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 Other Kentucky Mountain Poems 
 
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THE PINNACLE 
 
 AND 
 
 Other Kentucky Mountain Poems 
 
 By 
 
 Henry Harvey Fuson 
 
 JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY 
 
 INCORPORATED 
 
 Louisville, Kentucky 
 1921 
 

 
 Copyright, 1921 
 By 
 
 HENRY HARVEY FUSON 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 DEC 16 1921 
 
 CIA630813 
 
To My Daughter 
 
 RUTH MAURINB FUSON 
 
 Who has always taken a lively interest 
 in these poems. 
 
For permission to print in book form certain 
 of these poems I wish to acknowledge an in- 
 debtedness to the Masonic Home Journal, the 
 Cumberland College Monthly and the Proceed- 
 ings of the Kentucky Educational Association. 
 I wish, also, to acknowledge my indebtedness to 
 Mrs. Sallie Lyttle Hatton who has been the in- 
 spiration for one poem, "The Burdened Soul," 
 and who has given me that encouragement and 
 good advice that all writers find themselves 
 much in need of. 
 
THE CALL OF THE HILLS 
 
 "The green hills whisper all the time 
 Across the distance life has set, 
 
 A subtle call that swings in rhyme 
 No rhymer ever captured yet, 
 A song that one may not forget. 
 
 "The green hills — aye, they have a song 
 That none may fashion into words ; 
 
 Now faintly soft, now surging strong. 
 Now blended melody of birds 
 And eve calls of the lowing herds. 
 
 "So in my dreams I wander still 
 To where the little path is flung 
 
 From vale to vale and hill to hill. 
 
 The nodding, drowsing blooms among- 
 Where that clear call is given tongue. 
 
 W. D. N., Chicago Tribune 
 
WHY THESE POEMS? 
 
 So woven is the essence of mountains 
 
 In fabric of my dreams, 
 
 So sparkling pure are the bubbling fountains 
 
 By quiet rippling streams, 
 
 That compensate nature's true law I must. 
 
 By writing here in time 
 
 What has become to me a sacred trust, 
 
 Extolling thoughts in rhyme. 
 
 12-12-20 
 
I. 
 FOLK-LORE 
 
SWIFT'S SILVER MINE 
 
 Swift's Silver Mine; — 
 A will-o'-the-wisp fine, 
 Left in a heroic age 
 For speculation of the sage 
 Of reason bereft? 
 
 Nay, my friend, not so. 
 For tradition says, years ago 
 Swift from Virginia came 
 To these wilds of oak and cane, 
 At his own behest. 
 
 He unlocked the hills fine 
 And brought from the mine 
 A million tons and more 
 Of the finest silver ore 
 To add to his wealth. 
 
 His furnace, a large kettle 
 Of the rarest metal, 
 Was used to smelt the ore, 
 Till he had wealth the more 
 To cheer his health. 
 
 By the Indians frightened. 
 With fears of war heighten 'd, 
 He hid the silver under a tree 
 In the great kettle, oh me. 
 Just under the hill. 
 
Marked he the trees around 
 With arrows above the ground 
 Pointing to the buried treasure, 
 Seemingly a reckless measure 
 For a man with a will. 
 
 Far, far away he went 
 Taking nothing, not a cent. 
 To await the time and day 
 When he should return, aye, 
 To get his riches. 
 
 Time was long; he is old. 
 And comes with step not bold 
 To search for the place 
 In the hills* broad space, 
 In turns and niches. 
 
 But the marks on the trees 
 Are effaced, and he sees 
 No trace of his treasure there. 
 Though he search with care 
 He finds no metal. 
 
 He went away and died, 
 And the daring Indians shied 
 At the coming white men more. 
 They ceased to chase the boar 
 And found no kettle. 
 
White men flecked the valleys 
 With towns, with streets and alleys; 
 They climbed the hills high 
 And strove without a sigh 
 To found a new home. 
 
 But the story of Swift's mine 
 Came to them in due time, 
 And caused them to search 
 Where the birds of prey perch 
 For the treasure home. 
 
 And so it was surely found 
 Just half way down 
 On the bench of the mountain, 
 Close beside a flowing fountain 
 Under the tree. 
 
 The marks are very plain, 
 The way they point the same. 
 So home they quietly turn, 
 With fervent desire they burn 
 To return to the tree. 
 
 They must let no one know. 
 So on a dark night they go. 
 While the winds moan and blow 
 And the owls hoot low 
 To instill fear. 
 
They whisper very low 
 And dig and dig just so 
 Till the weary hours of night, 
 When, there ! What a fright ! 
 Comes so near ! 
 
 There are moaning sounds 
 That come in rounds 
 With groanings like the dying; 
 And flappings like the flying 
 Of wings unseen. 
 
 They stop and stand in fright 
 At sounds like these at night ; 
 But nearer, nearer they tread 
 With wailings like the dead, 
 I ween. 
 
 The fearful noises cease, 
 The work's speed they increase ; 
 They have most reached the treasure, 
 When the Inferno in full measure 
 Is turned loose. 
 
 The monster dog at the gate 
 Plunges and growls with hate, 
 And the boatman curses his oar 
 As he rushes the black water o'er 
 To slip the noose. 
 
Friends rave in their madness, 
 Women weep in their sadness, 
 Men shriek their hate, 
 While Satan cries, "Too late, 
 Too late, too late." 
 
 Then out goes the light. 
 The owl hoots his delight. 
 The panther screams near, 
 While the men leap from fear 
 And leave all to fate. 
 
 They never returned here 
 Because of the awful fear. 
 Now ever remember true 
 That the Fates will keep you 
 From the treasure so. 
 
 True. Yes, you may believe. 
 For there's a Journal to relieve 
 Any doubts you may retain. 
 Swift let this Journal remain 
 With Mrs. Renfro 
 
 Who lived by Cumb'land Ford 
 After Boone had come toward 
 This place from the Gap. 
 Not knowing this you Ve apt 
 To question the source. 
 
Which describes without amiss 
 All the marks that lead to this 
 Treasure, and the route they took 
 When they came to look 
 For the course. 
 
 4-11-18 
 
 « 
 
II. 
 
 SONGS OF EMOTION 
 
12-9-20 
 
 O SOUL DIVINE 
 
 Osoul divine! 
 Large conception of human mind. 
 Down the ages 
 Hast thou been sung by the sages 
 
 Of ev'ry land. 
 
 O soul divine ! 
 Out of the wreckage of time 
 Didst thou emerge, 
 Hurried on by that divine urge 
 
 Of truth at hand. 
 
 O soul divine ! 
 Released from a secret star of time, 
 To utmost bounds 
 Of earth and sky and Heaven *s rounds 
 
 Djost thou fly still. 
 
 O soul divine ! 
 Thou who dost dwell in the heart-shrine 
 Of man secure, 
 To thee, the God in man so pure, 
 
 We bow the will. 
 
 11 
 
THE BURDENED SOUL 
 
 I 
 
 The heaving heart of a burdened soul 
 
 Looks out on a dreary world. 
 
 No beauty is there, no sure sign of the goal, 
 
 In the downpour of rain, in the mad whirl 
 
 Of the waters down the roaring hill, 
 
 In the monster mountain rising amid the gloom, 
 
 In the bare trees of the forest by the hill, 
 
 Or in the dark clouds over all, with no boon. 
 
 Like some dire omen ill 
 
 From out Heaven's abyss — a pall soon 
 
 That o'er the troubled earth hangs. 
 
 What to this soul are these in his sore distress? 
 
 Symbols are they only of the aching pangs. 
 
 And gloom of soul, from which they have no egress. 
 
 What to him are the Kings who feel not the pangs 
 
 Of wrongs for which they can obtain redress? 
 
 What to him the Rich who know no want 
 
 Unless it be that of soul which knows it not? 
 
 What to him the Proud who flaunt 
 
 Their gayety before the world? And for what? 
 
 What to him the Cruel who obtain their power 
 
 By means of might and blood alone? 
 
 What to him the Pretending-Meek who, in their hour. 
 
 Submit to, the ruthlessness they have sown? 
 
 12 
 
What to him, here now in this sad hour, 
 Are the deeds of men, the race of favored men, 
 Who have gone from power, ever to more power. 
 In the race for triumph without end. 
 
 II 
 
 Stands the soul naked before the Presence Unseen, 
 With no power to rise to any commanding position, 
 Held up to the scorn of men, and hated, it seem. 
 Because the uncontrolled circumstances of his con- 
 dition 
 Have made it so, without sufficient means 
 To buy even those things that sustain healthy life. 
 While his just pride of soul, thru unfair means. 
 Trails in the dust of an uncompromising strife. 
 Will God forsake the soul in this destitution? 
 Can poverty of purse, mind and soul be overcome? 
 In all the Universe is there any restitution 
 For the downtrodden soul? Not one? 
 By these questions the soul is not made free, 
 Nor can he find in himself, or in the world about him, 
 The means to this end to make him free. 
 Or the power to throw off this weight from him. 
 So, in the quiet hours of the evening twilight. 
 When the Goddess of Night folds her robes about her, 
 And earth's creatures find repose for the night, 
 Amid the impressive silence, with not even a stir, 
 He seeks the great dark wood under the mountain, 
 
 13 
 
And gropes his way among the trunks of the trees 
 
 To the depth of the wood beyond a dark fountain. 
 
 Here, looking all about, he falls upon his knees 
 
 And cries out to God to provide a light 
 
 To flash the way to the pure fountain of his desire, 
 
 Where he can be delivered from the terrible plight 
 
 In which he finds himself, fighting the mad fire. 
 
 Then he prayeth : "O Lord, dear God, our God ! 
 
 Thou didst deliver the Children of Israel of old 
 
 Thru Moses, their leader, with his rod, 
 
 Out of bondage, to the promised land of gold. 
 
 Now Lord, dear Lord, unburden this heart of mine 
 
 That I may of this bondage be set free, when, 
 
 In Thy name, I go forth, in due time. 
 
 To conquer the Destiny that binds me. Amen." 
 
 Ill 
 
 Then uprises the soul from the silent earth. 
 
 More than ever impressed by the silence and gloom 
 
 about. 
 The change has been wrought, of freedom, a new birth 
 Of calm and light within, no sage should ever flout. 
 Like Prometheus of the olden time, 
 Who suffered all the agony the great can feel. 
 In the name of that Will and Power to suffer be time, 
 He rises in his might, upon his face the victor's seal. 
 Against the whirling mad powers of the hour. 
 Defies them, and bids them do their worst. 
 
 14 
 
Then flapping wings unseen beat down from the tower 
 
 Of trees overhead ; rumbHng noises burst, 
 
 Run along the earth, and ascend toward the hill; 
 
 And a splash in the Lethean waters near 
 
 Brings terrible dread, but nothing that bodes ill. 
 
 The Harpies of the night beat upon his body here, 
 
 In their fury, and cover him with their stench; 
 
 The Dragons of the earth roar around him in the gloom, 
 
 Causing his hair to rise and his hand to clench ; 
 
 And the Old Man of the Sea tries to bind him soon 
 
 With a spell from which he cannot escape. 
 
 These hideous powers strive with him in vain ; 
 
 He parries their blows, every advantage to take; 
 
 He harries them to their woe; they are slain. 
 
 Then all besmeared, polluted, with the blood 
 
 Of the slain upon him, he hastens from the dark 
 
 night of his woe 
 To greet the dawn's new day uprising, with a flood 
 Of crimson spray overflowing the horizon. "O — 
 O glorious dawn ! O great deliverance ! O happy day 
 That finds this soul triumphant on this morn ! 
 Hail, noble powers of the earth! Hail! And with 
 
 me away 
 To the famous realms of the Golden Horn. 
 Hail, great powers of the air! Hail! Carry me on 
 
 pinions 
 Of flaming light to Merlin's kingdom so fair. 
 Hail, sweet messengers of Heaven ! Hail ! May thy 
 
 minions 
 Lead the way to thy fair Elysian Fields there. 
 
 15 
 
Then the trident of the deep to him is passed, 
 Flaming wings to sweep the air are at his command ; 
 A reed is taken from beside the road. He blows a 
 
 blast 
 That causes the reed to tremble in his hand. 
 To the uttermost parts of the earth the message flies, 
 Proclaiming to the world the glorified state — 
 Beneath fair, auspicious skies — 
 Of the burdened soul's sure postulate. 
 
 10-27-18 
 
 16 
 
THE UNCONQUERABLE SOUL 
 
 "The statue of destiny casts a huge shadow over the 
 valley, which it seems to enshroud in gloom ; but this shadow 
 has clearest outline for such as look down from the mountain. 
 We are born, it may be, with the shadow upon us ; but to many 
 men it is granted to emerge from beneath it." — Maeterlinck, 
 
 Destiny ! O Destiny ! Why thy hold 
 On the aspirations of men manifold.'* 
 Answer ! Answer ! Ere I more bold 
 Tear the leaves from thy sacred scroll ! 
 
 1 preach the triumph of the Unconquerable Soul ! 
 
 Down! Down! To Perdition's awful state 
 Bound by the chains of thine own weight ! 
 Brood over thy grievous wrongs in hate ! 
 For thy conqueror more elate 
 Moves on swifter than thought or fate ! 
 
 The Soul that rose when Nineveh fell, 
 And went crying thru the earth a spell 
 When her crumbling walls shook and fell, 
 Giving to the wicked city a death-knell 
 That sent an echo down the corridors of Hell, 
 
 Winged his way over the Mediaeval night, 
 Came forth from dark Revolution's fight, 
 Sang songs with Cromwell's men of might, 
 And appeared to the Shepherds in the light 
 On the Judean Hills that eventful night. 
 
 17 
 
That rose on the ruins of Rome that day, 
 Came flying from the shores of Greece away 
 When that nation went down to decay ; 
 Crossed the expanse of Time to our day, 
 There to abide in secure triumph alway. 
 
 The Unconquerable Soul! Versatile, the same! 
 Moving onward surer than Destiny's aim 
 To conquer Death and the Grave in His name, 
 And rise triumphant in the glowing flame 
 Superior to Destiny in most persistent claim ! 
 
 7-30-18 
 
 18 
 
PEACE! SWEET PEACE! 
 
 "And herein are we shown once again that the human 
 soul is a plant of matchless unity, whose branches, when the 
 hour is come, all burst into blossom together." — Maeterlinck. 
 
 Out of the darkness of the swift-flying night, 
 With wings aglow with flaming light, 
 Down, down the ministering Angel flies 
 From out the over-burdened skies, 
 To the stricken soul lying prostrate. 
 
 Like the gentlest breeze that blows. 
 
 Or the stillest current that flows, 
 
 Or the gentlest ray of light that shines, 
 
 Or the quietest thought expression never finds. 
 
 He delivers Heaven's sure postulate. 
 
 And to free the soul from burden ere the morn 
 Walks from head to foot the helpless form, 
 W^hich rises in the might of His power 
 To witness triumph over Destiny's hour 
 In the newfound freedom that knows a choice. 
 
 The silent trees take on a lovelier hue^ 
 The impending sky shows a bluer blue, 
 The hills are aflame in the glowing sun. 
 The streams sweetly sing of the victory won, 
 At the vibrant thrill of this quiet voice. 
 
 19 
 
Brothers! Brothers now! Are the race of men ! 
 
 He would to the rescue of all come then ! 
 
 That his fellows, even the humblest, might share 
 
 The joy his heart has now found there — 
 
 A joy recorded only in the Sacred Book of old. 
 
 Heaven then floods the soul to the fill 
 
 With a joy unspeakable to the will ; 
 
 The Heavenly Choir burst forth in glad song ' 
 
 At the triumph of a soul freed from wrong, 
 
 And a Voice speaks peace ! Sweet peace ! To the soul. 
 
 7-22-18 
 
 2C 
 
THE DEAD KNIGHT 
 
 Wrapt is the broad crest of the mountain round 
 With the snows of primeval winter there ; 
 
 Hushed are the little voices of the ground, 
 Stillness stands frozen in the icy air. 
 
 Sitting by the dark trunk of a giant tree, 
 
 With no thought of the world's onward sweep, 
 
 0*er thee a snowy forest of boughs, I see 
 Thee in resigned beauty dressed — asleep. 
 
 Folded are thy hands o'er a furry robe, 
 With drawn knees against a silent breast ; 
 
 With bowed head like in silent thought to probe 
 The mysteries that lie in a state of rest. 
 
 The gun at thy side, the great forest bound 
 By the snows of primeval winter fair. 
 
 And the days of search before thou wert found 
 Tell of the age in which thou lived to dare. 
 
 Truly thou wert of that far-seeing band 
 
 Of heroic men who with Boone onward came 
 
 To build in a fair and promising land 
 A state that should have enduring fame. 
 
 21 
 
Great art thou in death, most noble Knight, 
 For thou wert one of the builders rare 
 
 Of Freedom's cause, which sprang from the dark 
 night 
 Of its woe, to shed light on the race fair. 
 
 Fitting is thy death, too, O great Knight, 
 For thou didst depart to the Great Beyond 
 
 Amid the lone forest thou didst with thy might 
 Help to conquer, for the cause to you so fond. 
 
 No stone now marks th^' final resting place. 
 Silent trees stand sentinel above thee ; 
 
 But an army of descendants "v^ith bold pace 
 Are pressing forward to honor thee. 
 
 Rest, O great Knight, in our faith secure, 
 That we of this time may battle agsun 
 
 For the cause that, for men, will endure. 
 The cause that keeps forever free all men. 
 
 9-25-19 
 
 22 
 
SPIRIT OR MAN-GOD 
 
 "Spirit," says I. 
 "God," says he. 
 Then I ask, "Why 
 Not spirit for thee?" 
 Now slowly he replies, 
 "Since the creation of men 
 God ever applies 
 To the name of Deity — Amen!" 
 "But, is not God a spirit, 
 And they that worship Him 
 Must do so with true merit 
 Of truth without a whim?" 
 He replies, "Is not God God, 
 For we hear the Word say 
 That Aaron took up his rod 
 And called to God as he pray." 
 
 "God is what to you then?" 
 
 "God is the Super-Man King 
 
 Who sits on the thrones of Angels and men 
 
 And holds sway over all that sing. 
 
 His subjects bow the knee, 
 
 And sing and pray alway ; 
 
 Cry hozannah with me 
 
 To the Lord of Hosts today." 
 
 23 
 
"But does this not make 
 
 God a Super-Being like Jove . 
 
 Of the Greeks, or the fake 
 
 Jupiter of the Romans, who strove 
 
 To fasten on mankind gods 
 
 Many of every kind?" 
 
 *'But," replies he, "Christ plods 
 
 Over the earth, healing the blind, 
 
 In Man- Form, does he not?" 
 
 "True, but does this prove 
 
 God to be a Super-Man? What? 
 
 Because the spirit was made flesh, 
 
 Does it hold true 
 
 That God is only Super-Man? 
 
 What say you? 
 
 Answer if you can. 
 
 Is not God rather a spirit 
 
 With no form or face? 
 
 Hasn't He the true merit 
 
 Of occupying all space? 
 
 Is He not in your heart and mind 
 
 The same as on a Throne above? 
 
 Is He not all present in time 
 
 And omniscient in all love?" 
 
 Spirit divine, in power shine 
 
 Thruout space, time and Eternity. 
 
 Wield thy power sublime 
 
 For the welding of men into one fraternity. 
 
 Over all thou art, 
 
 24 
 
And over all thou ever wilt be, 
 With power to touch the heart 
 Of him who but seeks thee. 
 Soul, call to Him who art nigh 
 To every creature of the wide earth ; 
 Call not Him from on high 
 When thou seekest the New Birth. 
 
 10-13-18 
 
 25 
 
THE WONDERFUL TREE 
 
 Stands the big tree, with his branches spreading wide, 
 Just where the road rises to the crest of the hill. 
 Commands he here a view of the whole countryside : 
 Of rounded peaks that rise toward the sky with a will, 
 Of broad valleys that spread far away in the distance, 
 With their streams meandering amid stretches of 
 
 green, 
 Of towns that have been founded with no show of 
 
 resistance, 
 And of the glowing sun to awake in him the mighty 
 
 dream. 
 
 When darkness descends on the earth from out the 
 
 Unseen, 
 Quietly gathering his hosts along the streams in the 
 
 valleys, 
 He marshals them for sallies to the higher regions 
 
 between. 
 Then the gentle summer breezes move to quivering 
 
 the leaves. 
 The overarching sky is filled with myriad stars in 
 
 position. 
 The big moon peers from behind the long fringe of 
 
 trees. 
 On the mountain's crest, and the universe, in transi- 
 tion. 
 Lies in happy contentment about this tree in the 
 
 breeze. 
 
 26 
 
But, behold what a transformation worketh this 
 
 dream ! 
 The slain Ymir rises God-like on the glowing scene ! 
 Higher, higher, and yet higher, rises the mighty tree! 
 The branches lift and spread over the space between 
 Earth and sky, till, Ygdrasil-like, they shoulder out 
 
 the sky. 
 Free from Time, the avenger, and the swift-moving 
 
 tide! 
 To the heart of the earth descend the roots nearby 
 To the end that this soul of the universe may abide. 
 
 Be the shelter and inspiration for the thoughts of all 
 
 men : 
 Assemble the Artisans of trade from the domain of 
 
 the Powers 
 That they may mingle with the Prophets of the New 
 
 Birth then; 
 Let the poets, with their clarified vision, multiply the 
 
 hours 
 They spend here ; bring the Teachers of mankind, in 
 
 their turn. 
 That they may drink of the cup of wisdom that ever 
 
 flowers. 
 In love, for the admiration of the race ; let them learn, 
 One and all, that Destiny gives way to larger plans of 
 
 ours. 
 
 10-19-18 
 
 27 
 
TO SUE 
 
 The dearest friend on this earth 
 
 That to me was ever given, 
 Has taken her flight from earth 
 
 And has gone up to Heaven ; 
 There to remain with the Son of Man 
 
 As long as the ages last, 
 And longer still after we have heard 
 
 Gabriel's trumpet blast. 
 
 If I could only see her again. 
 
 It would be my delight 
 To tell her that I loved her 
 
 In our struggle for the right; 
 But that privilege, tho much desired. 
 
 Can never come to mortal man. 
 So my only hope is to meet her 
 
 In that heavenly land. 
 
 **If I never see you again, dear, 
 Meet me in the world beyond," 
 
 Where there is no sorrow to trouble us, 
 No weeping around the throne ; 
 
 28 
 
Where there is no darkness to cloud the vision, 
 
 No light but the Son ; 
 Where ages upon top of ages have passed 
 
 And many victories won. 
 
 "Yes, I'll meet you there," 
 
 Is my pledge, strong and true ; 
 For there we shall never part, 
 
 Nor say goodbye, gentle Sue; 
 There we shall worship together forever 
 
 With the redeemed of God, 
 And never be compelled to travel 
 
 The road we once trod. 
 
 OUT OF THE DARK VALLEY 
 
 Dark is the valley I travel thru. 
 
 No light to be seen anywhere 't is true. 
 
 Strange, dark objects pass to and fro; 
 
 Wandering around I know ilot where, I go. 
 
 Over dry bones that rattle I stumble 
 
 And hear hideous low noises that rumble. 
 
 An icy shiver shakes my frame 
 
 And springs into my being a terror without a name. 
 
 Then suddenly from an unseen hand 
 
 A robe is thrown about my shoulders, and, 
 
 29 
 
In the glow of warmth that from the robe comes, 
 A vision appears out of the darkness glum : 
 Smiling faces of many children, plain to view, 
 With chubby hands that beckon to you, 
 Surrounded by a halo of hazy light. 
 Leaving behind the chill, the gloom, noises affright, 
 
 I follow the vision up the slope of the hill, 
 
 Where, halfway up, I come to an arched doorway and 
 
 a sill 
 That opens into the interior of the hill. The door 
 
 opens wide 
 And I am admitted to a great hall inside. 
 "What can I do for you, my friend? 
 Our services are at your command without end," 
 Says the doorkeeper to me. "I hardly know; 
 It is all so strange," said I, aglow 
 With the warmth that met me there. 
 
 Then slowly I walk thru a hall wide and fair. 
 
 Into which other halls lead, 
 
 Lined with many rooms that plead 
 
 With the weary to rest themselves awhile. 
 
 While I thus walk, a servant meets me with a smile. 
 
 And asks, "W^ould you rest in the room across the 
 
 way?" 
 I follow her lead and hear her say: 
 "Lie quiet; sleep and rest are the best; 
 You need to grow strong for life's further test." 
 
 30 
 
Amid all the perfume of sweet-smelling flowers 
 
 That beguile the slow-moving hours 
 
 I rest and sleep time and time again 
 
 I know not how many days, how many weeks, then, 
 
 On a certain day, they bring me to a stair, 
 
 Just in the center of the hill there ; 
 
 And up the stairway I climb into the upper air. 
 
 I behold a morn on that hilltop so fair 
 
 That Paradise seems to be loosed on earth again, 
 
 Returning its pristine glory to men. 
 
 A bird carols the sweetest song I ever heard, 
 
 The sheep graze on the slope of the hill — a herd. 
 
 The dew sparkles in the rising sun, 
 
 And the world overflows with goodnesses that run 
 
 Like sweet rivers of living water then 
 
 Thru the glad forests and fresh meadows of men 
 
 To the broad expanse of the immaculate sea. 
 
 On this morn and in this mood I am free, 
 
 Feeling again the strong pulse of the tide of life 
 
 Singing thru my veins, making them rife 
 
 With the good old feeling of renewed life again, 
 
 Ready to do an humble part in the race without end. 
 
 2-21-2 I 
 
 31 
 
THE SPIRIT OF THE MOB 
 
 I 
 
 I see a world of swamp by a world of sea, 
 
 And an island far out in the swamp by the sea 
 
 Like a dark speck against the sky back of it; 
 
 Then mists and gloom that obscure the whole of it, 
 
 As if swamp and sea have been rolled up 
 
 And lost in the dark vapors rising up 
 
 From foul swamp and wastes of that terrible sea. 
 
 A low rumble thru the mists comes to me 
 
 Out of this strange sea of darkness and gloom — 
 
 A portentious rumble like the stroke of doom 
 
 To the creatures of earth in peaceful state — 
 
 One that augurs for humanity a very sad fate. 
 
 II 
 
 Again at the first flush of the dawn of a new day, 
 I come to this wide swamp in hunter's best array 
 With my comrades in all most surely three. 
 The disk of the sun is just rising out of the sea 
 On the other side of the world opposite mt 
 And these comrades who number only three ; 
 The mists hang over the swamp and obscure the sun. 
 And our boat down the hollow of a stream ddes slowly 
 run. 
 
 32 
 
Thru the wide reaches of the swamp we make our way, 
 
 Till, long after, not very far out of our way, 
 
 We see the outlines of this island by the sea. 
 
 My comrades, wishing to explore the isle, say to me, 
 
 ''Draw near this isle that we may see the more 
 
 What we have surely never seen before." 
 
 Thru the mist it looms so very large 
 
 That it seems a continent floating as a barge ; 
 
 But on drawing nearer that we may explore 
 
 We see a sight that causes us to wonder the more. 
 
 There on the shore of this isle lies, on leafy bed, 
 
 With the mist-laden tree tops overhead, 
 
 A giant, more terrible than the fabled monsters of old, 
 
 The sight of which makes our blood run cold. 
 
 While we lie in our boat behind the reeds. 
 
 He stands up, shakes himself, looks over the reeds. 
 
 We hold our breath and think not of a gun 
 
 (Had we a chance we should most assuredly run). 
 
 There he stands as tall as four men, or small tree. 
 
 With huge body, bulky in the extreme, dreadful to see ; 
 
 Long hair covers his body from foot to head 
 
 And hangs about his shoulders down from the head ; 
 
 Great teeth, the length of the hand of man, has he. 
 
 With eyes most terrible as they appear to me. 
 
 He stands erect on his feet like that of any man 
 
 And has long claws on his feet and on each hand. 
 
 Slowly he turns and lumbers thru the forest dark 
 
 While we hurry away in our small bark. 
 
 33 
 
Ill 
 
 On our return, when we tell what we have seen, 
 People look at us as if they do not know what we 
 
 mean ; 
 And the oldest men know naught of our report 
 Save what they have heard by former report, 
 That a fearful monster, Bulbo by name. 
 Long ago dwelt in this swamp — the same 
 Of which we speak — but they feel sure no man 
 So far as they now know, or have heard, can 
 Give any account of ever having seen him. 
 They are much surprised at this account of him, 
 But remember that a tale has been told 
 That he once stirred the savage spirits of men bold, 
 Causing them to unite and destroy their fellowmen — 
 A story almost forgot but now remembered again. 
 They know not if this be Bulbo they describe. 
 But, from what they tell, he must be of that tribe. 
 They fear that the legend of old may prove true 
 And that some dire calamity may come as their due. 
 
 Then mists begin to drift in toward the land 
 From out the foul swamp and dreadful strand, 
 And to spread themselves over the land far and wide 
 Like a swift moving wind or fast flowing tide. 
 These foul-laden mists fill all the air 
 And stir to rage many people everywhere. 
 
 34 
 
These men forget all the work of the hour 
 
 And turn their mad energies into evil power ; 
 
 And forget all lawful principles of the race 
 
 In their determination to wipe out the disgrace. 
 
 Now rumors begin to rise and run wild, 
 
 That a fiend has stricken down a helpless child ; 
 
 The men gather yn groups here and there, talking low 
 
 Amid the mists that obscure them and cause the woe ; 
 
 And from group to group the word fast flies, 
 
 Like the swiftest, softest wing that flies, 
 
 That Bulbo, the true Spirit of the Mob, 
 
 Is abroad, with vengeance in his eyes — no sob, 
 
 And that he seeks by lawless means the blood 
 
 Of Human Beings, and will overwhelm by a flood 
 
 Of savage rage the upholders of the law. 
 
 Group moves together with group with hardly a flaw 
 
 In the plan of this Savage Spirit, and, without justice, 
 
 Under the very shadow of the Temple of Justice, 
 
 Erected by the strongest impulse of man. 
 
 They assemble their mad hosts for a stand. 
 
 IV 
 
 Before the Temple the upholders of the law stand. 
 Clothed with the mantle of authority from freeman's 
 
 hand. 
 And armed with trusty instruments more bold 
 Which are to secure freemen in their stronghold. 
 For out in front the Mob sways to and fro. 
 With quiet savage determination all the show, 
 
 35 
 
Like the angry waves of the turbulent sea; 
 And against the Temple bars laps wave on wave, 
 With a low murmur like distant sound in a cave. 
 Suddenly from out this mass of maddened men 
 There rises the fearful figure of Bulbo again, 
 Towering far above the tallest of his men ; 
 And with a rush he leads forward his men 
 Against the Temple held firm by the law's hand. 
 Where men to do and die have taken their stand. 
 Up the Temple steps in solid mass they rush, 
 With a look of sure triumph in the first flush ; 
 But a command, a flash, flash, from the guns. 
 And Bulbo, with his maddened men, turns 
 And disappears, as he had come, amid the gloom. 
 Leaving the dead and wounded in the gloom. 
 
 V 
 
 The hand of Justice has been upheld on this day ; 
 
 The evil Spirit of the Mob has fled away 
 
 To his foul swamp and fearful sea — 
 
 To his home on the misty island by the sea ; 
 
 And men once more go home to see 
 
 That they have still upheld their right to be free. 
 
 4-23-21 
 
 86 
 
III. 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE 
 
 37 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE BRAE 
 
 I know the valley of the Brae 
 
 With its winding stream, the Vree ; 
 
 I know the hills near and far away, 
 
 The hills that rise up to speak to me. 
 
 Over these hills I go 
 
 In the bright May morn, 
 
 Keeping time to their spirit so, 
 
 And to the music of the distant horn. 
 
 I hunt the game on upland near 
 
 And fish in the st(ream's clear pools ; 
 
 I seek the forests shady groves to hear 
 
 The gladsome song that ever rules 
 
 The spirit of this forest-world, so free. 
 
 What melody, what joy, what love ! 
 
 What freedom, what beauty to see! 
 
 O God ! Come from the forest-roof above, 
 
 From below and all around in hollow dell, 
 
 From rugged cliff and deep ravine, 
 
 From darkest caves and trees that fell, 
 
 From clear, cool waters that flow between 
 
 Silent hills to the far-off sea! 
 
 Humbre, a flat mountain, extends 
 Along the southern side of this valley, 
 Famed for a century, with now no amends. 
 For its forest, the hunters' rally. 
 
 39 
 
Here on the lower end a peak uprises 
 From the plain of the mountain's crest, 
 And below a narrow farm, with surprises. 
 Lies in the lap of the hill at rest. 
 Here the sun, like a ball of blood, 
 Drops behind the distant mountain 
 Into a mysterious sea-flood. 
 And springs again from a golden fountain, 
 More glorious than the Aurora of art. 
 And swings among the worlds anew 
 With power to touch their heart. 
 I see the path wind by the Skew, 
 Around this peak and down the slope. 
 And on and on it goes without end 
 Just like that strange thing, hope. 
 That flares up to stay in the hearts of men. 
 It winds below to the orchard in the cove 
 Where my friend, the ditch-digger, lives. 
 He will welcome you as did Jove, 
 For out of his goodness himself he gives. 
 His sign is marked In his lower lip. 
 And it is the opinion of the children near 
 That a man cannot as a ditch-digger sip 
 The joy of labor without this mark here. 
 And on to the fork of the road there 
 Where the farmer-merchant gives 
 His advice to the youth aspiring fair. 
 And bids him God-speed while he lives. 
 Hail to this man of daring truth ! 
 Long may he live ere the Great Day! 
 
 40 
 
As the guider of the feet of youth 
 
 He then is sure to receive just pay! 
 
 On to the watermill by the road 
 
 Where the road makes a sweeping turn 
 
 To follow the rushing rill's abode, 
 
 And the waters that from pool to pool churn. 
 
 Here the dusty miller takes his toll 
 
 And grinds and grinds the livelong day ; 
 
 While the youths vault on the pole 
 
 And forget their homes far away. 
 
 Up the narrow stream for a half-mile 
 
 And we come to a cabin under the hills, 
 
 Where a daring youth waits awhile 
 
 For a quick dash along the rills. 
 
 No prodigy he, nor Hercules or saint, 
 
 But only a youth with sublime faith — 
 
 One who does not faint 
 
 Under dire poverty's throny wraith. 
 
 He toils by day, and toils by night. 
 
 And prays for just one fair chance 
 
 To succeed in the unequal fight 
 
 (Which he will have, perchance). 
 
 Such an ambition, I am told, had he * 
 
 To rise to the upward height 
 
 That he never thought sacrificed he could be 
 
 In the upward lift to the light. 
 
 But such is the story I hear true, 
 
 That he married a woman spy 
 
 Who would have, doubtless, wrecked you 
 
 But only made him reason why. 
 
 41 
 
He passed her by 
 
 And married another, who became 
 The companion he sought with a sigh 
 To help him earn that fair name. 
 With the patience of our Job, 
 And a faith that knows not why. 
 He has now donned the robe 
 To lead men to their Home on high. 
 It is not the height that men reach 
 Which brings all the true fame, 
 But the distance traveled, I preach, 
 That should bear the name. 
 
 Follow the other direction of the path, 
 From the peak up at a slow gait, 
 And wonder at the beauty that hath 
 Come to the forest in this lovely state. 
 Stands the oak, a tower of strength. 
 And the poplar, a model of perfection; 
 And the hickory with no equal for length. 
 And the chestnut loved in this section. 
 On the side of the mountain's a cove 
 Where rarest flowers of the glen 
 Have made place for the abode of Jove, 
 And never touched by the feet of men? 
 Yes, for here a half-century ago, 
 When the wild deer ran at will, 
 A hunter watched the antler go 
 And thought of his gun for the kill. 
 After the deer had leaped beyond his range, 
 
 42 
 
He remember'd on his shoulder was the gun ; 
 
 And this he thought very strange 
 
 That thus he had missed the fun. 
 
 But truer than heart of hunter be 
 
 Was love of the trim form of the deer ; 
 
 And, in his heart, was glad, you see. 
 
 That he had passed up the kill so near. 
 
 We eat our lunch by the spring 
 
 In the shade of the forest roof; 
 
 It is enough to make the heart of a king 
 
 Sigh, and offer himself as proof. 
 
 You who are bound to the city ways, 
 
 With no thought but to give and spend, 
 
 Could learn here the glad forest ways 
 
 And for an unnatural life make amend. 
 
 To the Burnt Cabin we come 
 
 Where a flowing fountain sends a stream 
 
 Down the mountain, singing for some 
 
 A lullaby sweeter than those in a dream. 
 
 The cabin has gone and Nature has made amend 
 
 By covering traces of clearing or pen. 
 
 Such the contest between Nature and men 
 
 That when one begins the other end. 
 
 Rocked the cradle of civilization for a day, 
 
 And paused here in its ceaseless march ; 
 
 While the procession came up from far away, 
 
 Then passed on under the triumphal arch. 
 
 Below to the north Indians are buried. 
 
 Showing how the civilization of the past 
 
 May project itself into the hurried 
 
 43 
 
March of the coming host at last. 
 
 Dare not touch these for treasure ! 
 
 Because of the peoples' feeling near, 
 
 For it would be considered a reckless measure 
 
 And one bordering on to Godly fear. 
 
 The greatness of civilization is shown, 
 
 Not by successful war on any race of men, 
 
 But by those gallant men, full grown, 
 
 Who honor the past for what it brings to them. 
 
 On the upper end is Rocky Face 
 
 Where the mountain suddenly makes turn 
 
 And leaves in the sun a broad space 
 
 Of sheer cliff, and broken in turn. 
 
 Above is a long line of green trees. 
 
 And below and all around the same. 
 
 Dotted with red and gold, in the breeze. 
 
 On the border of this painting rare in name. 
 
 Grand is the view from the road 
 
 Along the stream in the valley below; 
 
 And many a traveler, bearing his load. 
 
 Has witnessed the wonder of the scene aglow. 
 
 Here the hunter chased the bear to his lair 
 
 And waited for his return to the sun ; 
 
 The deer was seen to bound in the air 
 
 And disappear under sight of the gun. 
 
 Many tales of adventure have been spun 
 
 Around these cliffs, like the Arabian Knights, 
 
 Or those of Boone and his gun. 
 
 In his most desperate efforts in his fights. 
 
 Witnessed they the onward rush of peoples, 
 
 44 
 
Who rarely paused in their haste ; 
 
 But one was left to build church steeples 
 
 While others should clear and lay waste. 
 
 Brother of the ditch-digger, you know, 
 
 And like him pleasant to meet, 
 
 But one of those simple-hearted souls, so, 
 
 Who slide away from the contest-seat. 
 
 Swayed by the play of forces on his feeling. 
 
 Like the leaves of the tree in the wind. 
 
 And got comfort from his prayer kneeling 
 
 When spirit sweeps soul beyond the mind. 
 
 He will preach to you of God, 
 
 And will glow in the spirit of the mood ; 
 
 And will turn to finding water with a rod. 
 
 Or to sign to drive witches away rude. 
 
 In his most serious mood you ever hear 
 
 A strange goblin-laugh unwind, 
 
 For he cannot but be serious, I fear. 
 
 And ludicrous at the same time. 
 
 Cummel, to the North, is narrow and long, 
 With sharp ridges broken by many gaps. 
 A throng of rounded peaks stand out strong 
 Against their clear background of these gaps. 
 Many paths wind around and pass 
 Thru these gaps to places beyond. 
 Where the tide of the world surges past 
 In that endless march that goes on and on. 
 Color is added to the forest green 
 By tall pines on some of the spurs, 
 
 45 
 
And many blooming rhododendrons are seen 
 
 Around the cliffs by the Burrs. 
 
 Different from Humbre by far, they say, 
 
 Are the winding paths here seen ; 
 
 For on Humbre along the top one takes its way 
 
 While here many paths cross between 
 
 Peaks, to wander down the other side 
 
 To make union with the road 
 
 Up and down the stream far and wide. 
 
 Here many join in carrying their load. 
 
 At the lower end, where stream joins stream, 
 
 Severing the mountain free from Big Bone, 
 
 Nature calls to her men, it seem, 
 
 To assemble at the new "Healing Home," 
 
 Where the purest waters of the valley 
 
 Come forth for the healing of men ; 
 
 And Nature aids in the sure rally 
 
 To newness of life and health again. 
 
 The Springs! What memories they bring! 
 
 Of sweet whisp 'rings of love beneath 
 
 The spreading beeches by the Spring ! 
 
 What glad legacies they bequeath 
 
 To the heart of youth seeking far 
 
 The secret of happiness ever rife 
 
 Under that pure guiding star, 
 
 At once the hope and joy of this life. 
 
 The Springs ! What memories they bring ! 
 
 Here men forget their care 
 
 And gradually lose sight of the thing 
 
 That has become to them a nightmare. 
 
 46 
 
Bring forth your healing balm, 
 Springs of the mighty waters fair! 
 And cast your spell upon earth to calm 
 The feverish spirits of men, everywhere ! 
 No lordlier castle was ever built 
 In the realms of i*ule or sway 
 Than stood by these Springs, built 
 To drive the pangs of men away. 
 Great castles are often tombs 
 Of death to the highest ideals of men, 
 And hide in death the babes in wombs 
 Of mothers yearning to be free again. 
 
 Near is the school house under the hill 
 
 Where nature makes a fair display 
 
 Of beauty in stream, valley and hill. 
 
 Here mountains rise up far away 
 
 To beckon the youth's mind away 
 
 From the narrow spaces betw^een the hills. 
 
 And cause him to look to far Cathay 
 
 For visions the imagination fills. 
 
 He secretly climbs one day this mount, 
 
 At early dawn of that good day, 
 
 And looks away to a pure fount 
 
 From which flows a lovely stream away. 
 
 This stream winds in broad curve 
 
 Thru the grassy meads of this world. 
 
 Upon its banks are the silvery trees where 
 
 Golden apples drop down and whirl 
 
 In the shining, quiet current of the stream. 
 
 47 
 
Men move at will here 
 
 And gather the fruit by the stream 
 
 Where nature is at her best all the year. 
 
 He descends and goes back to school ; 
 
 But all day long, while trying his books, 
 
 He fans his brow to keep it cool. 
 
 He wonders again how the scene looks. 
 
 His mind will not stay however hard 
 
 He tries to confine it to his books ; 
 
 He ponders: Is this the land where the bard 
 
 Gleans in the fields for his books? 
 
 His imagination carries him away 
 
 To this world he has seen beyond the mountain 
 
 Where superb beings toil and spin not by day, 
 
 But spend the time looking into the fountain. 
 
 Where the marts of trade move 
 
 With only the will behind them. 
 
 And where God can prove 
 
 That man, superb man, is His friend. 
 
 Where the earth is so very wide 
 
 And mystery broods upon the serene deep, 
 
 And men can travel with the tide 
 
 And to far away countries sweep. 
 
 A youth jostles him in passing by 
 
 And he is brought back from his dream. 
 
 But who says he will be the same? And why? 
 
 After awakening from this wonderful dream? 
 
 Not I. For Heaven has so ordained 
 
 That men, in their striving, must gain 
 
 A wider outlook on life, restrained 
 
 48 
 
Not by the fearful storm or pain. 
 
 The house sits between stream and hill 
 
 And looks out on a playground wide, 
 
 Where tall sycamores stand at will 
 
 To protect the happy children, aside 
 
 From the beauty they add to the scene. 
 
 Great beeches stand by the edge 
 
 Toward the stream, and give way to a scene 
 
 Of rhododendron, laurel and hedge. 
 
 Above, on the lower end of the ground, 
 
 Stands the large oak flaring wide, 
 
 Easily master over all around, 
 
 Not even excepting time and tide. 
 
 I move my hand over the rough bark; 
 
 A whisper from this great tree 
 
 Comes to me saying, "Trust this ark 
 
 Of safety in all the storms that be. * * 
 
 Above the house, to the rear. 
 
 Rises a cliff sheer from the water's edge, 
 
 Crowned by towering pines that fear 
 
 Not the waters rushing along the ledge. 
 
 Rhododendron and laurel are here, too, 
 
 To add their crown of beauty 
 
 To a scene no artist ever knew. 
 
 Or had opportunity to paint as a duty. 
 
 Flow on, beautiful stream! 
 
 Rise higher, ye noble mountains ! 
 
 And fulfill thy brightest dream 
 
 In its ever-swelling fountains! 
 
 Stand firm, ye school house yonder, 
 
 49 
 
A symbol of the world advancing! 
 Send your light upon men to wonder 
 At Pegasus in the air prancing! 
 Be to me the light that burst on Rome 
 When civilization sought expansion ! 
 Be the herald of that new home 
 That finds for the soul its mansion ! 
 Train the generations, each time anew; 
 Send them forth in power to dare and do 
 What men have dreamed is due 
 The race that lifts up not to subdue ! 
 
 Zigzagging our way along the crest, 
 
 With only a path here and there. 
 
 Climbing around peaks abreast 
 
 And down thru gaps everywhere, 
 
 We come finally to the Gap Field, 
 
 Half way our mountain distance. 
 
 Here the Gap widens each way to yield 
 
 Space for the farm without resistance 
 
 From the hills that cluster around. 
 
 In the lap of the hills here 
 
 Man has dug a subsistence from the ground 
 
 To sustain him year after year 
 
 For more generations than I know. 
 
 Benjamin Wise, an old man when I 
 
 Knew him, lived here years ago. 
 
 A peculiar man was he, I know not why; 
 
 For, when he met you with load on back, 
 
 He always kept it there so, 
 
 50 
 
And, no matter how long he talked, the pack 
 
 Ever remained there, I know. 
 
 He would walk all around you, 
 
 Tramping down every inch of the ground, 
 
 And with his long beard too, 
 
 And eyes that danced around. 
 
 He is at once stamped different 
 
 From the other men you know. 
 
 The children could not be indifferent 
 
 To the man who gave them this show. 
 
 They were afraid of his every move 
 
 And thought him in league with Satan ; 
 
 For this they could always prove 
 
 Because, when he looks back, they hate him. 
 
 But simple-hearted and kind was he, 
 
 Wishing no one any harm ; 
 
 He would halt you at his gate, see, 
 
 And welcome you by giving you his arm. 
 
 This Gap was the traveled highway 
 
 More than all the others by far 
 
 For passengers from the Brae 
 
 To settlements beyond the Spar. 
 
 From the valley of the Brae 
 
 The path winds its way up the gorge. 
 
 Closed in by towering peaks away 
 
 And darkened by thick rhododendron large. 
 
 Then drops down the other side 
 
 To the lap of the hill below, where 
 
 Tall pines bring the creepy feeling wide, 
 
 And you leap from the pheasant's whir. 
 
 51 
 
One dark night a lone traveler 
 
 Passes this way toward the Brae Valley; 
 
 The night is heavy with darkness, Sir, 
 
 And like evil spirits that quietly rally 
 
 To their secret haunts in search 
 
 Of prey for their fiendish thirst, 
 
 About the silent, dark pines perch. 
 
 Overcoming the flush of fear, the worst, x 
 
 Creeping thru this gloom he spies 
 
 A light from a window ahead, 
 
 And straight for the dwelling he hies, 
 
 But wishes for the comfort of a bed. 
 
 A tap at the door brings out 
 
 The willing occupant, who plans 
 
 A light that no one should ever flout. 
 
 Boards, dry and long, like fans. 
 
 Are split in pieces and brought together ; 
 
 Then a light that flares up at one end 
 
 Shows you the way without bother. 
 
 He thanks him and welcomes him as a friend. 
 
 Have you ever witnessed the comfort 
 
 That comes to you on a dark night, ^ 
 
 When tired and lonely, without comfort, ^ 
 
 You suddenly look ahead to see a light? ^ 
 
 So forth stands civilization's light. 
 
 In the world's broad spaces dark. 
 
 When gloom and disappointment gather might — 
 
 Just think of the cheer of one lone spark! 
 
 The fields, once green, are now bare 
 
 Of those things that sustain men ; 
 
 52 
 
Shrubbery and briers grow up everywhere 
 
 And struggle to fill up the Gap again. 
 
 So the generations always pass, 
 
 Each succeeding the one before, 
 
 Till the impoverished land gives up at last 
 
 And their descendants move on as before. 
 
 We come next to Thesalay Peak wide, 
 
 A large, round mountain, higher than the rest. 
 
 Where broad, level spaces project from its side 
 
 With farms that produce at their best. 
 
 Plain to the view of all in the valley 
 
 Are the many glowing scenes that appear ; 
 
 Of mists that fall over the Brae in a sally 
 
 After sweeping around this peak here ; 
 
 Of storms that rage in their fury near, 
 
 Swinging along the sides of the valley clear, 
 
 Bringing terror to the people's hearts, I hear, 
 
 Who shudder at the awful fate, so severe; 
 
 Of the cold winds that sweep it on winter days. 
 
 Leaving the mists frozen dew to fill the trees 
 
 And sparkle like diamonds in the sun's rays 
 
 After the night has been passed in the breeze ; 
 
 Of a scene, on a summer's day, at sunrise. 
 
 Of the mountain glowing like the King 
 
 Of the Christian world, when before the eyes 
 
 Of the Prophets he became transfigured, a thing 
 
 Transcending all to the onlookers by — 
 
 A scene the painter wishes he could try 
 
 To inspire him to greater endeavor. 
 
 53 
 
Swinging free his brush without a sigh 
 For the painting no artist had painted ever. 
 
 This valley stretches along the Brae 
 
 Like a trough hollowed out of the hills, 
 
 Wider to the East, and extending away 
 
 To a rounded point in the Western hills. 
 
 But from the wider part. East, then 
 
 Along the stream it narrows to a thread 
 
 For some miles, then widens again 
 
 To be lost in the stream's rugged bed. 
 
 Many small farms checker the ground 
 
 In this pleasant valley now, 
 
 Where the thriving Tway Settlement is found, 
 
 Composed of the descendants, of sturdy brow, 
 
 Of men who aided Boone when 
 
 He cast aside precedent and ease 
 
 To open the Western Country then 
 
 To a conquering host not easy to please. 
 
 They poured thru Cumberland's Pass, 
 
 Laid hands upon the mountain stronghold. 
 
 Left men to take possession of the mass, 
 
 And passed on with a front more bold 
 
 Till they had overrun the Blue Grass. 
 
 They pressed on to conquer and to bless 
 
 Until they had encompassed the mass 
 
 Of the broad lands of the West. 
 
 No nobler undertaking ever came to man 
 
 Than came to Boone and his followers! 
 
 They extended mankind's plan 
 
 54 
 
To a wider domain among the Powers ! 
 
 When time enough elapses 
 
 And history has been given her due, 
 
 The record of those great collapses 
 
 Will give place to records anew. 
 
 Then Boone's achievement will stand 
 
 On the pages of history as actor, 
 
 And mankind will read in grand 
 
 Pageant the record of the benefactor 
 
 To whom all mankind is debtor. 
 
 Long may his memory live in her annals ! 
 
 Long may his deeds become the better 
 
 To shine in dark places like candles ! 
 
 Most of this valley was owned at one time 
 
 By two of the family, Jonathan and Thomas 
 
 Tway, 
 The fathers and grandfathers betime 
 Of all the inhabitants here today. 
 Now they are buried plain to view 
 In an unassuming little graveyard, a rod 
 From each other, or two. 
 To sleep their sleep on the breast of God. 
 Far-seeing men were they ; 
 For they sought out the heart of this region 
 Far and near, and bought it for a song, they say; 
 Now the company has grown to legion 
 And promises to outnumber the valleys of Cathay, 
 For here nothing is known of race-suicide 
 And the many other evils that check the way 
 Of men borne to life's higher tide. 
 
 55 
 
They bring forth in great numbers, 
 
 Quoting the Bible as their guide ; 
 
 "Multiply and replenish the earth" with numbers 
 
 And remember the day the faithful abide. 
 
 Hail to civilization's preservers! 
 
 Hail to these brothers of men ! 
 
 This swelling tide will become the reserves 
 
 Of all generations from now, amen ! 
 
 Scotch-Irish and English blood 
 
 Flow thru the veins of these men, 
 
 Who will form part of the flood 
 
 Of Anglo-Saxons to people the earth again. 
 
 They tell us the Teuton will prevail 
 
 In the world's monster strife; 
 
 That he is prepared to avail 
 
 Himself of all power that is rife. 
 
 What is the issue? What the plan? 
 
 Is it between Teuton overlordship fierce 
 
 And the liberty-loving Anglo-Saxon plan? 
 
 Then let every Allied spear pierce 
 
 The body of a Teuton man ! 
 
 Let the blood of nations be poured out 
 
 For the redemption of the world-plan, 
 
 And with our hands cast the invader out! 
 
 They moved from the British Isles 
 
 And came to Virginia's coast ; 
 
 There they landed in long files 
 
 To establish a new rule without boast. 
 
 Thru Virginia, Tennessee and the Pass 
 
 They made their way in time, 
 
 56 
 
To where they now amass 
 
 Liberty all along the line. 
 
 Industrious are the people and strong, 
 
 Relying upon themselves for aid ; 
 
 They know the world's injustice and wrong, 
 
 But lose sight of it in digging with the spade. 
 
 One industry and one plan have they. 
 
 The making of men for the new day ; 
 
 And this thru planting and reaping, aye, 
 
 For the ages' long sultry day. 
 
 They graze their cattle on the hills, 
 
 Their hogs take to the field ; 
 
 They toss their hay by the rills 
 
 And gather their corn of great yield. 
 
 Religious are they always. 
 
 Moved by emotions ever strong; 
 
 They keep strict account of those astray 
 
 And plead with them thru song. 
 
 In education they believe, 
 
 Sending their sons away to school ; 
 
 They continually try to relieve 
 
 The mind of the ignorance of the fool. 
 
 Many sacrifices they make 
 
 To prepare their sons for life ; 
 
 Many encomiums they take 
 
 Because of the superiority in the strife. 
 
 The story is told of Henry Tway 
 
 Who came along with Boone, 
 
 That he left his home in Tennessee a day 
 
 To travel away under the moon. 
 
 67 
 
He remained in Kentucky so long 
 
 That, when he returned in haste, 
 
 He found his children took flight strong 
 
 And fled to safety on the waste. 
 
 But brought his family back to this wilderness, 
 
 To brave the dangers of the land. 
 
 And found a new home with freedom, I confess. 
 
 Here he hunted the whole bear clan 
 
 And tilled the soil for bread. 
 
 He became the father of the Tway host. 
 
 And at last found his bed 
 
 Beneath a spreading tree post, 
 
 In the winter's chilly snow, fast 
 
 Asleep in death, amid the wilderness 
 
 He had helped to conquer last, 
 
 Of which he was no more to boast or confess. 
 
 Herbert Tway lives at the lower end, 
 
 At the broad part of this vale, 
 
 On a rocky prominence, at the very end, 
 
 Above the stream \s*ithout a sail. 
 
 From the site of the house here 
 
 The valley spreads out far away. 
 
 Rimmed by the green of the hills austere 
 
 That culminate in the high peak of Thesalay. 
 
 To the rear is the orchard near 
 
 Where apples of ever^^ kind 
 
 Grow with a pink luster, I hear, 
 
 To supply the wants of mankind. 
 
 In front are the strong walnut trees, 
 
 5S 
 
Stationed like men on guard, 
 
 With their strong branches at ease 
 
 Dropping down the walnuts hard. 
 
 Beneath are the old flat rocks 
 
 Where the walnuts are cracked by day, 
 
 While life passes, but never mocks. 
 
 Him who thus passes the time away. 
 
 Just below, on the high bank of the stream, 
 
 Stand an assembly of oaks large 
 
 Where spreading branches awake the dream 
 
 Of them floating away as a barge. 
 
 Let thy boughs sway to the breeze ! 
 
 Toss them high if you care ! 
 
 Time's message comes from these — 
 
 Grow strong in life's struggle fair. 
 
 Above the house opposite these trees 
 
 Is the forest of oak and chestnut grand ; 
 
 Here the youth strays far from mart 
 
 To learn of each single tree and 
 
 Coax the secret from his heart. 
 
 Go on, yearning young man! The plan 
 
 Of this universe, and all her ways. 
 
 Will come to you in the striving 
 
 To solve the mystery in this and other days. 
 
 And will abide till at Heaven's gate arriving. 
 
 The lot, the garden, the field. 
 
 All present themselves to view ; 
 
 Where man helps nature to bring yield 
 
 For those who toil anew. 
 
 This house is greater than a castle, 
 
 59 
 
Though very modest at the best ; 
 
 For youths leave its hearth to wrestle 
 
 In God's mighty struggle, the test. 
 
 From many a castle sickly youths 
 
 Come to lord it over men in power; 
 
 They surely will get their dues 
 
 In that final reckoning hour, 
 
 For star-eyed men, from such a hut 
 
 As this, may lead the world's advance 
 
 Against monarchial power in a rut, 
 
 Democracy's great name to enhance, 
 
 Herbert Tway is a man of means 
 
 Though he has not one cent ; 
 
 For Heaven and Earth are but reams 
 
 Of possibility in the right direction bent. 
 
 He fights for a family of many 
 
 With humor, good-natured humor, in his eyes, 
 
 And with a song on his lips for any 
 
 Occasion that does arise. 
 
 Men about him, who saved money, would 
 
 Save for the sake of saving it then. 
 
 And forget their families' good 
 
 In the selfishness that knows no end. 
 
 But he for a larger purpose saved, 
 
 Saved those principles of nobility fine 
 
 And transmitted them thru education grave 
 
 To places in his offspring's mind. 
 
 He helped them to have greater faith 
 
 And courage in life's struggle vast; 
 
 And placed on their brow a greater wreath 
 
 €0, 
 
Than crown for money ever cast. 
 
 Susan Tway, his companion true, 
 
 Too busy at her work to look around, 
 
 Has no thought in view 
 
 But of service to others, I am bound. 
 
 There are souls who falter, falter. 
 
 There are souls who fear and fear ; 
 
 There are souls who shy at the halter 
 
 And are sure their destiny is near. 
 
 But she's as steadfast as the sun 
 
 In his position among the worlds; 
 
 She believes work is never done 
 
 Till life into a new sphere whirls. 
 
 When others have doubts the more 
 
 And fears that cannot be crushed, 
 
 She laughs at their halting as before 
 
 And wonders why they have rushed 
 
 Upon such lovely creatures here below. 
 
 "When a thing's to be done, do it; 
 
 Tides may come and tides may go, 
 
 But the unconquerable spirit moves on to it.' 
 
 With his faithful helpmate 
 
 Who loves life to the very last, 
 
 Arm in arm they march in life late 
 
 To the sure haven of God's vast 
 
 Port, where His love, in form of a crown, 
 
 Will be placed on their heads sure 
 
 For their services of high renown 
 
 In furthering civilization's plan secure. 
 
 Over the way only about a mile, 
 
 61 
 
On a small stream, the Mawn, 
 
 Which empties into the Brae, while 
 
 Flowing from the heart of Humbre at dawn, 
 
 Lives Joshua Tway, a man as staid 
 
 As the morning star, and as wise. 
 
 He is a workman of the rarest type, paid 
 
 For what he does in knowing it is right. 
 
 To the last he holds to his purpose true, 
 
 And at a ripe old age passes 
 
 Among the stars out of view 
 
 To receive his reward for the labor he amasses. 
 
 If you wish a man as a type 
 
 Of what man should be. 
 
 Choose this man, who was ripe 
 
 In life's experiences, with a spirit, you see, 
 
 As calm as the apple that grows on a bough. 
 
 Life's storms had not disturbed the growing man 
 
 In him, but had strengthened and shaped him 
 
 now 
 Like the strong oak whose leaves in the breeze 
 
 fan. 
 The house, the place of his abode, 
 Is lodged on a steep hillside. 
 Close beside the road 
 That crosses the country wide. 
 It overlooks the Mawn flowing by 
 The side of Humbre, where a lift 
 Of the eye catches a view of the mountain nigh 
 In a vision that has come as a gift. 
 Here sun and cloud the while. 
 
 62 
 
In turn, toss their light and shade 
 
 Over the broad summit, to smile 
 
 Or frown upon cliff, gorge and glade. 
 
 Here man pauses for a time 
 
 To harness the forces of nature secure 
 
 That he might serve His purposes betime 
 
 For shaping a life to endure. 
 
 Not very far up, across the Brae, 
 
 From the home of Herbert Tway, lives 
 
 Timothy Stiles, who married Martha Tway. 
 
 He moves thru the neighborhood and gives 
 
 That wholesome influence of good cheer 
 
 That puts you always in the best of mood 
 
 No matter where you chance to meet him here. 
 
 He drives away the angry feelings rude 
 
 And with happy smile and friendly word 
 
 Causes you to forget your ill. 
 
 You always leave him happy as any bird 
 
 With its song of freedom to the fill. 
 
 Who says he never lived who salves 
 
 The little disquietudes of men each day? 
 
 Who says he never lived who halves 
 
 The apple with his neighbor in a friendly way? 
 
 No soaring genius he, no man of birth ! 
 
 No man for romance, no man for France! 
 
 But just a good jolly fellow for the old earth — 
 
 One who knows nothing of cunning or chance. 
 
 His helpmate is as different as can be. 
 
 Sedate is she, and firm as Fate, 
 
 With no thought but of the millennium to be, 
 
 63 
 
And of Christ to free men from their awful state. 
 She believes in every principle of the Sacred 
 
 Creed, 
 Even to the raising of the dead to life ; 
 And will remonstrate over the curse of greed 
 In a world of deadly strife. 
 Faithful as Mary as told in Sacred Writ 
 She ever holds true to her belief, 
 And looks for the great Judgment, to-wit: 
 When the wheat shall be separated from the sheaf 
 Up from Herbert Tway's a mile. 
 On the same side of the Brae, 
 And we come to where Jonathan Tway lived 
 
 awhile 
 To prove his worth in the strife of that day. 
 He lived on a rounded hill overlooking the valley, 
 Where Nature has prepared a strong retired 
 
 place — 
 A veritable fortress — from which to make a sally 
 Into the world's stirring market place. 
 Rimmed by the hills of Cummel to the rear, 
 With the valley below like a blanket all set, 
 And with Thesaly Peak looking up as if near, 
 A scene is presented to view one can never forget. 
 Two cedars, like grim sentinels, guard 
 The front of the house on either side ; 
 And the bold-flowing spring a quarter and a yard 
 Is just over beneath the hill to one side. 
 The splendid old log house here 
 Witnessed the triumph of the Union arms, 
 
 64 
 
And sent forth a new army without fear 
 
 To help rebuild the country without alarms. 
 
 Jonathan Tway, a captain of industry was he — 
 
 A man who loved piety in the race 
 
 And wished in preference to war to see 
 
 The saner virtues strong in all the race ; — 
 
 For in an age when men were exploring 
 
 New paths for men to trod, and were trying 
 
 To extend the new country to the sea, he adoring 
 
 Their courage and faith was ever vieing 
 
 With nature in an effort to set a new pace 
 
 For making a nation from the common clay 
 
 At his door, thereby making a stronger race 
 
 For the mighty struggles of another day. 
 
 He, thru thrift, honest toil, and trade. 
 
 Secured title to most of this valley here. 
 
 Then with strong hand, in less than a decade, 
 
 Caused the forests to give way, I hear, 
 
 To wide fields of waving corn and grass. 
 
 Then his cattle grazed by the many brooks 
 
 And his hogs in droves took to the mast ; 
 
 Till, with barns filled, he looks 
 
 Upon a home of plenty, in a new country and age. 
 
 If each man built as well as the other 
 
 (Pray tell me if this is not so, great sage)-— 
 
 Would not men be nearer to that of brother 
 
 In a union greater than any yet made? 
 
 Each striving in his own way, the while, 
 
 For the betterment of himself and neighbor, fade 
 
 Into the greater union of all erstwhile, 
 
 65 
 
Which proves man can build far better than he 
 
 knew. 
 So Jonathan Tway's philosophy centered here, 
 And he found to his amaze, as time flew, 
 That he had served himself and country many a 
 
 year 
 And could now enjoy the fruits of his toil 
 In peace. But just then the great strife came, 
 The country rocked in the balance on her own 
 
 soil, 
 And amid all this struggle and pain, 
 Jonathan Tway, who had builded in love 
 Far better than his Scotch forebears, now yielded 
 To the summons for greater union above. 
 When Father Time his scythe had wielded, 
 And the last funeral rites had been said. 
 His broad acres were divided, without dissent, 
 Among his sons and daughters, aforesaid. 
 Here since they have dwelt to this time, the 
 
 present. 
 In unity, in this way commemorating the re- 
 ceiving 
 Of a greater legacy than lands or houses. 
 For in what more does wealth consist than in 
 
 believing 
 And trusting those about you. This arouses 
 No jealousy or opposition and will last 
 To the end of time. What say you 
 Who have moved along too fast 
 For the good old virtues of those who are true? 
 
 66 
 
Hiram Tway, the youngest son 
 
 Of Jonathan, lived at the old homestead 
 
 Long after his father's death. Late in life he won 
 
 The approbation of all who knew him, and led 
 
 The community in all the Christian virtues. 
 
 Like the Disciple John he proved anew 
 
 That Christianity simply lived nurtures 
 
 All the holy principles opened to our view. 
 
 *'As a guide to the feet of youth he had no equal,'* 
 
 Said those who walked with him every day, 
 
 For he knew far better than others the sequel 
 
 To the pitfalls of youth striving to gain headway. 
 
 He would lend you his horse when he needed to 
 
 plow. 
 Or would walk with you two miles instead of one ; 
 He would quietly pledge you to a new vow 
 For the furtherance of the Kingdom of the Holy 
 
 One. 
 Lift up thy hand, O most beloved! 
 Beckon to our most noble selves 
 From thy happy Eternity, O beloved ! 
 Call us to mightier deeds for ourselves 
 In this kingdom of ours here on earth. 
 James Tway lived here, till the lure of the town 
 Caught him away in a gust of mirth. 
 There he strove the day thru with men of renown 
 Till he found he had reached a commanding po- 
 sition 
 In the struggle that goes the round. 
 He became the judge with democratic vision 
 
 67 
 
And strove to leave a better county than he 
 
 found. 
 That he succeeded no one will deny, 
 But the politicians found they did not need him, 
 So without even explaining why, 
 They pushed him aside with a vim. 
 But lover of the common people was he, 
 And they a lover of him ; 
 He will always be remembered, you see, 
 Even if money and position did defeat him. 
 A burst of laughter comes from the hill, 
 Answered by a chorus of voices there ; 
 It is none other than our leader, Bill, 
 The humorist of the Tway family, I declare. 
 Bill Tway meets you with a solemn face. 
 But with a rare twinkle in his eye ; 
 By these you may know that the ace 
 Is to be played by him when the ace is high. 
 Without waiting for you to speak a word. 
 Says he, "Have you heard what Ben Warren did 
 
 Sunday?" 
 "Why, no. Tell me." "Well, Ben was at church 
 
 the third 
 On Sandy Creek; the whole country from Mundy 
 To Big Bone had turned out. 
 This was communion day, and, after the sermon. 
 The wine and the bread were passed about, 
 And when Ben was reached by Deacon Hermon 
 He turned the cup and drank the wine down. 
 This was all there was of the wine. 
 
 68 
 
So, when the people retired from the house, Sam 
 
 found 
 Ben and wanted to know why he drank the wine. 
 Ben's slow reply was, *I wanted warter, Sam.' " 
 Following this such a laugh came 
 As never comes from reading Sam, 
 Bill Nye, Ward, Riley, Holmes, or Mark Twain, 
 Or all the humorists that have ever been. 
 He was the poetry of laughter itself, 
 For when those ripples rolled on the air a-spin 
 The echoing hills took them without pelf 
 And passed them on to regions still fair. 
 Too much work was against his religion. 
 The joy of life held him like a nightmare. 
 Yet he drank deeper of life than most in this 
 
 region. 
 A hunter was he by temper and profession, 
 His dogs were always ready for the chase ; 
 Life among the hills was to him no digression, 
 For often for days he failed to return to his base. 
 "Skip with me upon the hills," said he, 
 "Ride with me upon the winds that blow; 
 Laughter calls to me from out the sea 
 Of humanity, and I must go." 
 There was Thomas Tway and his wife Aleen. 
 Of Thomas Tway I know but little worth while, 
 But of his worthy wife, I know and have seen 
 That she had the best apples for many a mile. 
 The tree stood by the crib near the road 
 Where the busy school children passed along; 
 
 69 
 
Every day they would stop and get a load 
 
 Of apples, and thought it no wrong. 
 
 Worthy lady Aleen would rarely complain 
 
 Unless the apples were getting fewer ; 
 
 Then she would make it plain 
 
 That many children should be the fewer. 
 
 She had sons worthy the name 
 
 Who walked by the precepts of God, 
 
 And sought not the paths of fame 
 
 Other than those that had already been trod. 
 
 They preach and sing, and till the soil. 
 
 And save their money like gallant swain ; 
 
 They never enter into a broil 
 
 Save for freedom's right to gain. 
 
 This valley and these hills are a world sublime, 
 Where mighty deeds have been wrought 
 By men of all races from every clime — 
 (The most heroic succeeded while they fought). 
 Sir Galahad and his knights contend fair 
 In the wood yonder beneath that hill. 
 And David slays Goliath in contest there 
 When the stone whirls from his sling with a will. 
 Don Quixote passes this way on a windy day 
 And bids the paltry knights clear the road. 
 And Henry the Eighth is here blustering away 
 When called to Byron's heaven with his load. 
 The tillers of the soil, both great and small. 
 From famed Egypt and the remotest times, 
 Toil and labor here beside all 
 
 70 
 
Those who are the makers of heroic rhymes. 
 And the famed Poe, with his weird measures, 
 Tuned to the spirit of a soul divine, 
 Is one with brave Lowell riding Pegasus, one of 
 
 his treasures. 
 Thru all the Elysian Fields of the mind. 
 And Markham is here crying the protest 
 Of the soul wandering in darkness before, 
 And Rice pressing on is giving no rest 
 To Pegasus in the production of volumes galore. 
 Shakespeare's Forest of Arden is here nigh. 
 Where sun and shadow play at will, 
 And man can behold nature's wonder and sigh 
 For greater wonders still. 
 The Golden Gems of Life are pictured now 
 In the log cabin by the still flowing stream, 
 And David Copperfield is wondering how 
 He can reach the kingdoms of his dream. 
 The church of Adam Bede is on the hill, 
 Where the wild roses scatter their perfume. 
 And near by is the hum of the old mill 
 That louder sounds thru the gathering gloom. 
 Napoleon and Alexander are ever here 
 Fighting their battles for rule or sway, 
 And the Kaiser is blustering to his fall near 
 On the battlefields of the Marne today. 
 Washington's Valley Forge is not far away, 
 For there I see him kneel in prayer awhile 
 To ask of Him who knows the way 
 For light to lead his hosts thru the trial. 
 
 71 
 
Grant is thundering away at Appomattox town 
 And Sherman is sweeping on to the sea, 
 Just over that mountain of fair renown, 
 To their victory and ours sure as can be. 
 Lee surrenders, uniting the nation again, 
 But the old Ship of State rocks in the storm 
 When the brave Captain, just to all men, 
 Goes to his reckoning hour amid the storm. 
 Patrick Henry proclaims liberty for all, 
 Adams pleads for justice to the race of men, 
 And Webster warns of the impending pall 
 Over the nation that will unite again. 
 Jefferson works for democracy the more, 
 Jackson strives to uphold this light, 
 And Lincoln and Roosevelt come to the fore 
 To give wider range to Freedom's right. 
 Transfigured are the hills, valley and road 
 To Palestine in the days of the Savior of men, 
 And many disciples carrying their load 
 Wander over hill and countryside again. 
 Jesus feeds the multitude, true to no form. 
 On the hill that shoulders out the sky. 
 And Moses on the mount writes out his reform 
 To be broken to pieces in anger near by. 
 Abraham offers up Isaac as a sacrifice too 
 On the high mountain beyond the Brae, 
 And Jesus goes to Calvary with followers few 
 In the storm that shakes the world to-day. 
 
 9-18 
 
 72 
 
THE PINNACLE 
 
 I stand on the topmost peak of the Pinnacle 
 Bathed in the splendor of the morning sun! 
 What beauty, what glory run 
 With the coming of my lord, the sun! 
 Is this the air of Heaven itself I breathe? 
 Is this truly the light of fair Eternity? 
 Who knows? To me it matters much, 
 For, in this world of splendor, I am free. 
 
 The gray rocks, craggy, old and worn, 
 
 Silently greet him as they have for aye ; 
 
 The green trees, greener in the radiant flame, 
 
 Await the glory of his fuller hour ; 
 
 While the peak, long known to war and song. 
 
 Receives with composure this great benediction. 
 
 Just below, spread out like the broad expanse 
 Of a mighty lake, lies the wavy, billowy fog, 
 White, white, and forever white. 
 Whose waves fade away into the distance dim 
 Like the sunlit waves of the jasper sea. 
 Till fog and peak, peak and fog, are one. 
 
 Far down in the town in the valley below 
 Men grovel and work and strive for gain. 
 While on this high, ethereal peak. 
 Far from the daily toils of men. 
 
 73 
 
Amid the bewitching scenes of an early dawn, 
 I let the eager wings of my soul 
 Try the free air of that nobler world 
 Sung by the bards of an ancient time. 
 
 5-3-16 
 
 CUMBERLAND GAP 
 
 Between two towering peaks the Gap lies, 
 Famous for a century — no mystery ; 
 And from its strategic position vies 
 With the traveled highways of history. 
 
 I 
 
 In that dawn before American history began, 
 With a native forest this Gap was filled, 
 Which was part of that Wilderness grand 
 That spread beyond where the hills are rilled. 
 This Wilderness spread over the valleys south, 
 And all along the great mountain chain, 
 Where waters of rivers start for the mouth. 
 To widest extent of forest domain. 
 To the north this Wilderness spread over 
 Narrow river valleys and mountains wide, 
 To the very edge of the Bluegrass, moreover. 
 And then on and on, far, by slow-moving tide. 
 Here rhododendron clung to the rocky slope 
 
 74 
 
And iris beside the dripping cliffs grew ; 
 
 The deer leaped up and bounded over the slope 
 
 And the bear prowled in places known by few. 
 
 Columbine blossoms quivered in the breeze 
 
 And myriad flowers covered all the ground 
 
 Where Indians prowled beneath great trees 
 
 And hunted their game without making a sound. 
 
 Not even a path the great forest knew, 
 
 Save that of wild beast or sure Indian foot; 
 
 The whisper of the trees in the breeze knew 
 
 Not the clash of arms or step of boot. 
 
 The pristine glory of this forest-world 
 
 Calmed the spirits of beast and savage man, 
 
 Ere the new forces of men began to whirl 
 
 Thru this rugged forest-laden land — 
 
 Ere the march of Empire took its way 
 
 O'er mountain fastness and wild glen. 
 
 To spread itself under so great a sway 
 
 As has never been known to the race of men. 
 
 II 
 
 Then the surging tide of Empire rose 
 
 In the European cradle-home of the race ; 
 
 Moved in mighty volume to the shore 
 
 And was then off in a wild, mad race. 
 
 The tide surged over ocean wide 
 
 Periling all in mighty storm and wave ; 
 
 Then plunged upon the Eastern shore, to abide 
 
 In a new land, a new Freedom to save. 
 
Then spread along this shore wide 
 
 And surged against the Appalachian wall, 
 
 Falling back upon itself; then the tide 
 
 Plunged, swerved, and sought along the wall 
 
 An outlet to the vaster regions beyond. 
 
 Then on a fair day for furthering Empire 
 
 Plunged thru Cumberland Gap, and beyond, 
 
 Beneath the rock-ribbed Pinnacle's spire. 
 
 There rode upon the very crest of this wave 
 
 A man who was made of the common earth — 
 
 Yet a man who had an Empire to save 
 
 In the great effort of the race for wider berth. 
 
 Alone in the forest with his God 
 
 He dreamed dreams as did the great Moses, 
 
 And went forth with his gun as a rod 
 
 To clear the way to be strewn with roses. 
 
 Then gathered to his aid a band of men 
 
 Noble as those of Cromwell's famous band. 
 
 And set them to carve a highway then 
 
 Thru to the very heart of the Western land. 
 
 I pause here before this man's greatness. 
 
 And the nobility of those who aided him, 
 
 And bow my head in shame before the lateness 
 
 Of Kentucky in paying due honor to him. 
 
 No Knight of the Round Table, though often 
 
 told. 
 Ever surpassed this man in his persistent plan 
 To direct the reins of Empire in a way so bold 
 And make a better way for the triumph of man. 
 A bold Knight of Democracy was he; 
 
 78 
 
For, when the swelling tide pressed on, 
 
 He stepped aside and waited in the lea 
 
 Of the ship,. till government was erected thereon. 
 
 Then moved on with the rushing waters of the 
 
 tide 
 Into the wider regions of the great West, 
 And there sought a place for awhile to abide 
 In order that he might view Democracy's test. 
 Then in peace he went to his tomb, 
 Which rests in quiet upon the long rocky ledge 
 Overlooking the Kentucky tide's boom, 
 And the wide region from the cliff's edge. 
 Then this Gap became the traveled highway. 
 Greater by far than all the rest, 
 For the swelling army marching along the way, 
 To spread over the wide lands of the West. 
 The tide moved on, spreading as it went the more. 
 Till it had encompassed the whole of the West ; 
 Then halted along the wide Pacific's shore 
 Till Democracy had triumphed from the burning 
 
 test. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Then, as the years passed, the tide upon itself 
 
 turned, 
 And the Gap again became a strategic position. 
 The tide rolled up from the South, then turned 
 And met the tide rolling down from the North — a 
 
 transition 
 
 77 
 
That caused the two terrific forces to clash 
 In a supreme struggle that was to decide 
 Which force was to assume control, after the 
 
 clash, 
 Of the policies of the nation from tide to tide. 
 First one army and then the other held the Gap 
 
 secure. 
 Planting the cannon all about on the mountain, 
 
 side, 
 Thinking that in this way they could immure 
 Themselves from danger, and swing the balance 
 
 to their side. 
 The tide plunged thru the Gap, from one side 
 
 first. 
 And then from the other, till in the end 
 The tide from the North, with mighty plunge, 
 
 burst 
 Thru the Gap and held it to the end. 
 And now, after the lapse of many years' time, 
 The scars of the fierce warfare are to be found : 
 Roads strung along the mountain sides in a line, 
 To wind beneath frowning peaks and then down 
 Into the valleys below, where the camps of men 
 Are spread far and near about the mountain's 
 
 base ; 
 Cannon placed on the Pinnacle's top, rocks hold 
 
 the names of men; 
 Pits found along the tops of low ridges in a long 
 
 row 
 Where the many bodies of the men who died 
 
 78 
 
Were taken from the earth, after the awful 
 
 throe, 
 To be reinterred where this had been denied. 
 Here brother fought against his brother 
 In the most fearful strife that comes to men. 
 Each thinking he was the one to further 
 The cause of the nation — the other to make 
 
 amend. 
 
 The fury of the tide has subsided long ago, 
 
 And over a royal highway the tides of men 
 
 In peaceful pursuit pass to and fro 
 
 Without thought of renewing the strife again. 
 
 The Gap, hollowed out by some ancient tide. 
 
 Between the twin peaks of the mountain stands 
 
 Overawed by the Pinnacle's broad side. 
 
 And fearful of the thunderous cave's hands 
 
 That grip it from beneath, submissive now 
 
 To the quiet generations of men that come and go. 
 
 In their persistent effort to show how 
 
 The tides of men come that never cease to flow. 
 
 3-27-21 
 
 79 
 
THE NARROWS AGAIN 
 
 The plunging river, walls of rock 
 Thirteen hundred feet on either side, 
 Tell the story of a mighty struggle 
 That formed this gorge so wide. 
 Formed ere the star appeared in the East 
 Over the Savior's place of birth, 
 Long before the advent of man 
 Upon this globe of whirling earth. 
 
 The trembling earth, a rumbling noise, 
 Rocks crashing down the high mountain, 
 And, enveloped in a cloud of smoke. 
 And gushing from its side the fountain, 
 A mountain appears, extending far 
 Across the path nature has set 
 For the regular course of river and star, 
 And all things that move with them yet. 
 
 A thousand streams against this wall 
 Rush. Their waters rise to the crest, 
 Forming a surging, angry lake, 
 Which sweeps away to rest 
 Among distant peaks, there to prepare 
 For the coming struggle between these 
 Mighty forces of nature for the pass — 
 A struggle which nature cannot appease. 
 
 80 
 
The water creeps over the high crest 
 And falls to the valley below in mist. 
 And like the sea that fears not the ship 
 The mountain is not alarmed at this; 
 But laughs at the very small force 
 That would contest this great pass 
 With a mountain wonderful as the sea, 
 Having just sprung into existence en masse. 
 
 But time is allied with the stream 
 Which increases in volume and violence 
 Till, before the mountain is aware, 
 A wide gap has been cut whence 
 Issue the wrathful waters that fall 
 With a roar to rebound among the hills. 
 Like the battle of the gods on Olympus 
 The contest is waged with mighty wills. 
 
 Nor ceased that contest, age after age, 
 
 Till the stream in triumph had won 
 
 By plunging to the mountain's very base. 
 
 Flowing away peacefully under a glowing sun. 
 
 Then the waters divide, and each stream 
 
 Seeks his channel to glide as of yore. 
 
 Making famous for all time the pass 
 
 That had yielded to Vulcan strokes the more. 
 
 Then comes peace to the antagonists bold, 
 And each tries to hide the scars 
 By throwing a mantle of dark green, 
 Decorated with red and gold, like stars, 
 
 81 
 
O'er the mountain's rock-ribbed sides. 
 
 The river flows over the bottomless chasm here, 
 
 And the gods take up their abode nigh 
 
 For a peaceful reign of a thousand year. 
 
 4-4-18 
 
 THE PANAMA CANAL 
 
 The wealth of the Indies all Europe dreamed; 
 The truth of a world on heroes beamed. 
 
 Great Marco Polo wrote a book then 
 That stirred the imaginations of all men. 
 
 Columbus dared what men feared — 
 
 The terrors of the deep ; a continent appeared. 
 
 Balboa to conquer across the isthmus came 
 To a placid ocean without any name. 
 
 He drew his sword, plunging into main, 
 
 And commanded the waves to be subject to Spain, 
 
 Then besought his country to listen to his claim 
 For a great canal to link main to main. 
 
 This, while Hudson, Davis and Drake, 
 Gilbert and the rest, sought the way to make 
 
 82 
 
The famed Indies by the northwest route, 
 
 Which they found closed — to them a very sad truth. 
 
 Magellan found the strait which bears his name; 
 But four hundred years proves Balboa's fame. 
 
 De Lessep, the Frenchman, heroic in his might, 
 Tried to carry out the seer's dream right 
 
 By building a canal from ocean to ocean ; 
 But private enterprise gave it up as a notion. 
 
 Then bold Roosevelt, linking dream to deed, 
 On the scene came to dare and to do with speed 
 
 What others had tried by resolution vain, 
 Thru all these years — to link main to main. 
 
 Ships of every land, O come this way! 
 Link East to West — usher in the new day! 
 
 When from the Mediterranean and Atlantic's tide 
 The trade of the world shifts to the Pacific wide. 
 
 The Panama Canal 1 The brave, brave deed, 
 Stands as a monument to the heroic breed 
 
 Of a noble man, who dreamed and wrought, 
 
 And wrought and dreamed, for ideas others fought. 
 
 He made it possible for the spices of the East 
 To arrive at the West for the all-world feast. 
 
 5-23-16 
 
 83 
 
THE GARDEN 
 
 Ho! ho! ho! 
 
 To the garden we go 
 
 To dig with the spade ; 
 
 Now you take the hoe 
 
 And we'll make a show, 
 
 Nor ever think of the shade. 
 
 Dig! dig! dig! 
 
 It's worth more'n a fig 
 
 To make the dirt fly ; 
 
 Now burst the clods 
 
 O'er many rods, 
 
 And don't take time to sigh. 
 
 Rake! rake! rake! 
 Many strokes we take 
 To make the ground fine ; 
 Then make up the beds 
 Without thinking of the Reds, 
 And draw the rows to a line. 
 
 Gee! gee! gee! 
 
 You just wait and see 
 
 How we plant the little seeds ; 
 
 We strew them in a furrow 
 
 Like animals in a burrow. 
 
 And protect them from the weeds. 
 
 84 
 
O! O! O! 
 
 How they do grow 
 In lines so very straight — 
 The raddish, lettuce, corn, 
 In the bright May morn, 
 Nor ever think to wait. 
 
 Hi! hi! hi! 
 
 It's time for us to spy 
 
 For weeds and every enemy thing ; 
 
 We'll take our hoe 
 
 And dig just so, 
 
 And listen to the birds sing. 
 
 Great! great! great! 
 Come to the gate. 
 Behold a sight to see ; — 
 Tomatoes blushing fine, 
 Beans in a line. 
 And melons all ripe for me. 
 
 Red! red! red! 
 
 Flowers in a bed 
 
 Along the wide path, too; 
 
 White ones there, 
 
 And yellow ones share 
 
 In beauties of garden for you. 
 
 85 
 
Past! past! past! 
 
 Summer going at last 
 
 And the pleasures of the garden, too; 
 
 But nature gives health, 
 
 Far greater than wealth, 
 
 And a chance to learn of you. 
 
 2-22-16 
 
 THE FISHERMEN 
 
 Fishermen three 
 
 Went out to see 
 If any fish there were in sight. 
 
 The day was fine, 
 
 In went the line. 
 But the fish they would not bite. 
 
 Minnows it took 
 
 To go on each hook, 
 And the bait they cast out very far ; 
 
 But there they sat. 
 
 And forgot to chat, 
 While they frowned on an unlucky star. 
 
 To another place, 
 
 With anxious face, 
 For luck, they said, they moved once more, 
 
 Till ill at ease. 
 
 Themselves to please. 
 They stretched on the grass on curving shore, 
 
 86 
 
Some thought 
 
 That they ought 
 To leave without giving any warning; 
 
 While others said 
 
 That time only sped, 
 And they would never leave till morning. 
 
 Just then away 
 
 Went the line astray, 
 And the waves quivered under the terrified 
 strain ; 
 
 The fisherman leaped 
 
 To his feet 
 And seized his rod with anxious strain. 
 
 All his force 
 
 Rushed to one source 
 At the touch of the quivering rod in his hands. 
 
 His eye on the line, 
 
 With grip on reel fine, 
 He leads the fighting fish to where he stands. 
 
 And all the shore 
 
 For once more 
 Is alive with the shouts of happy men 
 
 As each tries 
 
 His new flies. 
 And seeks a new place to try them then. 
 
 87 
 
For a six-pounder, 
 
 With flounce and flounder, 
 Has been held up to all the waiting view ; 
 
 And the new hopes 
 
 Of men and ropes 
 Have all been revived and stirred anew. 
 
 Again the fun began 
 
 Right under the span 
 Of the bridge across the quivering lake; 
 
 All caught fish, 
 
 As many as could wish. 
 And carried them to their lodge to bake. 
 
 Then over the wine 
 
 They spun the story fine 
 Of how they caught the fish more and more; 
 
 And left alone, 
 
 They'll go home, 
 And never forget to tell the story o'er and 
 o'er. 
 
 3-4-16 
 
 88 
 
AUTUMN 
 
 The Kenton hills are now aflame 
 
 With such a mad desire ; 
 Goldenrods afield are the same 
 
 With yellow to admire. 
 Red-gold, amid the dying green, 
 
 Reign in profusion here, 
 Blended delicate hues between 
 
 On hill and vale so near. 
 
 Squirrels are hoarding many nuts 
 
 Ready for winter's blast; 
 Leaves are filling up all the ruts 
 
 To hide the falling mast. 
 Chilly streams in the quiet vale 
 
 Wind by the shocks of corn ; 
 And the clear winds without avail 
 
 Cause a shiver in the morn. 
 
 Yellow pumpkins are in the field, 
 
 The straw is in the stack; 
 Groaning haylofts are made to yield 
 
 To the strain of their pack. 
 Crows caw and caw the livelong day 
 
 From the bare trees and hedge ; 
 And blackbirds sweep down and away 
 
 In droves above the sedge. 
 
 89 
 
Apples, with pink lustre rare, load 
 
 The trees in orchard near ; 
 Glad chestnuts drop down by the road 
 
 In the wide woods, I hear. 
 The hick'ry nuts are gather'd in 
 
 For quiet hours at eve ; 
 The walnuts are dried with a grin 
 
 That mock not nor deceive. 
 
 Autumn is here in all her sw^ay 
 
 On ev'ry hill and vale ; 
 The best of all the year, for aye. 
 
 Is near for our avail. 
 Nature blends her colors ever 
 
 In such true varied hues; 
 And the lap of plenty will sever 
 
 From want and all her dues. 
 
 IO-15-18 
 
 90 
 
IO-I3-I8 
 
 THE AUTUMN SUN 
 
 All set is the sun 
 
 In a misty autumn haze ; 
 Like a red-orange ball won 
 
 From out the stellar ways. 
 
 Behind the dark pines cold 
 How large he looms and fair! 
 
 How like fairy fruit of gold 
 He hangs on boughs there ! 
 
 From the North blow the winds, 
 
 A chill is in the air ; 
 But the autumn sun ever finds 
 
 The bleakness very fair. 
 
 91 
 
AN OCTOBER DAY 
 
 WITHOUT 
 
 Gray clouds hover low, 
 A thick mist fills the air, 
 
 And in the street is the show 
 Of dreariness everywhere. 
 
 Dripping wet are the eaves, 
 Puddles stand in the street; 
 
 And half-bare are the trees 
 Your eyes everywhere greet. 
 
 The men shiver as they pass 
 And walk straight ahead ; 
 
 The October chills force amass, 
 Ever with fearful dread. 
 
 WITHIN 
 
 Cozy here is the room 
 
 With a glow from the grate 
 Casting a halo with a boon 
 
 Over those in happy state 
 
 92 
 
IO-20-I8 
 
 Seated the half-circle round. 
 
 Gas flames chase each other up 
 The asbestos back like the hound 
 
 When the wild chase is up. 
 
 Now here, now there, then away 
 Thru the asbestos they go, 
 
 Chasing their desire in their way 
 With satisfaction aglow. 
 
 The smiling books look down 
 From the shelf in the case, 
 
 And invite you to sound 
 
 The mysteries there they trace. 
 
 The victrola in the corner stands 
 
 Fair with its glad desire, 
 Ready for the touch of hands 
 
 To unloose the music you admire. 
 
 The pictures hang on the walls 
 In their quiet, secure place. 
 
 That you may trace the halls 
 Of ocean or woodland space. 
 
 The family of three seated here 
 With books in their hand, 
 
 Feel the glow of happiness near 
 W^hile united in happy band. 
 
 98 
 
THE HUNT IN FLORIDA 
 
 When October's chilling breeze 
 
 Hails forth in Kentucky, 
 And you see everywhere falling leaves, 
 With the long arms of the trees 
 Stretching forth in gaunt array. 
 
 Then up and away 
 To the fairer land of eternal flowers 
 For a quiet place to pass away the hours. 
 
 To the sunny land of palm and pine, 
 
 And the great swamps too ; 
 To where sweeping prairies meet the pine 
 In their far-away sweep to the brine. 
 For thee I pine, O land so fair! 
 
 With loveliness ever>n;\^here, 
 And a name so charming that he who reads 
 Will sigh till he plunges within thy reeds. 
 
 Long and straight are the roads there, 
 
 Over them we go, 
 For the wild game that's fleeter and fair, 
 And hides in cooling swamps everywhere ; 
 For the chase across the open pine-land, 
 
 Across the prairie-land, 
 To the big swamps, the marshy sw^amps, below 
 Where, when pressed, all the fleetest deer go. 
 
 94 
 
Then retrace your steps with downcast look, 
 
 And sore disappointment, 
 To the hastily built camp whence we took 
 Our course that morn without compass or book. 
 There to plan the next day's chase, 
 
 In a surer place, 
 For the game we know is bound to be there 
 From reports our faithful spies declare. 
 
 Then to the chase again, you men. 
 
 With all the dogs, too; 
 For hope rides on the wings of morn again 
 To lead the hunters on over heath and fen. 
 Slowly we go, with the dogs ahead, 
 
 Just lately from bed, 
 To the cooling swamps just over the way 
 Where the deer feed by night, not by day. 
 
 The old hound moves up slowly then 
 
 To the palmettoes there. 
 Sniffs the air, and starts off faster again 
 Across the open woodland before the men. 
 With his head in the air a bark resounds. 
 
 Bringing up all the hounds ; 
 Thru the pines near the marshy ground alack 
 Leaps forward the leader of the whole pack. 
 
 A crack of the palmettoes, the flash of a tail. 
 
 And the deer is up. 
 Over the open woodland to hit the trail ; 
 
 95 
 
Boom, boom, from the guns, and he begins to fail, 
 Then falls to the ground limp and lifeless, 
 
 And with no spitefulness 
 Has the deer come to this fateful end, 
 For the name of hunter I shall ever defend. 
 
 But there he lies, fat, sleek, and fine, 
 
 Upon the short grass. 
 What a pity to halt this fleetness at this time 
 When the deer is in all his prime! 
 My conscience says I must forever pay 
 
 For time spent this way, 
 And he who takes the life of the least 
 Must ever think of naught but the feast. 
 
 Then Lord, dear Lord, forgive, I pray; 
 
 It is my true desire 
 That I may be freed from guilt this day, 
 From the distressful pangs that won't fly away. 
 I must see more than the feast in the deer, 
 
 The trim form of the deer. 
 And life to me must always be dearer, dear. 
 In the beauty of palm and pine and deer. 
 
 10-25-18 
 
 96 
 
ADOWN THE WOODLAND WAY 
 
 Adown the woodland way 
 Elves sport and play 
 For our delight today. 
 
 The wonder of the wood ! 
 That brings all good 
 To the heart that would 
 
 Interpret its meaning 
 In careful gleaning 
 Near the tree leaning. 
 
 Close beside a cove 
 The tangled vines rove, 
 And flowers, I trove. 
 
 Show happy faces fair, 
 
 In the balmy air, 
 
 All around, everywhere. 
 
 Adown the woodland way 
 Elves sport and play 
 For our delight today. 
 
 7-16-18 
 
 97 
 
"THE HANGING ROCK" 
 
 Far above the water's edge 
 Hangs the rocky ledge, 
 Rugged, stately and still, 
 Strong with the strength of the hill 
 From which he springs. 
 
 A movement of waters nigh, 
 A fringe of trees against the sky. 
 Clusters of flowers on the ground. 
 And with the music of birds 'round 
 All the forest rings. 
 
 Far above the eagle swings. 
 Close to the rocks the iris clings ; 
 Fishes glide thru the waters below, 
 And from afar true lovers row 
 To this safe retreat. 
 
 When the shades of evening draw near, 
 The lovers glide away without fear; 
 They pass as if in a mystic dream 
 The great dark object by the stream, 
 And oft the tale repeat. 
 
 98 
 
3-2I-I6 
 
 For ages on ages past 
 He has defied the elements to the last ; 
 All the rains of a thousand years, 
 The snows and storms' awful fears, 
 The river's whirling tide. 
 
 Masterful, patient, sublime. 
 He reposes here and bides his time 
 While the cycles of the ages pass all. 
 And while kingdoms rise and fall 
 With the swell of the tide. 
 
 99 
 
THE TRAILING ARBUTUS 
 
 Trailing, trailing, onward the arbutus goes. 
 Along the hillsides and up thru the coves. 
 Around the cliffs with the trees fcM" a screen. 
 And into the dark gorge by the ade of the ravine. 
 
 He trails beside the streamlet, rippling sweet. 
 
 And clambers under \ines and over moss so neat; 
 He weaves pretty figures on the brown fori^ floor 
 And en\~ies not the great trees above him any more. 
 
 He trailed the hills of old New England, south. 
 And came down to a very wide harbor's moatli — 
 There to greet our earnest Pilgrim FathoB ol yore 
 And welcome them, one and all, to our new shore. 
 
 He trailed south along the great mountain chain, 
 Nor ever stopped to consider his distant gain, 
 Tin he had reached the "Land of Flowers" 
 And had become a wekxHne guest in quiet bowers. 
 
 White down is upon his fresh leaves so green, 
 A flush of pink on his petals may be seen ; 
 And contrasts are his 'winding stem so brown 
 And the bare trees far above the ground. 
 
 lOO 
 
His list 'ning ear is close to Nature's heart — 
 He early knows all her soothing, winning art — 
 So the warm sunshine of windy March makes rife 
 All his sleeping energies, and spurs them to life. 
 
 Just then a blast from the north sweeps down 
 And covers w4th snow all the ground. 
 The tall pine beneath the load is almost spent 
 While the laurel everywhere is bowed and bent. 
 
 Grim old Winter holds universal sway once again 
 And frowns from ev'ry rugged cliff and glen ; 
 But little does he know he plays the old clown, 
 For the sure promise of Spring is on the ground. 
 
 And just where the path makes a sweeping bend, 
 Close beside a rock with sheltered laurel, then 
 The arbutus shows his cheery face, hopeful and gay, 
 And awaits the disappearance of the snow in a day. 
 
 Away flies the snow before the warm sun — 
 Already a complete victory has been won — 
 And Spring in full sway holds out her glad hand 
 While Nature stirs to new life in all the land. 
 
 2-S-I6 
 
 JUl 
 
THE "BURNT CABIN" 
 
 This cabin stood on the broad plain of the mountain 
 
 top 
 By the clear, cool waters of a fountain never at rest, 
 Where a world of trees spread a canopy of leaves 
 
 overhead, 
 And tangled vines showed nature in primitive mood 
 
 best. 
 
 Here the wild fox dug his hole unscared, 
 And the frisky squirrel jumped and played all around; 
 The raccoon prowled in search of food day and night, 
 And the deer lolled at his ease or went with a bound. 
 
 This was the first cabin in this region far and near, — 
 A pioneer in a new land and a new age ; 
 It followed in the wake of that brave leader, Boone, 
 In a greater dash than was ever made by king or page. 
 
 No sooner had it been erected, and a clearing made, 
 Than came a mighty sweep of roaring, devouring flame 
 And razed this fair cabin to the ground, 
 Leaving naught to mark the spot but ashes and a name. 
 
 This seemed nature's way of strongest protest 
 
 Against the invading hand of ruthless man; — 
 
 A protest which is at once full of prophecy, 
 
 And filled with important meaning for the race of Pan. 
 
 102 
 
We talk of civilization and her rapid strides, 
 
 Of the inventive genius of man and the needs of the 
 
 hour, 
 Of the tilling of the soil under scientific guides, 
 And of the brave deeds of the warrier when linked 
 
 with power. 
 
 Great are these and the times that broght them forth ; 
 But in the great march of civilization thru the ages 
 Something has been lost in sweeping away these forests 
 To give place for history numbered by volumes in- 
 stead of pages. 
 
 Have we not lost some of the calm power and patience 
 That come to us thru the woods and trees? 
 Have we not lost some of the wonder and vision 
 That come to us in a world of green at our ease? 
 
 Then forever stay the hand of ruthless man ! 
 And give us to roam these glorious woods free, 
 Where nature calms and broadens the soul of man 
 In preparation for this life and the world to be. 
 
 6-3-15 
 
 103 
 
THE LONE PINE 
 
 On the lone peak of a mountain high 
 A stately pine stood a whole century ; 
 
 Often with wind and storm he did vie 
 In his struggles for mastery. 
 
 But deep-rooted, with a firm hold 
 
 On earth and rocks immovable, 
 He bade defiance to wind and storm 
 
 And the thunderings of the elements innumerable. 
 
 From his lofty eminence enthroned 
 
 He looked down on a vale of much renown. 
 
 Where went an enchanting river that flowed 
 To encircle in his arms — a town. 
 
 There many a hunter stood beneath his cover, 
 Watching for the an tiered deer to pass ; 
 
 There many a lover stole thither 
 To rest in the shade on the grass. 
 
 There a bird sometimes perched himself to sing 
 
 His songs of gladness and delight; 
 There flowers would bloom in spring 
 
 To greet the early morning's first light. 
 
 104 
 
A change : flashes of lightning come and go, 
 The thunder's loud roar is in the air ; 
 
 The fateful hour has come, and, like a hero, 
 The stately tree has fallen fair. 
 
 Nor fell that tree without a noble fight ; 
 
 For often we hear people say. 
 As of a great man who stood by the right. 
 
 That he is remembered, even unto this day. 
 
 1 1- '02 
 
 105 
 
THE DANDELION AGAIN 
 
 Some flowers grow in distant mountain coves, 
 Some cling to the clefts of rocks in droves, 
 Some stand upon the great plains so wide, 
 Some beneath the cover of brown leaves hide. 
 Some gladden desolate valleys in their beauty, 
 While others remain in our homes from duty. 
 
 But the dandelion does not behave in this way. 
 He forever grows beside the regular trodden way 
 To cheer and gladden the heart of busy man. 
 In his ever persistent effort to try to scan 
 For his joyous labors the new distant fields. 
 Which are to bring forth for him great yields. 
 
 He clings to the worn soil with all his might. 
 And often rears his happy face just in sight 
 Above the beautiful carpet of native green ; 
 For he seems only to want his face to be seen 
 That he may contrast his color of golden hue 
 With all the varied surroundings in his view. 
 
 Only one in the very early morning you may see, 
 But just wait and look, if you are to believe me. 
 And the very next morning will bring a great host. 
 They all cheerful come without pomp or boast, 
 And turn their glad faces to the arching sky 
 To view the chariot of the Sun-god passing by. 
 
 106 
 
Then up rises from the ground a lengthy stem 
 With a white downy ball on the upper end, 
 Composed of many little dandelions with wings 
 Ready to ride upon the first breeze that swings 
 By, to carry them away to a far-distant place 
 To propagate with their own hands a new race. 
 
 Who says the dandelion is only a wicked pest 
 And should never have any secure place to rest 
 In this common every-day world of ours? 
 Heed him not. Go on , humble brother ; the Powers 
 That were great when the old worlds were new 
 Will help thee to cheer the noble toilers anew. 
 
 1-30-16 
 
 107 
 
THE WOODLAND 
 
 Down by a quiet stream that pursues its way 
 Thru a narrow valley between two hills, 
 A woodland extends up the slope far away, 
 Tuned to the music of many rills. 
 
 The giant trees that tower against the sky 
 And cast their benign shadows upon the earth, 
 Are the shelters for the thoughts of you and me 
 No less than for men of all races and birth. 
 
 I go to this woodland season in and season out 
 And draw from it my inspiration and thought; 
 I range this woodland all around, about. 
 And see w^hat wonderful works God hath wrought. 
 
 Not a sound is there to be heard an>nvhere, 
 Save the occasional rustle of the squirrel in a tree, 
 Or the sudden chirrup of the wild forest bird, 
 Or the measured beat of the universe with me. 
 
 I quench my thirst at its flowing fountains 
 And stand quietly by its dashing waterfalls; 
 I look away beyond to distant mountains 
 And watch the shades of evening play over all. 
 
 108 
 
I sleep beneath a broad canopy of leaves 
 And dream of the primeval forests of old ; 
 I awake with all my senses clarified, — 
 A flood of glory rushes over my soul. 
 
 Earth recedes ; I am carried on pinions 
 Of thought to beautiful airy realms above, 
 Where the glory of the two worlds ever meet 
 In the everlasting forests of the gods of love. 
 
 I shall not soon forget that in the morning of life 
 This wood became to me a companion, a friend; 
 It taught me that joy and gladness were rife 
 And that nature would help me to comprehend. 
 
 Spread forth your light, your shadows and shade, 
 And all the beauties and glories of an ancient wood ;* 
 Let the world of mankind learn your trade — 
 The uplifting of life to the beneficent and the good. 
 
 5-2-15 
 
 109 
 
THE WHIPPOORWILL 
 
 Whip-p'r-will, whip-p'r-will, 
 Comes the plaintive, sad cry 
 
 From the far-distant hill 
 
 As the evening shades draw nigh. 
 
 Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, 
 
 Strong, clear and shrill. 
 Comes the answer from the hill 
 
 Where dark shadows lie still. 
 
 Darker gloom by the stream, 
 Darker hills against the sky, 
 
 Solemn thoughts for your dream. 
 Accompanied by this pensive cry. 
 
 Whence thy plaintive cry, 
 O bird .of the sweeping wing? 
 
 What makes thee sigh. 
 Thou sad, inscrutable thing? 
 
 Is poor Will thy brother 
 Who, in the long ages gone by, 
 
 Was punished for some other, 
 And for him you now sigh? 
 
 110 
 
4-8-16 
 
 Or is poor Will the Muse 
 
 Who inspires thy sad song 
 And compels thee to use 
 
 Thy cry against the oppressor's wrong? 
 
 We cannot hear thy woeful song, 
 
 Out of tune with the season ; 
 Summer has come without a sigh ; 
 
 Thy song is without any reason. 
 
 Then back to thy mountain glen, 
 And upon thy nest, without a song, 
 
 Far from the haunts of men, 
 Brood over thy grievous wrong. 
 
 Take with thee all the gloom, 
 
 And thy sad, sorrowful tune; 
 Leave me to my thoughts for a boon, — 
 
 My soul would to nobler things attune. 
 
 Return not to our habitations; 
 
 But remain in thy secluded cove high, 
 And plague not our meditations 
 
 With thy sad and melancholy cry. 
 
 Ill 
 
SPRING IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 Robins appear 
 
 In the orchard near 
 
 The same time of year 
 As they have for many years, time out of time; 
 
 Whippoorvsdll's shrill 
 
 Cry, on yonder hill, 
 
 As shadows grow still, 
 Pierce the still gloom out of tune with time. 
 
 Violets blue, 
 
 With Heaven*s own hue, 
 
 Often greet you 
 In field and lane as you wander with a will; 
 
 Jonquils yellow, 
 
 The jolly fellow, 
 
 Careless of his yellow, 
 So tall and straight, meets you with a thrill. 
 
 Maples' flame, 
 
 Redbuds the same, 
 
 Do both proclaim 
 Beauty on the dull background of hill near; 
 
 Dogwoods white, 
 
 Looking like the sprite. 
 
 In the calm night, 
 Bedeck the slopes with no thought of care. 
 
 112 
 
Squirrels rustle 
 
 On trees ahustle 
 
 With life and bustle, 
 When the buds of the bare forest begin to swell ; 
 
 Chipmunks clatter, 
 
 With chatter, chatter, 
 
 All the day and after. 
 As you glide thru the open woods so well. 
 
 What does it mean, 
 
 All this life, I ween, 
 
 By hill and stream. 
 Where brown hills keep company with dull care . 
 
 Spring in full sway. 
 
 From throat and spray. 
 
 Heralds the day 
 That life is astir in mountain and glen, everywhere. 
 
 5-I-I8 
 
 113 
 
PINEVILLE 
 
 Girded by Cumberland's waters, 
 
 Guarded by high mountains, 
 
 Lies our dear old Pineville 
 
 Amid the swelling fountains 
 
 Of joy, the imagination fills. 
 
 Hail to thee, Pine\411e! 
 
 Hail to the magic of thy hills! 
 
 To thee we give three cheers 
 
 For the heart that knows no years! 
 
 10-23-18 
 
 114 
 
THE CLUMP OF CEDARS 
 
 On a hot July afternoon 
 
 Falls a heavy, refreshing rain, and soon 
 
 The whole of the visible earth looks refreshed, 
 
 In which every leaf, stem and flower is enmeshed. 
 
 A clump of cedars close by our tent, 
 
 With that life of theirs not very far spent, 
 
 And, with dark foliage, stand rich 
 
 Against a bluish-gray sky, which, 
 
 In the harmony of things without a breeze, 
 
 Shows beneath and above the trees. 
 
 The tallest cedar of the clump the sun's rays tip, 
 
 And, in the bright light of this tip. 
 
 Beads of water like diamonds shine, — 
 
 And sparkle with the thoughts of mine, — 
 
 Which, with the dark bulk of the bodies of the trees, 
 
 The straight, short stems that support these, 
 
 And a rich coat of green grass beneath. 
 
 Form an artistic picture which I bequeath 
 
 To him whom the love of nature holds 
 
 In the pure visions it ever molds. 
 
 8-9-21 
 
 115 
 
IV. 
 
 PATRIOTIC POEMS 
 
 117 
 
JUST FORTY-TWO 
 
 Just forty- two 
 For me and you ! 
 To-day I welcome with delight; 
 For many years ago I first saw dawn of light 
 On this new day. The draft is now in sight, 
 And I'm to leave for France to fight. 
 O what a world for me and you ! 
 To-day I am just forty- two! 
 
 Just forty-two 
 For me and you ! 
 How patriotism surges at my heart ! 
 I now welcome the chance to thrust the dart 
 Clear thru the foe, and to perform my part 
 In struggling world for freedom sure of home and mart. 
 O what a world for me and you 1 
 To-day I am just forty- two! 
 
 Just forty- two 
 For me and you ! 
 How glad I am to see this day ! 
 
 When old-world systems crumble now to sure decay, 
 And from the ashes rise to wider sway 
 Democracy, triumphant then for aye ! 
 O what a world for me and you ! 
 To-day I am just forty- two! 
 
 119 
 
Just forty-two 
 For me and you ! 
 From flaring flame that has been set 
 Will come redemption sure of this old world well set! 
 The God of War men will assuredly forget 
 When Love, and Peace, and Freedom have all met! 
 O what a world for me and you ! 
 To-day I am just forty- two! 
 
 Just fort\'-tv\'o 
 For me and you ! 
 Hand me the weapKDn by your side, 
 And let us cleave the enemy line wide ! 
 Then shall we sing as we move \^dth the tide 
 Of Freemen to where Victory doth now abide ! 
 O what a world for me and you! 
 To-day I am just forty-t^^ol 
 
 8-21-18 
 
 120 
 
THE ARMY ON PARADE 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 
 The hosts of the Lord move on 
 
 Over the streets of Cincinnati town. 
 
 Grim warriors of the world, such as Cromwell knew, 
 
 Declaring the doom of Militarism and the Crown 
 
 That rushed upon the world their bloodthirsty crew. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp. 
 
 The hosts of the Lord move on 
 
 Over the streets of Cincinnati town. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 
 Down the street they swing 
 
 Between the human walls on either side. 
 
 The thunder of doom's in the tread of their feet; 
 
 Monarchial power totters for the plunge 'neath the 
 
 tide 
 Of Victory they are sure to meet. 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 Down the street they swing 
 Between the human walls on either side. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 
 The cheers from the throng burst on the air 
 
 As column after column passes by. 
 
 **We are ready, one hundred million strong," 
 
 121 
 
Says the banner in the hands of a patriot nigh ; 
 A mighty wave of patriotism sweeps the throng. 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 The cheers from the throng burst on the air 
 As column after column passes by. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 
 With hats in hand men bare their heads 
 
 As the stirring march is played. 
 
 Grim are the faces of men everywhere 
 
 As the determination that the Hun be flayed 
 
 Grips the throng of Freemen there. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 
 With hats in hand men bare their heads 
 
 As the stirring march is played. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 
 Down the long corridors of Time 
 
 I hear the treading echoes of the millions to come. 
 
 Star-eyed, they ever move with a firm tread 
 
 To new fields of triumph for all the race 
 
 That knows how to follow the dream without dread. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 
 Down the long corridors of Time 
 
 I hear the treading echoes of the millions to come. 
 
 9-25-18 
 
 122 
 
V. 
 
 LYRIC STRAINS 
 
 123 
 
MAMMOTH CAVE 
 
 O the name of it now, 
 O the fame of it now, — 
 
 Mammoth Cave; 
 O the whole of it then, 
 O the soul of it then, — 
 
 Wondrous cave. 
 
 O the error of its make, 
 O the terror of its quake, — 
 
 Darkest world ; 
 O the quiet of its space, 
 O the riot of its face, — 
 
 Maddest whirl. 
 
 the wonder of its halls, 
 O the thunder of its walls,- 
 
 Mighty cave; 
 O the depths of its pits, 
 O the depths of its pits, — 
 
 Darkest cave. 
 
 O the height of its domes, 
 O the plight of its cones, — 
 
 Fearful cave ; 
 O the piles of its cities, 
 O the files of its ditties, — 
 
 Greatest cave. 
 
 125 
 
8-9-21 
 
 O the winding of its stairs, 
 O the finding of its airs, — 
 
 Wondrous cave ; 
 O the stars of its dome, 
 O the bars to its home, — 
 
 Hidden cave. 
 
 O the storv' of its streams, 
 O the glor\- of its dreams, — 
 
 Wondrous cave ; 
 O the file of its lore, 
 O the pile of its store — 
 
 Priceless cave. 
 
 O the ages of its time, 
 
 O the pages of writ fine, — 
 
 Timeless cave ; 
 O the echo of its halls, 
 O the echo of its falls, — 
 
 Mammoth Cave. 
 
 12S 
 
THE MILLPOND 
 
 Behold the mill's wide pond, 
 With outlines of a bowl, 
 
 And peaks that rise beyond 
 To join the mountain fold. 
 
 Beneath the falls it lies, 
 
 Adorned with greenest sprays 
 Of growth, and trees that rise 
 
 Above the drooping sprays. 
 
 Down in the glassy depths. 
 The long fringe of trees vie 
 
 With peaks in greater depths 
 Of beauty, deep as a sigh. 
 
 On rocky ledge above 
 
 The mill in silence stands, 
 
 Where the miller in his love 
 Once toiled with dusty hands. 
 
 He kept time with the hum 
 Of the mill in his song, 
 
 Like tides with ceaseless hum 
 That ever move along. 
 
 127 
 
The silence broods on the pond, 
 In quiet ev'ning shades, 
 
 And peaks peer way beyond 
 Abode of darkest shades. 
 
 The miller's spirit moves 
 With whisper of the trees — 
 
 The strange omen that proves 
 The mystery of these. 
 
 4-3-21 
 
 128 
 
9-20-20 
 
 THE PINE TREE 
 
 Out the depth of the forest green 
 
 Arose the tall, grim pine ; 
 Like a plumed knight of old he rose 
 
 In his stature sublime. 
 
 Out over a quivering lake 
 
 He waved his plumes adieu ; 
 Like the waves of the deep to me 
 
 Were rise and fall so true. 
 
 Dark against the evening sky 
 
 He loomed, so large, so deep; 
 Rising was my soul's emotion 
 
 So strong that I could weep. 
 
 Rooted deep in soil of past age, 
 
 With legend at thy feet, 
 Thou hast reared thy form aloft 
 
 A fairer time to greet. 
 
 Long may thy plumes wave there on high. 
 
 In thy new faith sublime; 
 Teach us the lesson of the past, — 
 
 With it legend entwine. 
 
 129 
 
AN AVENUE OF TREES 
 
 An avenue of trees against the sky 
 
 Is like the hopes of men that never die. 
 
 The gentleness of the breeze in the trees 
 
 Is like spirits that know the essence of these, 
 
 Down the shady avenues of the world 
 The spirits of men continue to whirl — 
 Tenuous spirits, imbued with hope true, 
 That echo thru the ages a meaning for you. 
 
 9-5-20 
 
 130 
 
THE GOAL 
 
 The goal! The goal! Has it been gained at last? 
 What of this goal? How appears it cast? 
 Long has been the hard struggle for the goal, 
 Many the heartaches for want of gold 
 To pursue the aim of a larger life, 
 Many the trials in the fearful strife, 
 Many the disappointments to the last, 
 Many the sighs for the good days past. 
 
 The goal is but a roll so very thin, 
 A roll that seems to mock me with chagrin ; 
 Only a roll that comes in the long file. 
 Only a roll that speeds the step a mile. 
 What of struggle and trial does it tell? 
 What of the dream by the wayside well? 
 What then of all the years that intervene? 
 What of the old vision, what of the dream? 
 
 Ah ! The roll is but a symbol so fair 
 
 Of the strivings of years to gain the rare 
 
 Peak of the visions of a youthful soul ; 
 
 Only a resting place is this new goal 
 
 For the new day uprising. Then soul, arise! 
 
 For out of the glowing distances now rise 
 
 The vision of a new goal, brighter by far 
 
 Than the new day's harbinger, the morning star. 
 
 131 
 
From goal to goal we travel all the day, 
 Like the pilot of the air who sailed away 
 To foreign shores with praiise of a nation. 
 Planted within by divine creation 
 Is the greatest goal the world ever knew, 
 The goal that arose when the stars were few. 
 The goal of Hope that flares up in the soul 
 To beckon man on to conquer as of old. 
 
 Stand forth great anchor of the mighty soul ! 
 Hold high the light caught from distant worlds 
 
 old 
 As time ; flash the way to newer desires ! 
 Herald the reign of new uprising empires — 
 Empires that spring surprising from decay, 
 Overturning systems outworn for aye. 
 Lead the way to Merlin's kingdom in the air 
 Where perfect souls contend so very fair. 
 
 6-12-20 
 
 132 
 
THE DANDELION 
 
 O dandelion! O dandelion! art thou true? 
 Or art thou a fairy from the realms of the blue? 
 Or art thou a star in a beautiful sea of green — 
 The rarest reflection of the heavens to be seen? 
 
 Thou art surely a star from the realms of gold, 
 For thou hast multiplied like the stars of old ; 
 And thou art set in as beautiful a sea of green 
 As any of the stars on the crown of the queen. 
 
 Just as the Sun-god i'n his chariot at dawn of day 
 Urges his flying steeds to press on their way, 
 All of the dandelions stand with their faces nigh 
 As if in supplication to their creators in the sky. 
 
 Then, when the stars have disappeared from view, 
 In the light of the sun, while the day is still new. 
 The dandelions fold themselves up secure 
 And await the return of their prototypes so pure. 
 
 I-28-16 
 
 133 
 
6-23-18 
 
 RHODODENDRON 
 
 The rhododendron's abloom 
 
 By the water's edge ; 
 Pink and white glow at noon 
 
 Above the rocky ledge. 
 
 Waves of foliage green 
 Mount the hill's crest; 
 
 While the flowers a-creen 
 Stand on its breast. 
 
 Were ever flowers seen 
 With the beaut^' of these? 
 
 Rare in setting bet«'een 
 Shining water and trees. 
 
 Came them from the Mount, 
 
 The abode of Jove? 
 Or from Heaven's own Fount 
 
 Of God's pure love? 
 
 How they came to this stream. 
 
 To cliff and glen, 
 Must remain with the dream 
 
 In the hearts of men. 
 
 But the joy they bring 
 To the yearnin'g heart 
 
 Is a fountain that may spring 
 Into the highest art. 
 
 134 
 
7-1 5-1 8 
 
 LIFE 
 
 Life is a stream 
 
 That ebbs and flows ; 
 Thru the world a-dream 
 
 He ever onward goes. 
 
 He flows between meads 
 Of the broad earth, 
 
 Where the city pleads 
 For a wider berth. 
 
 He leaps waterfalls 
 To churn and churn ; 
 
 And rushes by the walls 
 Where campfires burn. 
 
 Flows over rocky ledge 
 With rippling sound, 
 
 And views the sea's edge 
 Whence he is bound. 
 
 Then joins his eternity, 
 
 The Jasper sea. 
 In one great fraternity 
 
 With you and me. 
 
 135 
 
"LIVE WHILE YOU LIVE" 
 
 Live while you live! 
 
 What can be wiser? 
 
 What says the miser? 
 What, then, is it to live? 
 
 Live while you live ! 
 
 Is life only pelf? 
 
 Is life all for self? 
 Does life ever forgive? 
 
 Live while you live ! 
 
 Is life all roses? 
 
 Is life all posies? 
 What think you who live? 
 
 Live while you live ! 
 Is life a chance 
 To play and dance? 
 
 Or is it ever to give? 
 
 Is life in the struggle 
 Where stony path 
 Is climb'd at last 
 
 In the great final struggle? 
 
 Is life expectancy that runs 
 Beyond the grave? 
 What think the brave 
 
 Who fight under burning suns? 
 
 1 36 
 
6-29-18 
 
 Is life ever a stream 
 
 That ebbs and flows, 
 And forever onward goes 
 
 Thru the world a-dream, 
 
 And joins his Eternity, 
 The immaculate sea. 
 With you and me 
 
 In one great fraternity? 
 
 Is life a caldron vast 
 
 Of burning mass, 
 
 Of churning fast, 
 Of all its elements en masse? 
 
 Will it turn out gold, 
 With all the dross. 
 At fearful cost. 
 
 Cast aside from its hold? 
 
 Give yourself is to live ! 
 
 Is this life's note? 
 
 Then I quote : 
 ''Ever give while you live!" 
 
 And give yourself today ! 
 
 Life is fleeting ! 
 
 Life is defeating 
 Our every effort to stay! 
 
 I a? 
 
LOVT 
 
 My heart yearns for the love that sings 
 Deep in the ver\- nature of things; 
 My soul ever longs for the wings 
 To fly upon the waves of God's love 
 To drink at His pure fountain above 
 In the knowledge of the surest love. 
 
 Away from the noise of the battle's rage, 
 Away from the strife of life's misty page, 
 Away from the fool who talks like a sage, 
 I would explore the depths of things; 
 To seek the love crushed by cruel kings. 
 And to find a \'ibrant voice that sings 
 
 Of the world's great injustice and -wTong; 
 To know whj' this voice changes to a song 
 Of triumph of the f ast-mo\4ng throng. 
 I would know the love in the heart of one 
 Who toils beneath the burning sun, 
 And the soldier who moves with battle won. 
 
 I would know the love beneath the wrong, 
 I would know the love of those not strong — 
 The love that bears the struggle without a song. 
 I would know the love of laughter and jest, 
 The love of all Ufe that moves the best, 
 The love that rises from the burning test. 
 
 138 
 
My heart yearns for the love that sings 
 Deep in the very nature of things ; 
 My soul ever longs for the wings 
 To fly upon the waves of God's love 
 To drink at His pure fountain above 
 In the knowledge of the surest love. 
 
 7-22-18 
 
 139 
 
MEN 
 
 There are men who talk, talk, 
 There are men who pray ; 
 
 There are men who walk, walk, 
 There are men who run away 
 To live another day. 
 
 There are men who cheat, cheat. 
 There are men who steal ; 
 
 There are men who are neat, neat, 
 There are men who feel 
 No honor in being leal. 
 
 There are men who preach, preach, 
 There are men who strive ; 
 
 There are men who teach, teach, 
 There are men who thrive 
 Working for all the hive. 
 
 There are men who plead, plead, 
 There are men who seek; 
 
 There are men who read, read, 
 There are men who are meek 
 Victims of those who reek. 
 
 There are men who work, work. 
 
 There are men who win ; 
 There are men who shirk, shirk, 
 
 There are men who begin 
 With the blowing whin, 
 
 140 
 
8-I-I8 
 
 There are men who soar, soar, 
 There are men of revision ; 
 
 There are men more and more. 
 There are men of decision 
 Who follow the vision. 
 
 There are men who boast, boast. 
 
 There are men who brag ; 
 There are men who toast, toast. 
 
 There are men who drag 
 Others into war a-gag. 
 
 There are men who fight, fight. 
 
 There are men who fear ; 
 There are men of might, might. 
 
 There are men who come near 
 Ruling the old sphere. 
 
 There are men who travel, travel. 
 There are men who roam ; 
 
 There are men who unravel, unravel, 
 There are men far from home 
 Lashed by the stormy foam. 
 
 There are men who are men, men. 
 
 There are men like gods ; 
 There are men who then, then, 
 
 Perform with glowing rods 
 Miracles like the gods. 
 
 141 
 
MISUNDERSTOOD 
 
 I walk thru the Narrows, 
 Where once flew Indian arrows, 
 And pluck many lovely flowers 
 To carry away to quiet bowers. 
 I behold the mountain, battle-won, 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, 
 And stand in wonder before its beauty. 
 I am misunderstood — a sacred duty. 
 
 I go with a true friend to rest 
 
 Where this mountain rises to the crest. 
 
 We sit above a flowing fountain 
 
 On the protruding shelf of cliff-mountain 
 
 Overlooking a hollow-shaded valley. 
 
 We assemble our books for a rally 
 
 With the poets of a former time. 
 
 We are misunderstood — an awful crime. 
 
 I help the weary woman with her load 
 And plow for the tired boy by the road ; 
 I would aid the girl toiling in the sun 
 And hurry to save the drowning one ; 
 I speak a word to cheer the weak 
 And ever shun the pretending-meek ; 
 I hail the despairing man in the street. 
 I am misunderstood — it's not meet. 
 
 142 
 
Sometimes I don't go to church on Sunday 
 And fail to pay my bills on Monday; 
 I seldom read to family members 
 And smoke my pipe lit with embers; 
 In the Spring I fish in the clear stream 
 And come home with fish, a-beam 
 With what rare joy and gladness! 
 I am misunderstood — it's all madness. 
 
 Are you a searcher for hidden beauty 
 And the happiness that is free of duty? 
 Are you a lover of the lowly of the race 
 And all those who cannot move with the pace ? 
 Do you admire all nature, too, 
 And to yourself ever try to be true? 
 Then up and dare and do for all ! 
 Misunderstood — I hear the chorus fall. 
 
 4-2-18 
 
 143 
 
THE UNION OF SYMPATHY AND SKILL 
 
 Miss Sympathy walks down a path, not forlorn, 
 
 In a beautiful park on a bright May morn. 
 
 Her flaxen hair, blue eyes, and trim form 
 
 Are in keeping with the sweet expression on her face — 
 
 no scorn. 
 She is in love with all life, bird, flower and tree. 
 It is a glad Spring. The birds chatter free. 
 One birdie has fallen from its nest and injured its 
 
 wing; 
 She lifts it gently, the poor helpless thing, 
 To place it again in the nest. 
 Mr. Skill comes into the park, to rest 
 From strenuous labor, from the opposite side. 
 He leisurely walks up the path wide. 
 His dark hair shades a firm but serious face, 
 And in his keen black eyes there is a trace 
 Of genius plainly written there. 
 His neat, slender form completes the man fair. 
 He admires the symmetry of walk, 
 Flower-bed, tree-group, and winding chalk 
 
 Of the path up the hill. He comes 
 
 To where Miss Sympathy is trying, like one who runs, 
 
 To adjust the birdie in the nest; 
 
 But the nest has been pushed aside with zest 
 
 And won't hold the birdie. Mr. Skill bows, 
 
 144 
 
And, after requesting if he may aid her, vows 
 He can safely adjust the nest on the bough. 
 While she wonders how. 
 He adjusts the nest to its former position, 
 Wherein she places the birdie — a transition 
 From pain and distress to security and rest. 
 Then, after introducing himself, thinking it best, 
 
 He departs to meet her afterwards in the same park. 
 
 There grew between them love — a spark. 
 
 And then this spark became a flame. 
 
 Thru which Miss Sympathy changed her name. 
 
 As time went on, years a few, 
 
 There was born to them a lusty girl, so true, 
 
 In whom Sympathy and Skill 
 
 Were united with a will. 
 
 She grew to womanhood in due time 
 
 And took upon herself the vows of a nurse betime, 
 
 And it has been said, and said so true, 
 
 That no one had a touch more tender for you, 
 
 And an eye and a hand with greater skill, 
 
 Than this fair woman, yet woman still; 
 
 But I have a guess that the angels know 
 
 She is one of them in her work here below. 
 
 2-2 1-2 I 
 
 145 
 
MY MUSE 
 
 My Muse is ever a rhymester, 
 Choosing his place as a timester 
 Who will jingle along fine, Sir, 
 If the mere jingle is the thing. 
 He will perch himself aswing 
 The bough, and promise to wing 
 
 His way to heights of the blue. 
 Like the lark that bids adieu 
 To earth in early morning's dew 
 To rise to the heights unknown, 
 Singing^a sweet song all his own. 
 But my Muse has never been known 
 
 To keep his promise, to me dear, 
 For he ever makes a start, I fear, 
 To be dashed to earth again near. 
 But this he will always do, 
 Regain the same bough anew 
 To try other directions a few. 
 
 Yet, my dear Muse, you do fail; 
 Before these promises I do quail, 
 And consider them of little avail. 
 If you wish to keep my trust. 
 Perform the good deed at a thrust. 
 And abide with me as you must. 
 
 146 
 
Then, if this be denied me, 
 Remain forever in thy lone tree 
 Where thou canst, in time, see 
 Thou 'tempt'st the impossible. Sir, 
 In the world of glad song astir 
 With the energy of genius awhir. 
 
 7-1-18 
 
 147 
 
THE IMAGE 
 
 Thou grave Image of old, 
 
 What stories hast thou to tell 
 
 Of kingdoms which rose and fell 
 In the long centuries before the age of gold? 
 
 What dost thou know of the kings 
 
 Who ruled these kingdoms by the sea? 
 Did they ascribe their right to thee, 
 
 Or to the power that from a selfish nature springs? 
 
 Speak, thou grave Image, speak! 
 
 I would know the secrets of the ages 
 From thine own lips — secrets of the sages 
 
 Who molded the thought of the high, the low, the 
 meek. 
 
 In thy hollow eyes and lof t\- mien 
 
 I read the record of thy nobility*: 
 Thou art surely a god of great fidelit\% 
 For whom the sacred fires flashed in the silvery 
 sheen. 
 
 What mother in humble prayer to thee 
 Bowed the knee to ask thy blessing? 
 What child to worship thee caressing 
 
 Was taught to lisp a prayer, a prayer from the 
 heart to thee? 
 
 148 
 
What father went in thy name 
 
 To war against the neighboring tribes 
 And brought back trophies as bribes 
 
 To win for himself in the native assemblies great 
 fame? 
 
 \Vhsit tiller of the soil 
 
 Laid the fruits of his labor at thy feet, 
 And besought thee imploringly to meet 
 
 His expectations with a bounteous har\'est for 
 his moil ? 
 
 What tradesman bartered his wares 
 In the open marts of trade or hall? 
 Did he ascribe to thee all? 
 
 Or did he keep from the sale of his wares all as 
 fares? 
 
 What hunter went forth to the chase, 
 Armed with confidence in thy name, 
 To bring back to his worthy dame 
 
 The wild boar, or the other great monsters of his 
 race? 
 
 What artist didst thou inspire 
 
 With a vision of the flame divine, 
 Which caused him to confine 
 
 His efforts on the walls of hut or cave to thy de- 
 sire? 
 
 149 
 
What man defied thee there 
 
 And refused to believe in thy power? 
 
 Did he go to the reckoning hour 
 Mistrusted, berated, and on his Hps no prayer? 
 
 Didst thou know of Montezuma and his gold, 
 And how wonderfully he reigned 
 Before the coming of those who feigned 
 
 Righteousness, while all the time they sought 
 nothing but gold? 
 
 Didst thou know of Cortez, the bold, 
 
 Who laid waste a fair and happy land. 
 And forced his conquering gold-mad band 
 
 To plunder the ruler of his government, houses, 
 and gold? 
 
 Thy secret thou wilt not give? 
 
 Let me see : Wast thou not the hope 
 
 Of men long before the coming of the Pope? 
 
 And wast thou not the inspiration of all who live? 
 
 Then count not thy religion vain, 
 
 For in the cycles of the ages as they go 
 Is it not of the greatest good for the race to 
 know 
 
 That all life is real and not something we feign? 
 
 5-9-16 
 
 150 
 
WONDER AND BEAUTY ABOUT ME 
 
 All about me is the wonder 
 
 And beauty to the fill ; 
 I am companion of the thunder . 
 
 And lightning by the rill. 
 
 I am in the beauty of the morn 
 
 As free as free can be ; 
 I grow with the growing corn 
 
 In the expectancy that be. 
 
 I wing with the bee that sips 
 The nectar from the flower ; 
 
 And plough the waves with ships 
 That go to their destined hour. 
 
 I stand at attention with the deer 
 At slightest quiver or sound; 
 
 And wave with rippling wheat near 
 To feel the quail on the ground. 
 
 I rise with the lark that sings 
 
 To his heart a sweet song; 
 And go with the dead that wings 
 
 His way to a world without wrong. 
 
 151 
 
7-1 7-1 8 
 
 I am the growing child the while 
 To feel the pulse of life anew ; 
 
 And ever march with the long file 
 To Destiny's eternal due. 
 
 I am in love with all life, 
 Life is in love with me ; 
 
 I move with all this beauty rife 
 To a destiny sure as can be. 
 
 CONTENTMENT 
 
 You feel resentment 
 Toward contentment 
 When all the world, 
 In its mad whirl. 
 Is seeking her 
 In every place astir. 
 And rightly so — 
 Not there, you know. 
 
 But look afield 
 For the scenic yield ; 
 Or walk by the stream 
 With thoughts a-dream ; 
 
 15i 
 
Or behold the peak 
 That to me must speak; 
 Or read in the fountain 
 The wonders of the mountain. 
 
 On a fair May day, 
 Not very far away, 
 Sitting there unseen 
 By the quiet stream, 
 Watching sunbeam 
 Chase sunbeam 
 Up the still line 
 You fish with fine. 
 
 Lying at ease, 
 Yourself to please, 
 In the open wood. 
 Where shadows good 
 Sport and play, 
 And the sun all day 
 Shines thru from aloof 
 The forest roof. 
 
 Look in the fountain 
 Imaging the mountain, 
 Where the shade. 
 That knows no trade. 
 Darkens the ground 
 Far around. 
 And where green moss 
 Is proof against loss. 
 
 158 
 
5-4-18 
 
 On mountain peak, 
 With nothing to seek 
 But the view afar 
 Of valley, hill and spar, 
 Where hill on hill 
 Is'piled, till 
 Mountains rise high 
 To meet the very sky. 
 
 Reading the song. 
 That knows no wrong. 
 Of your favorite writer 
 When the day is brighter 
 Far less than noon ; 
 Then all too soon 
 The time goes by 
 With no thought of why. 
 
 Join the throng 
 With the sweet song 
 Of fine contentment. 
 And feel no resentment, 
 If, in the silent eve, 
 Yourself to please. 
 You seek a quiet place, 
 The stars to trace. 
 
 154 
 
9-4-18 
 
 THE BEE 
 
 How doth the bee distill 
 
 The honey from the flower? 
 
 How doth he get the will 
 
 To employ moments of the hour? 
 
 Who taught him the sure way 
 To gather sweets everywhere? 
 Where doth he get his pay 
 For the time he employs there? 
 
 O poor me! How can I tell? 
 
 Could I the secret unfurl, 
 
 Life in me would be a well 
 
 Of goodness overflowing the world. 
 
 And men would forget their woe 
 In a new brotherhood of the race ; 
 And would forever forget the foe 
 In a world-loving embrace. 
 
 All life then would be sweet 
 As the honey from the dew ; 
 And the faults of men would melt 
 Into ether of the rainbow's hue. 
 
 The bee ! The lesson he teaches 
 To the yearning sons of men ! 
 What to them would be the reaches 
 Of the peaks of song sung then? 
 
 155 
 
4-4-18 
 
 HALT! IN YOUR MAD RUSH 
 FOR WEALTH 
 
 Halt! Your mad rush 
 For the gold of the hills 
 
 Would make the gods blush 
 For shame of your ills. 
 
 Halt ! Your sheer madness 
 To seek the wealth of valleys 
 
 May bring you in sadness 
 To sweep our alleys. 
 
 Halt ! Your gay dance 
 For mere pleasure only 
 
 May lead you to no chance 
 To keep from being lonely. 
 
 Far greater is the wealth 
 Of beauty in rose or peak, 
 
 Far greater the wealth of health, 
 Of which I speak. 
 
 156 
 
SEEMING INEQUALITY OF THINGS 
 
 I buy the things I never get, 
 
 Heaps of books not sold ; 
 I try forever to forget 
 
 Life's sordid things so cold. 
 
 I hope for what I never reach, 
 
 To sing a glad nev/ song ; 
 I long for that sure strength of speech 
 
 That builds a house gone wrong. 
 
 I pine for what I've never known, 
 The love that kindles a flame 
 
 Of high resolve, unfolding its own 
 Soul to enduring fame. 
 
 The slaves of men ride for their health 
 
 With fair princes of song ; 
 The knaves of the world hide their wealth 
 
 Purloined from the mad throng. 
 
 Where is the equality of all men 
 
 In the sight of a just God? 
 Where is the Divine Sequel then 
 
 Of the riddle of the rod? 
 
 I pray for the freedom of men, 
 The brotherhood of the race ; 
 A still small voice speaks to me then — 
 "It's all found in the mad race." 
 9-25-19 
 
 157 
 
THE BOOKSELLER'S WARES 
 
 What does the Bookseller sell me 
 In the book of poems I buy? 
 
 What does the Bookseller tell me 
 When I ask the price for the buy? 
 
 Does he sell me what he bought 
 That he a fine profit may make? 
 
 Or does he tell me that I ought 
 To hand over a two-dollar stake? 
 
 He makes a profit from his wares, 
 Or else he would assur'dly fail ; 
 
 But he, too, has a load of cares 
 In heaps of books without a sale. 
 
 He says truly it's worth the money. 
 And far more than the mere cost; 
 
 That, in its pages, I'll find song's honey, 
 And time spent there will not be lost. 
 
 Then he sells me hours of glad leisure, 
 Moments of happiness the more ; 
 
 He sells me a whole mine of treasure, 
 All pure gold to the core. 
 
 158 
 
He ever sells me rare new visions 
 
 In subtle, suggestive song; 
 He sells me strong resolute decisions 
 
 To wage unceasing war 'gainst wrong. 
 
 He sells me enrichment of soul, 
 
 And fairer fruits of the mind, 
 That aid me to comprehend the whole 
 
 In relation to this narrow field of mine. 
 
 His profit? Much less than mine, 
 
 And surely it must ever be ; 
 For what I obtain from the mine 
 
 He only guessed when he bargained with me. 
 
 IQ-27-18 
 
 159 
 
6-16 
 
 THE ROBIN 
 
 The robin piped ; 
 Nature stirred 
 Without a word. 
 The earth was covered 
 With a carpet of green 
 At the call of the bird. 
 
 The trees budded, 
 Leaves came, 
 Flowers bloomed ; 
 A flood of golden light 
 Came out of the night 
 With the bird groom'd. 
 
 160 
 
THE HILLOCK'S STORY 
 
 All stony the little hillock lies 
 Wrapt in the weeds of many a day ; 
 All smiling the happy valley tries 
 To supply the wants of man for aye. 
 
 All faded is the flowers' bloom 
 Which makes itself just barely seen, 
 In struggling long for place and room 
 Among the weeds so pale with green. 
 
 All golden the faithful vale now shines, 
 In the morning sun, with waving wheat; 
 Transformed is soul of hill betimes 
 Which here now finds his safe retreat. 
 
 Like a merry trav'ler, who now sails 
 On life's far tides, in calm, anent 
 The fairy isles, he happy sails 
 To the fairer vales of his content. 
 
 Do I now hear the Master say: 
 "For unto ev'ry one that hath, 
 (And hath done striven in the way). 
 Shall be given (in the aftermath) ; 
 
 But from him that hath (it) not, 
 (And hath not striven in the way) , 
 Even that which he hath (now got) 
 Shall be (forever) taken away?" 
 11-3-18 
 
 161 
 
7-1 7-1 8 
 
 UNIVERSES 
 
 There's the universe of the sea 
 
 With its lion and clam ; 
 There's the universe of the land 
 
 With its beetle and man ; 
 There's the universe of the air 
 
 With its eagle and bee ; 
 There's the universe of God 
 
 With the Savior and me. 
 
 162 
 
VI. 
 
 QUATRAINS 
 
 163 
 
EXPECTANCY 
 
 O Expectancy ! What a gem thou art 
 
 Set among the rough stones of reality ! 
 To me thou art ever a part 
 
 Of that vague thing men call finality. 
 
 6-14-18 
 
 MIRACLES 
 
 How events crowd into an hour 
 For the making of a nation ! 
 
 How God works in power 
 For the saving of creation ! 
 
 7-17-18 
 
 DEATH AND LIFE 
 
 Death is a transition 
 
 Of position ; 
 Life is the position 
 
 In transition. 
 
 165 
 
MEN AND HOPE 
 
 Hope flares up to stay 
 In the hearts of men, I wis; 
 
 Will you tell me, pray, 
 What men are without this? 
 
 THE DIVINE URGE 
 
 Springs up in man the divine urge 
 To overcome his narrow fate ; 
 
 Like swelling ocean's greatest surge, 
 A law of nature to compensate. 
 
 I2-IQ-20 
 
 MIRRORED IS THE WORLD 
 
 Mirrored is all the world 
 
 In the fountain from which I drink; 
 
 Continue men to whirl 
 
 Thru the small world in which I think. 
 
 12-10-20 
 
 166 
 
VII. 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 167 
 
HIGHLANDER TO HIGHLANDER 
 
 Hark, the sound of the bugle 
 
 O'er the stretch of unfolding centuries! 
 
 Onward sweeps the sound thru the valleys 
 
 And echoes from mountain side and cove. 
 
 Rise up, ye noble Highlanders, and hear 
 
 The call of your brothers across the sea : 
 
 "Release your lyric Muse, and pour forth 
 
 In heroic strains, as in the days of old, 
 
 The stories of your griefs and agonies of soul ; 
 
 The tales of your courage, patience and faith, 
 
 In your wanderings and triumphs 
 
 Of these mighty four hundred years. 
 
 Hark back to Scott with his noble, romantic lines, 
 
 And to the royal Burns with more musical rhymes.' 
 
 II-7-15 
 
 169 
 
THE TEACHER 
 
 Who says the teacher teaches only for pelf 
 
 In this the greatest work of the hour? 
 
 It is he who is blind to the teacher's real self 
 
 And has not fathomed his wonderful power. 
 
 Far nobler is his well-wrought art, 
 
 Far nobler the calling in which he plays his part. 
 
 He becomes the foundation stone of a mightier state, 
 
 The true builder of the brotherhood of the race ; 
 
 He declares all wars to be of an evil fate 
 
 And toward the dawn of final peace will ever face. 
 
 He builds in the minds of men the lofty dream 
 
 That will lay foundations for empires of the soul ; 
 
 He creates new desires in men that seem 
 
 To make them strive in a much larger role. 
 
 6-25-15 
 
 170 
 
AMERICA 
 
 In the world's wide space 
 
 Between two mighty oceans, 
 
 Where the new continent broadens 
 
 As broadens the soul of man, 
 
 And where, not by accident but by fate. 
 
 The timely discovery was made 
 
 By the world's most dauntless heroes. 
 
 There looms on the horizon of the New World 
 
 A NEW COUNTRY— a country that means 
 
 ''Opportunity" 
 To the daring, yearning soul 
 Seeking freedom and those who are free. 
 Blessed freedom ! Thrice blessed the free ! 
 In a country where the minds and souls of men 
 
 broaden 
 Like the mighty expanse of the immaculate sea. 
 
 5-15-16 
 
 171 
 
THE VISION 
 
 Lord, in this whirlwind hour, 
 
 When rebellion shakes the world, 
 
 Making Right submissive to the power of Might, 
 
 And the fearful storms continue to whirl 
 
 The world's masses into the darkness of night. 
 
 Give us a great vision of thy sacred creed. 
 
 Help us to free ourselves from this fight 
 
 Of crime, arrogance, selfishness and greed! 
 
 Help us to see this war's awful horror 
 
 In the true light of the peace of to-morrow. 
 
 Give us a vision of these fighting millions 
 
 With the stories their lives have to tell ; 
 
 Give us a vision of worlds beyond our ken. 
 
 Give us a vision of how to live among men. 
 
 3-30-16 
 
 172 
 
THE SOUL 
 
 "Truly there are centuries in which the soul lies dormant 
 and slumbers undisturbed." — Maeterlinck. 
 
 Out of the chaos of things — 
 
 Darkness, mystery, discordant elements, 
 
 Waters, land, and creeping things, — 
 
 Out of the whirlpool of teeming life 
 
 Came a wandering embryo soul. 
 
 Thru ten million-million forms it passed. 
 
 Grew and changed, changed and ever grew, 
 
 Till Destiny, armed with a mighty purpose, 
 
 Lodged it in the body of a little child. 
 
 And separated from its spiritual universe. 
 
 Here it lay dormant for a time, 
 
 Till one day it took possession of this body 
 
 And went forth to hear the music of the Spheres 
 
 And see the glory of a New Heaven and a New Earth. 
 
 12-17-16 
 
 173 
 
TO R. C. H. 
 
 Come, my friends, with me today, 
 
 And let us seek a quiet place away 
 
 From the toil of those who fret and sigh, — 
 
 On the crest of yonder mountain high, 
 
 Where columbine casts a beauty about our feet 
 
 And a flash comes from ev'ry red bird we meet. 
 
 Let us look away to distant peaks that rise 
 
 To greet the morning star, looking wise; 
 
 And, still beyond, let our imaginations sweep 
 
 To other worlds which the laws of nature keep. 
 
 Let our souls ever commune, and in unison be, 
 
 As when we first met, and you opened to me 
 
 The vast Elysian Fields of Literature 
 
 And bade my life ascend there and be secure. 
 
 6-7-18 
 
 174 
 
THE MOUNTAINS 
 I 
 
 Behold the mountain's lofty summit wrapt in the mists 
 
 of the early morning — 
 The shifting, flying mists that are seeking its cavernous 
 
 recesses as retreats ; 
 The lightning's quick flash on flash follows in rapid 
 
 succession ; the warning 
 Peals of thunder reverberate along the mountain's 
 
 sides, and, rolling on, repeats 
 Itself- with such volume as to astonish the beholder 
 
 crouched beneath its crest — 
 He, the searcher for beauty or hidden treasure, of an 
 
 age forgotten long ago. 
 The storm rages, the rain comes down in torrents 
 
 around the beholder at rest. 
 And all the waters of a thousand rills leap over crags to 
 
 the valley below. 
 A change : The rain ceases, and the mists begin to lift 
 
 and fly away ; 
 The world of trees look refreshed and the movement 
 
 shows rejoicing in every tree; 
 The rugged cliffs loom thru the green verdure as if for 
 
 an age and not a day ; 
 
 175 
 
And the chirrup of a bird may be heard as the man 
 
 shakes himself of his shelter free. 
 The resplendent sun pours a flood of beams upon the 
 
 bewitching scene, 
 And the mountain, as beautiful as Mount Ida of old, 
 
 is crowned Queen Irene. 
 
 7-4~i5 
 
 II 
 
 The mountain rears his form 
 To struggle with the storm. 
 Blow storm ! Blow ! And roar 
 Down the gorges the more ; 
 Lift spray from rushing stream 
 Like hurr'ing steeds in dream ; 
 Whirl the leaves in the air, 
 Bring down trees everywhere ; 
 Smite the cliffs in the face. 
 Keep up the wild mad race. 
 And when all has been done, 
 Ye storms, ye have not won! 
 The hero's robe ye tore ; 
 Ye gods, he won once more. 
 
 12-9-20 
 
 176 
 
I-IO-2I 
 
 III 
 
 My heart leaps with the rills 
 
 Of far-famed hills ; 
 Trips thru meadows a-dream 
 
 By silver stream, 
 To fair isles of Content, 
 
 Where boats, anent 
 These isles, sail at their ease 
 
 On placid seas. 
 Then swing upon the breeze 
 
 Thru balmy trees. 
 Or float upon the waves 
 
 Past quiet caves 
 To pure enchanted place — 
 
 Rest from mad race. 
 
 IV 
 
 Leap up, ye hills! Ye hills! 
 I know there are no ills 
 Where thy purest fountains 
 Come from wildest mountains; 
 Where thy glad rushing streams 
 Carry most vivid dreams ; 
 Where the deep-sounding caves 
 Hide beside roaring waves; 
 
 177 
 
Where the gentle dews of the morn 
 
 Awake to sure toot of the horn ; 
 
 Where rises in superb outUne, 
 
 On the horizon's wavy line, 
 
 The figure of lusty youth 
 
 Who breathes in the very soul of truth. 
 
 1-15-21 
 
 A-DREAM AT THE PLOW 
 
 A-dream at the plow . 
 
 Yet we wonder how 
 
 Ambition can surge at the heart of youth 
 
 With so great an urge to know the truth 
 
 That the universe of action swings into his ken, 
 
 And this vision comes to him then : 
 
 Of the hero carrying the flag thru the storm, 
 
 Of the orator swaying the multitude for reform. 
 
 Of the statesman standing at the helm of the nation, 
 
 And of the lowly Savior pleading for all creation. 
 
 He is hero, orator, statesman, Savior all in one, 
 
 Advancing the cause of humanity till it is won. 
 
 The plow jostles him, and he is called from his dream 
 
 To what things are, and not what they seem. 
 
 7-14-18 
 
 178 
 
THE CALL OF THE WOODS 
 
 I hear the call of the woods today. 
 
 I must up and away 
 
 While the urge is upon me. 
 
 I go. I lean against the big oak tree 
 
 And hear the whisper of the Dryad 
 
 Who has revealed himself to myriad 
 
 Songsters from Chaucer to Noe. 
 
 "Hasten," said the Dryad, "for you must know 
 
 The woods is alive with the spirit that quickens ; 
 
 And where the broad forest thickens, 
 
 Just beyond, there the Dryads dance 
 
 To welcome thee, wishing only the chance 
 
 To greet him who beauty see 
 
 In leaf and flower and tree." 
 
 6-15-18 
 
 179 
 
THE OLD APPLE TREE 
 
 Just beside the forest great, 
 
 Close to a path traveled a generation ago, 
 
 Stands the old apple tree to wait 
 
 The final summons to go. 
 
 Amid a new grown forest, with vines 
 
 Entwined about his stooping form, 
 
 He ever clings to life, but pines 
 
 For the good old days that are gone. 
 
 Like an old man who has spent 
 
 His allotted time in service true. 
 
 With the ranks of his generation rent 
 
 By death, in a generation that is new, 
 
 He holds to life that to him is dear 
 
 And approaches the end without fear. 
 
 6-14-18 
 
 180 
 
THE SEVEN SISTERS 
 
 Noble Sisters, art thou seven? 
 
 Or hast one gone down to thy heaven 
 
 To mingle with the dust of the ages 
 
 As did the pyramids of the Nile — the sages 
 
 Of Egyptian civilization erstwhile? 
 
 Hast she gone to enrich thy Nile? 
 
 Rearing thy rugged forms toward the sun, 
 
 Like the famous Pillars of Hercules, one by one, 
 
 Thou dost ever repose here, crowned 
 
 With the gorgeous beauty of the hills, and renowned 
 
 Alike for wealth of mineral and foliage meet. 
 
 Clear waters of a mountain river bathe thy feet, 
 
 Paralleled by a modern commercial highway, 
 
 Built by our Highland Hercules in a day. 
 
 181 
 
THE NARROWS 
 
 The trembling earth, a rumbling noise, 
 Rocks crashing from a precipitous height. 
 And, enveloped in a cloud of smoke, 
 A mountain appears across the path 
 Nature has set for the course of things. 
 A thousand streams rush against this wall, 
 And rise higher, higher, and yet higher, 
 Till an angry lake sweeps from its crest 
 Far, far away among distant peaks. 
 Then a mighty struggle for the pass 
 Between mountain and stream begins ; 
 But time allies itself with the stream — it wins. 
 Now two mountain peaks look down, 
 Thirteen hundred feet, on a peaceful river flowing be- 
 tween. 
 
 4-2-18 
 
 182 
 
THE SCHOOL CHILD 
 
 "The best is hardly good enough," 
 Was said by our Kentucky sage ; 
 "The best is hardly good enough," 
 For the child of this or any age. 
 The best schoolhouse money can buy, 
 The best means of every kind ; 
 And the best teacher you can try 
 For the training of the child's mind. 
 The best parents that can be found 
 For noble youth of our fair land ; 
 The best place that can them surround 
 While they grow up under our hand. 
 But, when all these are said and done, 
 There is something yet due each one. 
 
 I0ri3-i8 
 
 183 
 
TO J. C. W. 
 
 Hail to thee! Our northern singer! 
 
 Thou who art the bringer 
 
 Of myth, and story, and glad song 
 
 From out the seclusion of time grown long. 
 
 Thou art the spirit of that fairest clime 
 
 Released from hill, lake, stream and pine, 
 
 And now walk in thy fairer dreams 
 
 Thru Elysian Fields by lovely streams. 
 
 This is thy soul-enchanted land, 
 
 Where the touch of thy surer hand 
 
 Makes real the beliefs of a race 
 
 Swept aside in the long, mad pace 
 
 By the onward sweep of a New Freedom 
 
 That forgot the Old in a New Cree'dom. 
 
 9-20-20 
 
 184 
 
A TRUE BROTHERHOOD 
 
 Father and son at the hot noonday hour 
 Step from the grasp of worldly power 
 Down into the deep gorge by the stream, 
 Beneath the dense rhododendron, to dream 
 Away the tired feelings of the morning's hunt. 
 They commune in a close companionship — a stunt 
 That every father and son ought to perform — 
 One that will bring about a mighty world reform. 
 They toss aside their hats and fan the brow 
 In a cooling breeze that seems to know how 
 To lave the weary feelings of pilgrims here. 
 They break the bread of life in a dear 
 Brotherhood — one that summons to noblest good 
 In a world of the fairest and best manhood. 
 
 I-15-21 
 
 185 
 
THE TOUCH OF GENTLE HANDS 
 
 In a kind of dream it seem 
 
 Fairies come gliding into my room, abeam 
 
 With sunny rays of gladness — 
 
 A sure cure for this dreamy sadness. 
 
 Unannounced they come, 
 
 Bringing in their chubby hands some 
 
 Flowers, in wreath all aglow. 
 
 Set among glistening sprays of pure snow. 
 
 Did they come from goddess-hands pure? 
 
 Of this I am quite sure. 
 
 For gentle hands borne up by fairy wings — 
 
 Gentleness that on]}^ mother-hand brings — 
 
 Were seen to place them on the table there 
 
 And disappear, leaving my sick-room so fair. 
 
 1 
 
 2-20-2I 
 
 186 
 
THE FLOWERS 
 
 The flowers ! The flowers ! 
 
 How they while away the tedious hours ! 
 
 Their sweet perfume drifts about the room ; 
 
 Their blended colors are a visual boon. 
 
 Tender hands have placed them there, 
 
 Noble thoughts prompted the deed I'm aware, 
 
 Pure hearts were back of it all, 
 
 And friendships that come without call. 
 
 You can never know the good you do — 
 
 You who cheer the weary and the blue — 
 
 For I have not the power to tell you 
 
 How they touched and charmed me thru 
 
 The severe trial of a year in a week 
 
 And made my heart humble and meek. 
 
 2-2 1-2 I 
 
 187 
 
VIII. 
 
 HUMOROUS POEM 
 
 189 
 
THE LITTLE BROWN PILL 
 
 Three boys, Joe, Tom and Bill, 
 Of'n ranged from hill to hill, — 
 Boys out for sport on leisure days, 
 And found it in many comical ways. 
 
 One day they lolled on the green, 
 (Joe was out for some fun, I ween). 
 Said he to Tom and Bill, 
 "Let's try a Httle brown pill." 
 
 *'You say you are at rest. 
 
 Then I'll just put you to the test; 
 
 My hat down on the spot, 
 
 Now come on with yours on top." 
 
 "Call it a dare if you say, — 
 Anything to pass away the day. 
 You don't hear, I believe, 
 Then I'm ready to leave." 
 
 "All right, we take the dare, 
 Here goes to be fair, 
 Our hats down we toss ; 
 It will all be your loss." 
 
 X91 
 
4-II-I5 
 
 "Now, Bill, you first," says Joe. 
 Then Tom bursts out, "I say so." 
 "Very well, here goes," 
 "Look out for your nose." 
 
 "Ha! You go yours well . 
 Wait, mine begins to swell." 
 There, well, don't amble. 
 Bill has his a-scramble. 
 
 Bill Nye, Ward and Twain for fun. 
 They are great as the stories run ; 
 But you have missed your mark, 
 For here laughs continued till dark. 
 
 192 
 
IX. 
 Poems of Ruth Maurine Fuson 
 
 1«3 
 
STARS, PLAY WITH ME 
 
 stars! Come down and play with me; 
 I am as lonely as can be. 
 
 You look so gay and bright up there 
 In your great big world so fair. 
 
 1 can't come all the way up to you, 
 
 Up in your world so blue ; 
 But you just drop down to me 
 With all of your bright glee. 
 
 WORK AND PLAY 
 
 Now to work and soon to play, 
 We shall be busy all the day. 
 Merry and happy at play or work, 
 Our duties we never, never shirk. 
 
 195 
 
SPRING 
 
 Spring has indeed come at last ; 
 Winter has long ago passed. 
 The birds are merry with song, 
 Singing all the day long. 
 The bright flowers bloom here and there, 
 Sending their sweet perfume in the air. 
 This good old world is very gay, 
 Dressed in Spring's bright array. 
 This is the glad wish we sing: 
 "Long live our dear Queen Spring.'* 
 
 196 
 
INDEX 
 
 197 
 
INDEX TO TITLES 
 
 Page 
 
 Adown the Woodland Way 97 
 
 A-dream at the Plow 178 
 
 America 171 
 
 Army on Parade, The 121 
 
 Autumn 89 
 
 Autumn Sun, The 91 
 
 Avenue of Trees, An 130 
 
 Bee, The 155 
 
 Bookseller's Wares, The 158 
 
 Burdened Soul, The 12 
 
 Burnt Cabin, The 102 
 
 Call of the Woods, The 179 
 
 Clump of Cedars, The 115 
 
 Contentment 152 
 
 Cumberland Gap 74 
 
 Dandelion, The 133 
 
 Dandelion Again, The 106 
 
 Dead Knight, The 21 
 
 Death and Life 165 
 
 Divine Urge, The 166 
 
 Expectancy 165 
 
 199 
 
Page 
 
 Fishermen, The 86 
 
 Flowers, The 187 
 
 Garden, The 84 
 
 Goal, The 131 
 
 Halt! In Your Mad Rush for Wealth 156 
 
 Hanging Rock, The 98 
 
 Highlander to Highlander 169 
 
 Hillock's Story, The 161 
 
 Hunt in Florida, The 94 
 
 Image, The 148 
 
 Just Forty-Two 119 
 
 Life 135 
 
 Little Brown Pill, The 191 
 
 Live While You Live 136 
 
 Lone Pine, The 104 
 
 Love 138 
 
 Mammoth Cave 125 
 
 Men 140 
 
 Men and Hope 166 
 
 Millpond, The 127 
 
 Miracles 165 
 
 Mirrored Is the World 166 
 
 Misunderstood 142 
 
 200 
 
Page 
 
 Mountains, The, I, II, III, IV 175 
 
 My Muse 146 
 
 Narrows, The 182 
 
 Narrows Again, The 80 
 
 October Day, An 92 
 
 Old Apple Tree, The 180 
 
 O Soul Divine 11 
 
 Out of the Dark Valley 29 
 
 Panama Canal, The 82 
 
 Peace, Sweet Peace 19 
 
 Pine Tree, The 129 
 
 Pineville 114 
 
 Pinnacle, The 73 
 
 Rhododendron 134 
 
 Robin, The 160 
 
 School Child, The 183 
 
 Seeming Inequality of Things 157 
 
 Seven Sisters, The 181 
 
 Soul, The 173 
 
 Spirit of the Mob, The 32 
 
 Spirit or Man-God 23 
 
 Spring 196 
 
 Spring in the Mountains 1 12 
 
 Stars, Play with Me 195 
 
 Swift's Silver Mine 3 
 
 201 
 
Page 
 
 Teacher, The 170 
 
 ToJ. C.W 184 
 
 To R. C. H 174 
 
 To Sue 28 
 
 Touch of Gentle Hands, The 186 
 
 Trailing Arbutus, The 100 
 
 True Brotherhood, A 185 
 
 Unconquerable Soul, The 17 
 
 Union of Sympathy and Skill, The 144 
 
 Universes 162 
 
 Valley of the Brae, The 39 
 
 Vision, The 172 
 
 Whippoorwill, The no 
 
 Why these Poems Preface 
 
 Wonder and Beauty About Me 151 
 
 Wonderful Tree, The 26 
 
 Woodland, The 108 
 
 Work and Play 195 
 
 202