thorny crown of pain ; Christmas Carol. II ''Peace," sang the heavens, and, with sweet accord. Earth caught the cadence— echoing again, Upon that first calm birth-night of our gracious Lord. ''Peace, peace on earth!" glorious Christmas morn ! festal birth-time of our gracious King ! Let all our hearts take up the peace new- born. And all our music still with hallelujahs ring ! 0, let our voices join the Heavenly hymn ! Whilst like the Magi, hastening, we bring Frankincense of love and myrrh of faith to Him Who on this blessed night was born, our Saviour King ! i6 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. FRAGMENTS OF EARLY VERSE. Sbal^espeare'5 Bream ot a f^ib^^nmmcv^ There the fairies, by Titania led, Fill all the star-lit night with mellow song And sound of foot and tinkling music drawn From tiny harp by tiny hand addressed : There Oberon comes dancing o'er the green In dress as doth a fairy wight beseem ; With jingling bells and all his merry clan, In mimic caper, at this sovereign heel. To the Lady Una. n; Uo tbe Xa^^ mm. IN SPENSER'S FAERY QUEEN. The cock of dawn is crowing at the gate Beneath her chamber window: "Wel- come day ! Oh lady sweet, awake, awake, 'tis day ! Thy young knight's pawing charger will not wait : Thy plumed knight in all his steel array Goes riding from thy presence far away ; And thou art sleeping still, so late, so late ! ii8 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. XTo When first your fingers called sweet harmo- nies In witching prelude from the mystic keys, Methought I drowsed in Arcadian vale, Listening Pan's call and Syrinx's tender wail ; Catching, in quickened time, the lively beat Of silv'ry timbrels and of Dryads' feet — (Such as is famed once to have filled with sound Each rustic vale and every floweried mound ;) But when your fingers deeper soundings sought And from exquisite cords rare music wrought. Then caught my heart the strain, to silence never, But still to echo in its rapturous swell, As, taken from its native shore, a shell Sounds the deep cadence of the sea forever. An Imitation. 119 Hn irmttatton» (A youthful poem composed on the death of a friend.) When winter drear has worn away, And summer days are come again, Then every night upon the glen, Then every night the shadow men, With ladies trimly dight and gay, Will trip to South- wind's roundelay ; And, in deep nooks, will garlands lay ; — When summer days are come again. But tho' the winter wears away And summer days do waken then ; One footstep ne'er will sound again, One voice ne'er will answer when I call thro' all the grassy way. One shadow, stretching dark and gray, The sunny hours will dim for aye ; Tho' summer days do come again. 120 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. TWO POEMS. WRITTEN FOR THE OLD SCHOOL — CHAM- BERLAIN. Class ^ong ot Cbamberlatn, 1 89 1. (Air — ' Lauriger Horatius.'*) Wake, ye voices of the hills — Sweetest echoes rally ! Wake, ye slumbrous wind that fills Meadow land and valley ! Cho. Wake, and bear abroad our song : Ere old ties we sever, We would swell the chorus strong- Chamberlain forever ! Spirit of the future years, Beck'ning still before us ; What know we of boding fears — Shadows hov'ring o'er us ! Cho. In the present is our song ; Ere old ties we sever, We would swell the chorus strong- Chamberlain forever ! Two Poems. 121 Shall we ever see again These familiar faces ? God, alone, He knoweth when, Knoweth times and places. Cho. So we'll sing our parting song : Ere old ties we sever, We would swell the chorus strong — Chamberlain forever ! Seal of coming years in store We must leave unbroken ; Only days now gone before. Take we as our token. Cho. In the present is our song : Ere old ties we sever, We would swell the chorus strong — Chamberlain forever ! 122 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Uwo«=Score locate* READ AT CHAUTAUQUA, 1892. Fresh is the world and green these fields again ; Green for the fortieth time since summer rain And winter snows have darkened these old walls. Four decades now since these beloved halls Have felt the throbbing pulse of youthful life ; Have wakened to the ardor and the strife That dwell in youthful hearts. Ah, two- score years ! Dost think how full of laughter and of tears — How full of broken hopes and silenced fears, A human life is at this mark of time ? Who has not known some mother, past her prime, Whose little flock has left her fostering care. And gone into the world — some here, some there ? E'en as this mother still doth watch and wait Two-Score Years. 123 For her loved ones' home-coming, soon or late, So do I feel our Alma Mater now. The snows of many winters on her brow, With all a mother's wistful, tender yearning, Greets us, her grown-up children, home re- turning. And we, what do we feel to-night, in truth. But love for this fond mother of our youth ? But reverent love for her, and for that pair Who half of forty years, with fostering care, Have fanned in youthful hearts ambition's flame, Have urged to high endeavor, lofty aim. Theirs to uplift the soul, to fill the thought With richer, fuller, deeper things not taught In learned treatise or in text-book lore. And so, as we assemble here once more. With our small offerings of prose and rhyme To celebrate this anniversary time, We, too, would bring our ^^ rosemary'' sprays In sweet remembrance of our student days, To those instructors, who again to-day Have watched another class go on its way To broader fields of labor. Yes, we own, 124 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. With the same love that we have ever known, Allegiance to our teachers of past days. Sweet days they were, ay, well-remembered days, Full of high hopes, of aspirations high — Of dreams and visions, and the mystery Of newly wakening powers. Ah, well do I remember those glad hours When came my first full wakening to the light. When, with a sudden opening of the sight, The text-book's page grew luminous, and thought Took on those deeper colorings, that once caught Can never fade again. How full life grew ! Upon a sudden, all the world was new ! I read of Trojan wars, and of the Greeks — Of Hector and Achilles, and, as speaks Friend face to face with friend, I knew them all. The ten years storming of that city wall, — The flight of Paris and fair Helen's fall. Ah, wicked Helen — most sweet, wicked queen ! Teaching the young eyes thus to read between Two-Score Years. 125 Old Virgil's ponderous lines that tale above All tales of war — the mystic song of love. As one who follows a far winding stream And finds himself within some forest, where, Far seen through woodland shadows, cool and deep, In the perpetual evening imaged there, The tranced waters ever seem to sleep, Lulled by the spirit-music of the air, So calm, so quiet, all the place doth seem ; Lost in the languor of eternal dream : As such an one doth wander, so do I To-night along the stream of memory : And old familiar voices come again, And faces, that to see brings back the pain Of earthly partings — hopes and dreams and fears ! But why pause longer now for dreams or tears ? The brave realities of two-score years Claim our attention. Many years ago. While 'mong these hills and in the vales be- low. The settlers sought, with persevering toil, To win new homes from the uncultured soil Of this cold Cattaraugus. While they wrought, 126 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Each felt within himself one good unsought, That left his heart sick for New England hills. Felt that deep love for learning which yet fills Our New World hearts, and makes our country stand Foremost, progressive, Liberty's own land. Thus with the deep'ning needs came deeper yearning For all the old familiar forms of learning ; With their own growing needs the fathers felt As did those earlier fathers, when they knelt First time upon free soil. Still uncomplaining with their ceaseless toil, The parents foremost held their children's good ; So on this hill, where yet the tree-stumps stood, They raised a building — dedicated halls. And christened '^ Academic " these new walls. No longer now should '' common school "alone For loss of eastern privilege atone. Still hast'ning on ere yet the ardor cooled They called a man in eastern custom schooled. Two-Score Years. 127 A true-born teacher he, whose praises ring Upon our parents' lips, sincerely as we sing The praises of our doctor. So they came, Our parents to these halls — with hopes the same As we have felt, ambitions, longings, strife For higher and for better ways of life. Thus passed by twenty years with changes rife, Then came our teacher and his well-loved wife ; Preceptor and preceptress of this place For twenty years ! Would my words had the grace Of some old poet's rhyme. That I might sing fit praises for this time, That I, with gracious song, might fitly tell Of student days with them, remembered well. Not mine alone to sing ! In every dell Of all this country-side their children dwell ; And on, and out, beyond the farther swell Of western prairie — 'mong the eastern hills. To other lands and climes, with various wills, Old Chamberlain has watched her children go; 128 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. And now, borne on in time's unceasing flow, She numbers forty years of active life. Her children, too, are growing old — the strife Has whitened heads once young. No time is there For loit'ring now — work waits us every- where. With us no time for sadness, vain regret ; Our work is in the future, waiting yet. We are young still, the day but just begun, Before some stretch the dazzling fields un- won ; Before us all some great life task undone. 'Tis said the deepest music comes from hearts Cast down, and broken 'neath the heaviest smarts ; E'en as the broken reed alone did give, In the Pan-pipe, its deepest notes to live And echo through the ages. Life alone Is worth the living when it takes its tone From higher hopes — ambitions past the plain Of earthly joy or of an earthly pain. How often have I watched the sunset glow Fall on these western windows, whilst the slow, Two-Score Years. 129 Majestic beauty of the closing day- Crept softly o'er the valley till it lay More perfect than at noon-tide. So I hope When our life's sun shall reach the western slope Of its horizon, that its rays ma}^ throw Across our years but an intenser glow And deep'ning of the noon. We love the past But dearer seems the future. Our lot cast In this, a world of change, demands its meed Of labor on our part — of word and deed, And higher thought. Thus only can we round Our life into a perfect whole, and bound With sunrise and with sunset, a full day. 9 130 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. FIRST PUBLISHED POEMS. Songs anb Sonnets to tbe Seasons* To Chloris (Spring). So oft hast thou been sung, maid divine ! I scarce dare offer you this gift of mine — A few fresh flowers, culled by a quiet stream. Brought here to decorate a well-known theme. First for the garland, will I bring as't grew, A woodland violet all wet with dew, Whose saintly eye, too pure for such mad bliss, Has not yet closed 'neath rude Apollo's kiss. The Violet. 131 Ube Diolet. Sweet, tender nymph, and brightest in the throng That grace the em'rald meadows, and along The brooklet's weedy bank dance to the song Of oriole and robin and the rest. As each loud tunes it from above his nest. Eetiring nymph, as gentle and as shy E'en as was young Narcissus, when his eye Caught the reflection whereunto his love. In humble mind, all deep deceit above. Sought its confession. Fit art thou to frame Young Aphrodite's bed, save that to shame Thou bringest her sweet eyes, and render tame, With richer col'ring, all the veins that trace Their finest network on her snowy face. 132 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Ube Danbeliom O STURDY rustic ! to what sisterhood Of primly nodding maidens, chaste and good, Dost thou belong ? Yet, answer not ; I could Unerring place thee : thou so plainly speak'st Of over-brimming dairy-pails, that leak Their foam upon the grassy path and streak The budding clover all with white. Thou art Young Amaryllis, panting with faint heart For cooling streams — since thou must ever stand In sunny fields to watch the patient band Of cattle feeding, and at eve to list The drowsy tinkle of those bells that whist — Then louder sound — then whist again — and so Keep up, in distant field, their music low. To the First-Blown King-Cup. 133 TLo tbe ifirst^Blown 1kim^Cnx>. Thou dainty chalice — beaker over-brimmecl With drink — refreshing for such weary- limb'd And over-heated fairies, fays, and sprites As dance 'neath leafy trees these starry nights. Oft dost thou rest Titania's lips upon, Dewing those sweets, which bless King Oberon With richer gifts so wet by thy sweet draught ; And choicer nectar ne'er before was quaffed Than thou containest. E'en the King him- self Drops his bright wand and all his simple pelf, That he may balance at his parched lips Thy cooling surface, and with dainty sips Drain thy rich store. Aye, e'en Ariel stops To taste the flavor of thy crystal drops. 134 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. TO SUMMER. Away, nymphs ! I pray you go your way ! Chant through the summer woods your roundelay, Your glad songs : for I alone am weary. And in yon fields, where sunshine glints seem dreary, I'll rest. There Damon works the fresh-cut grass, That same whereon, with many frisky pass, The young elves dance through these short summer eves. And there, too, he, who in his heart believes, May see at noontide, in their humble spot. Some baby-wood -gods, fauns of gay deport ; Or older-grown satyrs with booted heel. That 'neath the burden of their full frocks reel. And through the partings of their matted locks, Watch yonder dryads, gay in summer frocks. To the Wild Strawbeny. 135 XLo tbe Mtlt) Strawberry, Give me, Epicurus, for the satisfaction of my palate, tliose luscious, crimson globes plucked by Arcadian boys among the green and tender grasses of Arcadian meadows. Give me one draught of that rich cream drawn from the udders of Arcadian kine— whilst over all, let trickle from the hand of some dewy-eyed Arca- dian maid that golden store the honey-Queen hath hid- den within the hollow trunks of Arcadian forests. Then mayst thou taste thy nectar and ambrosia, O great but inconstant Zeus !— Youth of Arcadia. Young Prophetess, oh! fair art thou, I ween, As was Cassandra, by Apollo seen And loved in olden days— aye, fairer e'en. What youth does not adore ?~-since thou dost tell Of banquetings and all things that so well Are greeted— a new Olympian feast— Ambrosian fruitage from the sun released And cooled in crystal, goblets overbrimmed With creamy richness, and all greenly trimmed By sun-browned Phyllis ; then, too, golden- rimmed. 136 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. The dainty gift e'en Zeus could not disdain Of Queen Melissa's honey-laden train, That, trickling down, upheld in Phyllis' hands. Circles the rubies all with gilded bands. Summer Rain. 137 Summer IRatn* Soft, gently falling, intermittent rain ! Like a divine baptism, sweet and deep. You fall upon the meadowlands and sweep The droughty pastures. Like some hallowed strain Your patt'ring music sounds, and the refrain All Nature joins — the freshened brooklets leap. The trees make music, and their green leaves keep Sweet praise to Him who sent you, blessed rain ! No longer now the cattle are asleep In the deep shadow of the shelt'ring trees ; They, too, are wakened, and in grass knee- deep. Just lift their heads to catch the fresh'n- ing breeze — Those voiceful winds that, in their cadence, sweep From earth to heaven, gl^d Nature's song of ease. 138 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. Dead heavy m the pasture waves the grass, The panting herds stand knee-deep in the brook ; The bees go droning by with drowsy look, And sweet sound Hves on all the winds that pass — Of merry labor in the meadow near ; Or clink of whetted scythe now sharp and clear, Or mower's voice caught by the listening ear Across some fragrant fields of fresh-cut grass. The late birds fill with life the hazy air, The frightened rabbit scurries through the field Of new-made stubble to the hidden lair Of its unconscious mate. Nature seems mad With ecstasy of life, and still doth yield Up to her lover's heart some token glad, To Autumn. 139 TO AUTUMN. Ceres* Mother Ceres ! now I bring to thee Bright grains and ripened fruits, and from the tree That skirts the meadow brook, brown nuts and leaves Of wondrous shadings, yellow as thy sheaves ; Oh ! wilt accept such humble gift from me, Who hast thy granaries full ! Since e'en for thee 1 cannot longer glean, nor, from the field That reapers once have stript of all its yield. Seek, for my sheaf, stray grains and broken straws And weedy twinings over-filled with flaws. For now the circling swallows glint the sky No more, calling their mates with mournful cry. Even Melissa from the field has gone, And I must offer what I have or none. 140 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. September^ MELLOW month ! that like a buxom maid, Burdened with ripened fruits, through the sere glade, O'er wasted fields, and 'neath the hazel tree, Makest thy way. Now, almost, can I see Thy softly shadowed face, as, with thy lip Pursed for the draught thy sunbrowned fin- gers tip. Thou haltest by the cider-press, in van Of swart Hymettus and his buzzing clan. Or now, again, as in the reaper's path, Thou, like a gleaner of the aftermath, Deckest Thy tawny hair until the gleam Sets youthful Damon in a tranced dream. And makes him think that Marsya's sweet tune Has called back in thy stead the leaf -crowned June. To the Swallow (Progne.) 141 Zo tbe Swallow (iprooneO So oft thy sister Philomel has moved The heart of poet to his mistress loved, In rhyme and mellow madrigal, that I, Who watch thy circlings, list thy lonely cry, Must sing of thee. Progne ! why dost thou Depart so soon ? the overhanging hough Its leaves has not yet shed ; a clinging vine The garden wall still graces, gay and fine. Its clusters purpling, mellow as the light That deepened Bacchus' eye that time his sight Upon the Naxian mourner fell. Why ? Why ? Nay, I will not ask again, nor sigh As last year did I, when, this very time, A dearer one than thou sought other clime. 142 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. XTbistlebown^ ¥/hite courser of the air, steed fitly dight In silver trappings for the pressure light Of merry Mab or fair Titania — Of Ariel, or even of Oberon, Who, with his clan through all the dewy night, Eevels and dances till Urania Warns him, with dimming lights, of Avalon. White courser, thou who hast so oft be- guiled My childish mind to freaks of fancy wild ; Who, often on a summer afternoon. Hath ta'en me from my schoolroom task and borne To yonder hilltop, where, 'mid clouds up- piled, Seemed thine abode. Ah me ! that it so soon Should fade and leave me at my task for- lorn. To Winter. 143 Uo Wiintcv. How can I sing of thee this dreary time, In such soft measure or sweet-worded rhyme As thy fair sisters claim ! Since now are fled Their birds and bees, the blossoms too are dead, Wherein the subtile fays, on summer nights, Stored their rich liquor. Oh ! the mad de- lights Of such enchanting draughts thou canst not give. Though thou, too, hast thy witcheries that live In starry nights — aye, on such nights as this. When stately Dian, in a glow, doth kiss With her soft beams the crunching snow — when sound Of far-off house dog or loud bayiTig hound. One moment, wakens Fancy from her dreams Of swaying boughs and softly shadowed streams. 144 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. IFlovember* I. The wind comes wailing like a voice for- lorn Thro' frosty meadows tenantless and drear, The leafless boughs are grieving, and the corn Makes no more rustling music to the ear : The corn is garnered, and in pastures near, The cricket-pipes are silenced one by one — The merry cricket-pipings shrill and clear — And harvest revels in the fields are done. Thou com'st so soon, Autumn, and are gone So soon, so soon — e'en now the meadow- rills Catch the dull look of winter ; now at dawn The snow-clouds hang above the northern hills ; Nature her charms to ashen grayness yields, And death creeps noiselessly across the fields. The First Snowfall. 145 Ube ffirst SnowtalU II. The old familiar paths are changed to-day, The trees are bare — the leaves go whirling by; Among the naked branches, chill and high, The last faint sunbeams of November play : The waters sluggish lie, the fields are gray, The pastures silent, only for the cry Of some brown-coated winter birds that fly From shrub to shrub, along the lonesome way. Through the gray air fall the first flakes of snow, From the long-threat'ning clouds in silence spilled Upon forsaken pastures — cold and drear, From lonesome fields, the freezing north winds blow ; The chill comes like a prophecy fulfilled, And winter seems in very presence here. 10 146 The Silver Cord and Golden Bowl. December* III. The wind-blown snow is drifting drearily Across deserted pastures white and still ; The mournful wind comes grieving wearily From lonesome woodlands silent now and chill ; No sign of life nor labor save the shrill, Blithe whistle of the herd-boy at his round Among the shiv'ring flocks ; or, fainter still, Through the keen, frosty air, a ling'ring sound Of some fast-falling ax. Half frozen 'round His summer haunts the rabbit strays ; in more Than one tree-hollow of the wood, drift bound. The thrifty squirrel craunches at his store : And this is all — no life nor labor more ; Nature's numb heart seems frozen to the core. The Flowers are Dead. 147 Ube Jflowers are Deab But Ubey Mill Xive Hgain* IV. The flowers are dead, but they will spring again ; These chilling winds cannot forever sweep The dear old haunts, nor, with their raging, keep In her white shroud the ever-living glen : The flowers are dead, but they will waken when The first delightful pipe of summer's deep And thrilling music calls them from their sleep, To make a summer in all hearts again. For God hath made a token of all things To them that here beneath some burden bow ; The perfect bloom that every summer brings In all its glory, wears no beauty now. Save as the soul that pining feels its wings Bound by some bond it bursts and know not bow, A CHRISTMAS CAROL. Writt«ii by ORAOE ADELE PIEttCE. Motio by OSCAK A, KNIPE. 1. There is xuu - eic in the lleav - ens Whore LordJe- sUs sits to- night, 2. Sing-ing of our niigh- ty Sa - viour ; Thrilliug Je- sua' praise a - gain, 6. For now a crowu-ed King He is; Th'e - ter-nal hosts a - dore Him '^^^m^^m^^^^^ And a-roand Him troops of an - - gels Fill the air with new de - light. Till their gold- en harps seem burst - ing With the rapt- ure of the strain. And, in their meekness, kneel to-night. With rapt'-rous awe be - fore Him; m'~ > _ I i /- _ _ J Oh hark, the joy - ous note ! Oh hark, the glo - rious song! With songs of new de - light, Where Ser - aphs loud, A - Where an - gels still Their The an - gel band. On "Tis the birth-time of our Saviour, Soon will dawQ the Christmas mom And the golden harps are sounding As they did when Christ Was bom. Oh hark, the rapt'rous swell I With harps of gold The story old The angeli still do tell. The story of that wondrous night, And of the lonely manger, Where God's great Son — the Prince of light Lay new-bom and a stranger. Oh hark, the glorious sound I Where angel feet, With ceaseless beat, Tread Jesus' throne around. V iMf by utu« eblHNB m mt»t« nbpnid Ht plwrtt) In tM Z*7 of Pb. J&n. 2 7. lPC2, JAN 25 1902 i 3 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 020 994 505 8