ERSES 
 
 (OLD AND NEW) 
 
 QY 
 
 W. H. MfLLS 
 
 «» i i>i wi i>ii>iHfB»i m i 
 
TO 
 MY WIFE 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 An Elegy - - - 3 
 
 Moonlighters in Mexico - - 6 
 
 Mezcal - . _ 9 
 
 An Idyll - . - - 12 
 
 A Tragedy - - - 1 6 
 
 Hints to Hired Girls - - 18 
 
 On Mount Soracte - - 21 
 
 To the Fairest - - - 23 
 
 Chiropody - - - 24 
 
 Stript Down - - - 26 
 
 Manyana - - - 27 
 
 What He Said - - - 29 
 
 Gardes Joyeuses - - 30 
 
 Kinship - - - 32 
 
 El Camino Real - - 34 
 
 Achievement - - - 37 
 
 California - - . 39 
 
 Aurea Poma - - - 42 
 
 El Mejicano - - > 44 
 
 A Fair Land - - - 46 
 
 Out West - - - 48 
 
VERSES 
 
 (OLD AND NEW) 
 BY 
 
 W. H. MILLS 
 
 ^ 
 
 Published by the BARNUM STATIONERY CO. 
 
 Printed by 
 
 CAUCH & STEWART 
 
 San Bernardino, California 
 
 (Copyright) 
 
 1914 
 
15 }^' 
 
 ■JUN -I 1914 
 
 0" :zjr- 
 
 0)CIA3T6127 
 
An Elegy. 
 
 California, land of gold 
 
 And sunshine— so they name you— 
 
 1 wouldn't wish to be so bold, 
 
 Or captious, as to blame you. 
 
 But ju^ a little crow I've got 
 
 To pluck with you at present 
 
 Touching your temper, which has not 
 Been altogether pleasant. 
 
 Some months ago we came this way 
 
 To find a genial winter; 
 You've been, I feel constrained to say, 
 
 A bit of a dijsapp'inter. 
 
 Thre 
 
We wanted to escape the strain 
 
 Of life as lived in Britain, 
 Where one is well-nigh drowned by rain. 
 
 Mostly, or else frost-bitten. 
 
 Your rainfall's right; indeed, perhaps, 
 
 Some would prefer it bigger; 
 But what of your snaps, and w^orse than snaps 
 
 Of almost Arctic rigour? 
 
 Your temperature has often aimed 
 
 At zero, and nearly hit it 
 Once and again. Is that what's claimed 
 
 For you? And shouldn't you quit it ? 
 
 Think of the fruits that count you "home;" 
 
 Think of your reputation; 
 Think of the invalids, who come 
 
 Here for recuperation. 
 
 How can you possibly expedt 
 
 Fine oranges and lemons, 
 When, as you well might recollect, 
 
 Frosts are to them as demons ? 
 
 Fot 
 
How can you help folk, whose disease 
 
 Is lung-tuberculosis, 
 When what you do is to make them sneeze, 
 
 And cough, and blow their noses? 
 
 Well, you've been victim, one may bet, 
 
 Of circumstance untoward; 
 It isn't that you were in a pet, 
 
 Or just perversely fro ward. 
 
 Shake yourself free from Jack Frost's grip. 
 
 And pull yourself together; 
 Have done with frosts, and winds that nip, 
 
 And give us warmer weather. 
 
 Be, what you've been for many a year, 
 The envy of all earth's nations; 
 
 So shall you have our most sincere 
 Thanks and congratulations. 
 
 January II, 1913. 
 
 Five 
 
Moonlighters in Mexico. 
 
 Out of our camp one evening went. 
 In Uncle's waggon, hunters four; 
 
 It was their firm and fixed intent 
 
 To shoot by moonlight ducks galore. 
 
 So to the ranch they came, and set 
 
 Themselves, with helpers from the farm, 
 
 To manage that the ducks should get 
 
 It hot from them, or, leastwise, warm. 
 
 They figured to ambuscade each end, 
 And side, in companies, of the land 
 
 Where the ducks fed, and so to send 
 
 Them, as it w^ere, from hand to hand. 
 
That was their plan of campaign, and, as 
 They'd settled to do, they did; and oh ! 
 
 To see them a' buccaneering was 
 
 A sight, as Uncle remarked, "By Joe." 
 
 It was crawling along the outer dykes — 
 Uncle refused to report the words; 
 
 It was shooting in volleys; then further hikes; 
 It was scampering after wounded birds. 
 
 Four hours or so they tramped and shot; 
 
 Retrieved their cripples, picked up their slain; 
 Then waited until another lot 
 
 Of birds came up; then shot again. 
 
 Whatever they didn't, or did, was right. 
 
 So long as they shot in time; the duck 
 
 Ju^ simply flew at the guns that night. 
 
 Bag — six score birds; how's that for luck? 
 
 I regret to state that the very same 
 
 Strategy didn't succeed next night, 
 
 For the birds refused to play the game 
 
 As they played it first; they had grown too 
 bright. 
 
 Seven 
 
ENVOI. 
 
 There's that in the game, which seems to jar 
 
 With one's sense of sport, when the thing's 
 been done; 
 
 But the clucks are a pest, as locusts are. 
 
 And w^hat's to check it but man and gun? 
 
 What jars is not, I guess, the fact 
 
 That so many birds are bagged — that goes; 
 It's the thought of the wounded — the after act — 
 
 The feast of the coyotes and crows. 
 
 Eight 
 
Mezcal. 
 
 They sell Mezcal with bitters 
 
 In Mexicali salons; 
 It's not a drink for critters, 
 
 Who take their grog by gallons. 
 
 At least it would betray them 
 Into offence past measure; 
 
 And then would promptly lay them 
 Flat, to repent at leisure. 
 
 But take a bigggish thimble- 
 ful of it, or, say, a couple. 
 
 And it helps to make you nimble 
 And slick and spry and supple. 
 
 Nine 
 
For it seems to chase all achin', 
 And stiffness, from your body, 
 
 Especially if taken 
 
 With hot water, as a toddy. 
 
 It's an excellent dige^ive 
 
 For a bonvivant who gobbles; 
 
 It's an excellent corrective 
 Of chronic collywobbles. 
 
 It purges melancholy 
 
 By acting on the liver; 
 It w^arms and makes you jolly. 
 
 When with a chill you shiver. 
 
 There are those who call it "Tiger's 
 
 Milk;" that's an appellation 
 Which should bring into court those niggers 
 
 For character-defamation. 
 
 For the Century- PI ant's its mother — 
 
 Queen of all daffodillies; 
 Or, if you take another 
 
 Name, She's an Amaryllis. 
 
 Ten 
 
And the thought of Amarylhs, 
 
 As he quaffs this subtle nectar, 
 
 Should make a man, who ill is, 
 Spry as a rate-collector. 
 
 For it makes him feel all over 
 
 As he was when he went a'courting; 
 And he's ready to play the lover. 
 
 Or settle a rival's snorting. 
 
 So go to Mexicali, 
 
 And try Mezcal with bitters 
 Homoeopathically, 
 
 And you'll find yourselves new critters. 
 
 El( 
 
An Idyll 
 
 A lissom lass, and fair to view, 
 She was; her eyes were bright as dew; 
 Her hair hung waist-deep in a queue. 
 As she went walking in the Zoo. 
 
 *Twas in that way then, I may state, 
 Girls wore their hair; I think the date 
 Was — tho' my memory fails of late — 
 1868. 
 
 What was her age? Just seventeen — 
 The age called sweet — and was never seen 
 A sweeter lass than this, I ween. 
 Upon this earth by mortal e'en. 
 
 Twelve 
 
Glum at her side young Colin stalked, 
 Mourning ambitions mocked and baulked; 
 But oh! she stepped, and oh! she talked. 
 As in the Zoo that day she walked. 
 
 She talked of this, and talked of that; 
 She asked him if he liked her hat; 
 She said, as on a seat they sat. 
 They now could have a cosy chat. 
 
 She wondered how he'd got the hump; 
 She asked him why he was a grump; 
 And — was there on her chin a bump? 
 Phyllis had given it quite a thump. 
 
 All Colin's griefs fled far away. 
 As on she chattered like a jay; 
 He asked her hand, nor said she nay, 
 All in the Zoo that summer day. 
 
 For, as to scan that bump he leant, 
 He found her eyes on his were bent; 
 And oh! thro' him a thrill they sent. 
 That changed his woe to deep content. 
 
 Thirteen 
 
Each gave to each a lock of hair; 
 They kissed — each kiss was fair and square; 
 Then they got wedded, happy pair! 
 And in the Zoo still took the air. 
 
 Amaryllis, fair and plump, 
 
 You knew your chin possessed no bump; 
 
 1 only hope you got no chump 
 In Colin, but a winning trump. 
 
 ENVOI. 
 
 This is the moral, I surmise. 
 Of this short history; lads, be wise, 
 And seek that in a lassie's eyes 
 From w^hich all fancied trouble flies. 
 
 Colin imagined himself, young fool, 
 The sport of fate's tyrannic rule; 
 But Amaryllis plumbed his dule, 
 And lessoned him in her own school. 
 
 Fourteen 
 
He looked as if he wished to cry; 
 He spoke as if he wished to die; 
 And that, of course, was all "my eye," 
 Because there w^as no reason w^hy. 
 
 To brisk him up was her first thought; 
 Then for his sympathy she sought; 
 Then, with those eyes of hers, she taught 
 Him wisdom; thus the trick was wrought. 
 
 Fiftee 
 
A Tragedy, 
 
 Upon the sofa, side by side, 
 
 We sat; 
 My heart, I own it, all the time 
 
 Went pit-a-pat. 
 
 Gently about her waist my arm 
 
 I stole; 
 I said, "You won't reveal this fadt 
 
 To any soul." 
 
 Then murmuring "Kiss and never tell," 
 
 We kissed; 
 Whizz came a slipper at our heads; 
 
 Thank heaven! it missed. 
 
 Sixteen 
 
I had not noticed in his chair 
 
 Her sire; 
 He rose, and came at us, his face 
 
 Bright-red with ire. 
 
 As to what happened next, my mind's 
 
 A blank, 
 Except that, thinking caution best, 
 
 I took rear rank. 
 
 I don't know what it was that made 
 
 Me fall; 
 I've no idea what sped my flight 
 
 Adown the hall. 
 
 I cannot tell, not even now, 
 
 A bit. 
 Why it has ever since been pain 
 
 To me to sit. 
 
 One thing alone I know, and that 
 
 Is this — 
 I never from that maiden got 
 
 Another kiss. 
 
 Seventeen 
 
Hints to Hired Girls. 
 
 We live and learn. I learnt one day 
 
 A mo^ convenient phrase, 
 Which deprecates and checks, to say 
 
 The least, terms of dispraise. 
 If you have shattered aught and fear 
 
 Blame, as a clumsy lout. 
 To make your innocence quite clear 
 
 Ju^ say — "I've worn it out." 
 
 It happened thus. I'd given our maid 
 
 An excellent fly-swatter; 
 "Flies make it hot for us," I said; 
 
 "Make it for them still hotter." 
 She eyed a bug, and aimed a stroke 
 
 With murderous intent; 
 She missed the beast, but promptly broke 
 
 In twain the implement. 
 
 Eighteen 
 
She said, when she returned the bits, 
 
 "I've hit with this, without 
 Boasting, at least a thousand hits; 
 
 And, see, I've worn it out." 
 She'd really only used it once; 
 
 Had tried one single try; 
 She'd broken it just because the dunce 
 
 Had struck her stroke awry. 
 
 So, if you've been unfortunate, 
 
 And broken something nice — 
 
 A china bowl or mug or plate — 
 A thing beyond all price — 
 
 Don't say— "It busted of itself;" 
 
 Don't say — "The cat, no doubt. 
 
 Was trying to walk along the shelf;" 
 say- 
 
 But say — "I've worn it out." 
 
 Or say you've dropped a match aflame 
 
 On the best table-cloth, 
 And see no chance of laying the blame 
 
 On earwig or on moth; 
 Scrub it with scrubbing brushes, till 
 
 It's like a ragged clout; 
 Then let folks bluster as they will. 
 
 And say— "I've worn it out." 
 
 Nineteen 
 
La^ly, when all the furniture 
 
 Is smashed; when the whole place 
 Is wrecked and ruined; then be sure 
 
 That you still save your face. 
 Don't worry; make no fuss of it; 
 
 Don't storm and rave and shout; 
 Just say— "Well, Mem, I'm going to quit; 
 
 You've worn my patience out." 
 
 Twenty 
 
On Mount Soracte. 
 
 Written for a Druidical function. 
 
 O Tau-Bel-Hesus, as before 
 
 This karn, your local shrine, 
 
 We ^and, as Druids wont of yore, 
 We make our mystic sign. 
 
 We offer too of mistletoe 
 
 A spray, by way of sample; 
 
 We want the rest ourselves, and so 
 We hope you'll think this ample. 
 
 And on your altar, see, we light 
 
 An emblematic fire. 
 Not simply as a pretty sight — 
 
 A thing for to admire. 
 
 Twenty-one 
 
Nor does it flame, as once it would 
 Have flamed, to make a pyre; 
 
 Its objedl is to speak of good 
 Purpose, and high desire. 
 
 We burn no human victims now, 
 
 Nor eat them when they're torrid; 
 
 Our laws such customs disallow — 
 In fact we think them horrid. 
 
 The fires we kindle symbolize 
 
 Truth, purity, devotion; 
 And Tau-Bel-Hesus, if you're wise, 
 
 You will accept this notion. 
 
 Twenty-two 
 
To the Fairest. 
 
 Written on the occasion of a fancy-dress ball, at which a 
 prize, to be awarded by the votes of the assembly, was of- 
 fered for the most effective costume. 
 
 Fisher-maid and flower-girl — 
 Each in her own way a pecirl: 
 Sparkling witch and nun demure — 
 Sights that sore eyes well might cure: 
 Paris, your old trouble yet 
 Rises up our hearts to fret; 
 How can one of these be best? 
 Which is better than the rest? 
 
 Twenty-three 
 
Chiropody. 
 
 A chiropodi^, in the strictly literal sense of the word, 
 is a person who causes feet to be chapped or cracked. 
 
 I met a chiropodist, 
 
 And said to him — "What's your game?" 
 He winked, and answered— "Whist !" 
 
 My job is to make folk lame. 
 
 'I tickle their feet, you see, 
 
 Till they use strong words, and kick; 
 And they mostly kick— not me, 
 
 But— my chair, for Tm pretty slick. 
 
 Twenty-four 
 
"Then I charge each gent ten plunks 
 For breaking my furniture; 
 
 He pays it, and off he bunks 
 To hunt up another cure." 
 
 "And what of their bunions?" "O, 
 They must get a C. M.'s advice; 
 
 My job is to make them so 
 
 Lame that they can't kick twice. 
 
 "For I must Hve up, you bet, 
 To my title's connotations; 
 
 But Vm not perticklar set 
 
 On counter-demonstrations." 
 
 Twenty-five 
 
strip t Down. 
 
 They christened him John, Constantine, 
 Gustavus, Arthur, Valentine, 
 Cadwallader, Sebastian, 
 Guy, Clarence, Maximilian. 
 
 Her Christian names were Eleanor, 
 Augusta, Cicely, Honor, 
 Eunice, Laura, Geraldine, 
 Penelope, Evangeline. 
 
 Now John, et cetera, day by day 
 Wooed Eleanor, et cetera; 
 What did they call each other? Wellj 
 She called him "Jack:" he called her "Nell." 
 
 So they got wed, and children came 
 To keep alive their race and name. 
 What fore-names did these kiddies get? 
 O, Jack and Nell and Tom and Bet. 
 
 Twenty-six 
 
Manana. 
 
 A rnvstic word there is that I 
 He«fc whensoever I would try 
 To rouse slack souls to energy — 
 Manyana. 
 
 It means just laiziness, I fear; 
 At all events 1 never hear 
 It, when I offer them a clear 
 
 Habana. 
 
 Do-nothingness«that's what it is: 
 A craving for the sluggard's bliss— 
 The sluggard's, for it comes to this. 
 Nirvana. 
 
 Twenty-seven 
 
You need, I guess, you lazy crocks. 
 Some of Dame Fortune's nasty knocks, 
 Or shocks like those set forth in Box- 
 
 lana. 
 
 Next time you're after your Nirvana, 
 I'll lesson you in Boxiana, 
 And promise you a clear Habana 
 Manyana. 
 
 Twenty-eight 
 
What He Said. 
 
 Tell me, tell me fair Eileen, 
 Will you, will you be my Queen? 
 
 Don't say— "O this is so sudden;" 
 Long my love has been a'buddin*. 
 
 Don't say— "Talk of something else;" 
 This all other talk excels. 
 
 Don't say— "Have you quantum sufF?" 
 Tru^ me, we shall have enough. 
 
 Don't say — "You must ask my mother;" 
 That would mean a lot of bother. 
 
 Don't say— "You must ask my father;" 
 That would mean— well, I'd much rather 
 
 That you would yourself, Eileen, 
 Tell me that you'll be my Queen. 
 
 Twenty-nine 
 
Gardes Joyeuses. 
 
 We built joy-castles on the sand. 
 As Prince and Princesfof our land. 
 
 And warders of her shores; 
 We'd hardly come to our full growth 
 In those far days; in fa(5t we both 
 
 Wore frocks and pinafores. 
 
 I'm building castles still, but they 
 Are in the air as yet, and may 
 
 Remain a dream-creation; 
 She, only she, can bid them take 
 Shape, for I build them for her sake, 
 
 And for her approbation. 
 
 Thirty 
 
Will she? rm waiting yet awhile 
 Until I've amassed a sufficient pile 
 
 For a castle in miniature; 
 And then Til be off to my lass, I guess, 
 And ask her to rule it as its Princess 
 
 So long as our lives endure. 
 
 Thirty-one 
 
Kinship, 
 
 Stand by your own; stand by 
 
 Your kith and kin; 
 Stand by the family, 
 
 Thro' thick and thin; 
 Stand up for its good name; 
 
 It's your name too; 
 Never let taint of shame 
 
 Hurt it thro' you. 
 
 If fortune seems to frown. 
 
 And things go ill 
 With them, stand by your own; 
 
 Hold to them still. 
 Keep kinship's claim in mind, 
 
 Remembering 
 This— that "akin" and "kind" 
 
 Mean the same thing. 
 
 Thirty-two 
 
You may not turn your face 
 
 From any soul 
 That needs and asks your grace- 
 
 Your pity's dole. 
 To flout such were a sin, 
 
 But the blood-call — 
 The cry of kith and kin — 
 
 Ranks first of all. 
 
 Traitors, who love a lie. 
 
 For profit's sake 
 Break other ties; this tie 
 
 They cannot break. 
 Nothing, All Nature saith. 
 
 Snaps the blood-bond; 
 It holds thro' life to death. 
 
 Aye, and beyond. 
 
 Thirty-three 
 
El Camino Real. 
 
 As erst Saint Paul went forth to claim 
 
 The kingdoms of the world for Christ, 
 
 So Fra Junipero Serra came 
 
 To be this land's evangelist. 
 
 Never was truer Saint of all 
 
 The souls who that high name have won; 
 His was the courage of Saint Paul; 
 
 His was the spirit of Saint John. 
 
 He opened out the "King's Highway," 
 
 The aim of his imaginings 
 Being that it should be for aye 
 
 A Highway of the King of kings: 
 
 Thirty-four 
 
No common road, tho' all might fare 
 Along it, but a road whereby 
 
 The messengers of peace might bear 
 Their message and their ministry. 
 
 From South to North the stations rose, 
 
 Which marked the track of that highway; 
 
 Each held aloft the Cross which shows 
 
 God's truth, God's love, God's conquering 
 sway. 
 
 And Indians, won from their fierce creeds. 
 Learnt to obey the law of Chri^; 
 
 Its Gospel satisfied their needs; 
 They tested it, and it sufficed. 
 
 So "El Camino Real" came 
 
 To be a royal road indeed; 
 
 It realized Junipero's aim. 
 
 And is of his eternal meed. 
 
 Thirty-five 
 
For, consecrate by him, it was 
 A very "Way of Holiness"— 
 
 A way by which freed souls might pass 
 Zionward thro' earth's wilderness. 
 
 Thirty-six 
 
Achievement. 
 
 A SETTLER'S SONG. 
 
 She's coming to me 
 
 Across the sea — 
 The lass that I left in the old countree; 
 
 She's coming to bear 
 
 My name, and share 
 My life, my every joy and care. 
 
 For her dear sake 
 
 1 came to make 
 A home in this waste of brush and brake; 
 
 And my task, I trow. 
 
 Is accomplished now. 
 For my land's all watered and under plough. 
 
 Thirty-seven 
 
The crops of a year 
 
 Have set me clear 
 To build a house that will please my dear; 
 
 And, now that she 
 
 Can come by sea 
 Right thro', she's coming, my lass, to me. 
 
 O bless the man 
 
 Out of whose brain-pan 
 Came the thought of w^ells Artesian, 
 
 And the scientific 
 
 Souls, whose magnific 
 Work linked the Atlantic and Pacific. 
 
 She is coming to me 
 
 Across the sea — 
 The lass that I left in the old countree; 
 
 She's coming to bear 
 
 My name, and share 
 My life, my every joy and care. 
 
 Thirty-eight 
 
California. 
 
 Suni^ at the National Orange Show, San Bernardino, 
 /914. 
 
 Of all the countries, which romance 
 
 Has pictured as earth's hope and pride, 
 These three, I think — Spain, England, France — 
 
 Stand in the front rank, side by side. 
 England the merry, France the fair, 
 
 Spain, the adventurous knightly land — 
 These fill the picture; yes, but where 
 
 Does sunny California stand? 
 
 Refrain. 
 
 O land of fruits and flowers: 
 O land, which nature dowers 
 With all her wealth of loveliness, with all her 
 braveries: 
 
 We sound abroad thy praise 
 With music and with lays. 
 Which show thee, what thou surely art, an earth- 
 ly paradise. 
 
 Thirty-nine 
 
They knew her not — the minstrel-men, 
 
 Who, in the mid-age of our earth, 
 Chaunted their rhapsodies; for then 
 
 She had not come to her full birth. 
 But as for mirth — what gramarye 
 
 Her sunshine gladness could enhance? 
 Is she not fair as fair can be? 
 
 Is she not home of true romance? 
 
 Refrain. 
 
 This is the land men wont to call 
 
 Atlantis — an ideal Isle, 
 Whereon the sun at evenfall 
 
 Smiled, as he set, his farewell smile — 
 The land which, in a later day, 
 
 Padre Junipero Serra trod, 
 What time he built "The King's Highway," 
 
 And consecrated it to God. 
 
 Refrain. 
 
 Forty 
 
England is merry now no more; 
 
 Her heart is rent by jealousies; 
 France is no longer, as of yore, 
 
 Faired of all earth's emperies. 
 And as for Spain— what now remains 
 
 Of her martial fame, of her old renown? 
 But California still retains 
 Her pride of place as nature's crown. 
 Refrain. 
 
 Forty-c 
 
Aurea Poma. 
 
 In days of old, so ran the tale, 
 
 Far out at sea, toward the West, 
 Lay isles, untouched by fro^ or gale. 
 
 Fair as the Islands of the Blest. 
 Upon these isles grew apple trees. 
 
 Whose fruit was golden to the eye. 
 Safeguarded by the Hesperides, 
 
 And a grim dragon, couched anigh. 
 
 Refrain. 
 
 O goldenjapples of the past. 
 What were ye but a dim forecast 
 
 Of golden oranges? 
 What were those isles but prophecies 
 Of California's sunny skies, 
 
 And sunlit groves and leas? 
 
 Forty-two 
 
Whatever crops those islands bare 
 
 On Californian soil are grown; 
 Her citrus-fruits will stand compare 
 
 With that famed fruit, and hold their own. 
 And California bears them, not 
 
 To please one jealous owner's sight. 
 But for the world to use, and what 
 
 She seeks is the whole world's delight. 
 
 Refr 
 
 am. 
 
 No cruel dragon has its lair 
 
 Among her groves, to scare or slay; 
 Not even rattlesnakes lurk where 
 
 Her orange-trees make their display. 
 Her nymphs, like the Hesperides, 
 
 Are daughters of the golden West, 
 But what they guard is not her trees, 
 
 But hearts of those they love the best. 
 
 Refrain. 
 
 Forty-three 
 
El Mejicano, 
 
 The Mexican, if I'm not wrong. 
 
 Is just a rum 'un; 
 I know no rummier soul among 
 
 Men born of woman. 
 
 As parodist he is, past doubt. 
 
 Of all men aptest; 
 He calls a pot-house the "hang-out 
 
 Of John the Bapti^." 
 
 Or, seeing in it a milder grace, 
 
 The name he'll vary, 
 And christen it the "resting place 
 
 Of holy Mary." 
 
 All sacred names find place in his 
 
 Vocabulary; 
 Of using them for emphasis 
 
 He's nowise chary. 
 
 Forty-four 
 
Yes, but this habit is, it seems. 
 
 Just superstition; 
 That using them thus he blasphemes 
 
 He's no suspicion. 
 
 One thing above all others suits 
 
 His constitution, 
 And that is, whether he fights or loots, 
 
 A revolution. 
 
 Pulque, maybe, prompts some of his 
 
 Extravagances, 
 For, taken in bulk, it stirs, yw^is, 
 
 Eccentric fancies. 
 
 He's half an Aztec still at heart — 
 
 That's the real bother; 
 And which half is the stronger part — 
 
 Well, ask another. 
 
 Wherefore I say, nor think I'm wrong, 
 
 That he's a rum 'un; 
 I know no rummier soul among 
 
 Men born of woman. 
 
 Forty- five 
 
A Fair Land. 
 
 This is^the fabled region where 
 
 The Hyperboreans Hved out West — 
 An Eden, ever bright and fair, 
 
 Which great Apollo ruled and blest. 
 It is the garden, named of old 
 
 "The garden of the Hesperides," 
 Whose golden Avalon foretold 
 
 Our groves of golden oranges. 
 
 What shall we call her? Arcady? 
 
 The Country of the Golden Gate? 
 The Land, above all lands that be, 
 
 Of Heart's Desire? The Golden State? 
 No matter. Titles such as these 
 
 All shadow forth her grace and fame; 
 Yet count that, call her what you please. 
 
 What spells romance be^ spells her name. 
 
 Forty-six 
 
Romance? Aye, realized romance: 
 
 Fulfilments of hope's prophecies: 
 Ideals, thro' the clairvoyance 
 
 Of one seer, made realities — 
 That is the story of our land. 
 
 Pray Heaven that, where great Serra led, 
 We may not fear to follow, and 
 
 Tread where his footprints bid us tread. 
 
 Forty-seven 
 
Out West 
 
 "Out West" they say. All right; but out of what? 
 
 Out of what's called "High Life?" Way out beyond 
 The gay w^orld's pomps and pleasures and what not: 
 
 The Vanity Fair of fashion: the beau monde? 
 
 Well, yes; we are outsiders, more or less. 
 
 Thus far; with us Dame Fashion's not a-top; 
 
 That doesn't trouble us a lot, I guess; 
 
 We'd sooner have a cow-boy than a fop. 
 
 But, all the same, in these far distant parts 
 We're fairly civilized upon the whole; 
 
 We have our share, I think, of honest hearts — 
 Of souls who look past dollars for their goal. 
 
 Forty-eight 
 
We're not illiterates; if folk are short 
 
 Of books, that want is even now supplied. 
 
 The Arts and Sciences hold con^ant Court 
 
 Among us, and are honoured far and wide. 
 
 "The feast of reason and the flow of soul" 
 
 Enter our social feasts, and give them zest; 
 
 Our sympathies reach out from pole to pole; 
 We're not parochial sectaries "Out West." 
 
 WeVe w^indbags, grafters, grubbers; yes, a few; 
 
 More than we know perhaps; more than we want; 
 But look the wide world over, and, if you 
 
 Can tell us where there aren't such souls, we can't. 
 
 And as for climate, as for fruits and flowers — 
 
 Well, of these things we're not inclined to boast; 
 
 But when the States "Back Ea^" can better ours. 
 Then we'll make tracks for the Atlantic coast. 
 
 Meantime we've lots to think of and to do; 
 
 Our work's cut out for us from day to day; 
 We have our play times, and we use them too; 
 
 In short we're here, and here we mean to stay. 
 
 Forty-nine