PS 3545 
 .H528 
 R7 
 
 1906 
 Copy 1 
 
Robert Ellsworth, 
 His Book 
 
 FOLLOWirSIG 
 
 ROBERT ELLSWORTH, 
 FAILURE 
 
 Copyright, J906, 
 
 — BY — 
 
 HERBERT BRIGHAM WHITE 
 
 Hartford, Conn. ^* 
 
UBSA«Y of CONGRESS 
 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 FEB 
 
 2 1906 
 
 ft CoDi'-isht Entry 
 ^LASS (Z XXc, No. 
 
Fofewofd J 
 
 For the man whose song is the jingle 
 
 of gold, 
 Whose poetry is balanced accounts, 
 This book can have no meaning: 
 To all such Robert Ellsworth must 
 
 ever remain an enigma. 
 
 For the man of ideals, 
 
 Who can believe that Nature has a 
 
 great lesson to teach 
 Which, rightly interpreted, 
 AVould make man better, happier, 
 
 Yvortluer, 
 This book is written. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 This little volume being made up of 
 extracts from Robert's journal, exact- 
 ly as he wrote them from day to day, 
 is necessarily somewhat fragmentary 
 and disjointed in its character. I have 
 made no attempt to smooth it into a 
 symmetrical whole. But the verses 
 and essays tells in their simple wa}^, a 
 fAovj that, seemingly visional, was 
 with him a conviction. 
 
ROBERT ELLSWORTH, HIS BOOK 
 
 In the depth of the silent forests, 
 embraced in the arms of purple light 
 that creep down from above through 
 interstices in the green foliage, all is 
 so harmonious, so simple, that nothing 
 seems to exist. The brook ripples at 
 our feet, murmuring its little song, and 
 we hear it not; the boughs, with their 
 tiny hands outstretched, implore, — 
 zephyrs, the custodians of the lore of 
 vast expanses of ancient forests and 
 mountain fastnesses hoary grown with 
 age, bolder than the rest, tap us lightly 
 with gentle hand, but we heed them 
 not; — the senses sleep. 
 
 Distant reverberations, barely audi- 
 ble, timidly smite the ear, and lead us 
 on through long avenues of green and 
 brown, to where the mighty cataract 
 thundering its note of wisdom, gath- 
 ered from the everlasting hills, awak- 
 ens the slumberous mind, and the 
 slave of care, refreshed, bounds with 
 life, and drinks deep at nature's font. 
 
 Upon an October afternoon when 
 the golden sunlight shimmers amidst 
 golden leaves that hardly move, when 
 gleams the red of flaming sumac, 
 
counterfeiting other ruby beams, 
 which, commingling in the purple 
 haze, stream from the hillside o'er the 
 peaceful valley where the lov/ing cattle 
 graze midst grasses straight and still, 
 — Nature seems to sleep. 
 
 But as evening draws on apace, airy 
 messengers whisper a greeting to all, 
 and the grasses nod a welcome, tossing 
 boughs quiver in sympathy, the little 
 leaves tremble vv^ith delight, and across 
 the meadow the winding stream rip- 
 ples on its way into the golden sea of 
 the West, where float, like ships of 
 war in coats of gray, God's fleet of 
 angry clouds, to battle do, that drowsy 
 nature may be roused and clarified 
 through the spectacle ,^ 
 
 Given to thoughtful consideration of 
 Nature, who, in the open fields, would 
 not stand with head bared, that the 
 dome of thought might be free as the 
 azure sky which bends above, that the 
 brow might be as unconfined as the 
 horizon's line? 
 
 Wistfully, we gaze into the blue sea 
 above, from the green shore, and vain- 
 ly strive to fathom its depth, or fix its 
 boundary. Its waves of crystal zephyrs 
 recede into the hazy distance far be- 
 yond our line of vision. 
 
The eye of day looks down from 
 across that hazy sea, and its rays of 
 light impotent beat upon the glassy 
 stream, impervious as the solid rock. 
 The earth absorbs its warmth, and 
 fertile grows, but its secrets are hidden 
 safe within its breast. With steady 
 gleam it bathes our head in light, 
 and we uplifted feel the luminous 
 thought within lighting the chamber of 
 the mind, until the sun and we, the 
 earth, the sky, — all. All, seem as one, 
 each in its separate sphere : and we are 
 happy there, where all is peace and 
 harmony, and all mystery grows so 
 deep and big, all seems explained, 
 through its simple depths ; and we are 
 one with God and Nature, and little 
 man can no longer hurt where the 
 drone of bees and hum of gnats more 
 pleasant is than the clink of brazen 
 gold ^ 
 
 On the mountain-side, in caverns 
 deep and wild, where walls tapestried 
 with rocks and roots of gnarled oak 
 reach high above our heads, and little 
 rills, tumultuous grown, flow gurgling 
 through the mountain-pass, and down 
 o'er the sloping precipice to the plain 
 below; there, where all is still and 
 silent as the chamber of the soul, save 
 
where the rill tempestuous goes, in 
 fancy we roam o'er the stretching 
 fields below, links of an endless chain 
 that bind the earth from pole to pole, 
 and hoop its centre as with an iron 
 band ; and there, we see the fallen 
 leaves, fallen low — decayed to mold 
 from whence they came, and the old, 
 old oak, that no glory shows, is decay- 
 ing too, and its coffiin dust will nourish 
 its own acorn's sapling just below on 
 the ragged shelf that juts in tortuous 
 curves o'erhanging. 
 
 And there, where the cave the moun- 
 tain cleft in ages past, harebells 
 grow, and violets blue and mild, 
 'pon mouldering heaps with moss 
 o'ergrown ; and here and there the 
 bones of a mighty monarch, strewn 
 among the flowering herbage lie, where 
 feeds the deer whose noble sire paid 
 tribute with his life, at the foot of this 
 most ancient throne. And there our 
 mortal senses reel, so nearly Nature 
 does her secrets show, and our spirit 
 roams beyond our ken, and close to 
 God we seem. O, precious moments, 
 heavy grown with thought, pause in 
 the space of time, that the truth may 
 swell and so pregnant be, that we may 
 
those lessons read, that in Nature's 
 bosom hidden, lie revealed. 
 
 How great art Thou, O God, who 
 didst conceive. How infinite Thou, 
 who didst create. How shallow we, as 
 the bowl to the wide ocean: — pity, 
 God, my littleness j^ 
 
 In parching summer the sun sends 
 forth its rays to ripen and prosper veg- 
 etation, and the trees sprout to give 
 the brotherhood of man a refuge. Veg- 
 etation scorched and athirst, and the 
 shades of night are drawn and the 
 glistening dew gives the thirsty drink. 
 The earth thirsts, and the rays of the 
 sun are screened, and the flood-gates of 
 the heavens open. The chilly winds of 
 autumn, and the fruits and nuts ripen 
 and fall to the ground, and our beauti- 
 ful, short Indian summer gives ample 
 time for harvesting. 
 
 The cold blasts of winter, and the 
 leaves wither and the sun warms all 
 the earth ; the rocks of the hills and 
 mountains open, and protection is 
 found for the rugged animal life of the 
 wild: then does Nature shake out her 
 snowy robes, and vegetation sleeps in 
 peace and faith, secure from harm 
 through the long winter night. 
 
 In the spring we wander through 
 
the woods and find the blanket with- 
 drawn, withered vegetation decaying 
 to support new Hfe, the winds blowing 
 to dry the soggy earth, the sun glowing 
 to warm the chilled roots, and all 
 bathed in life-giving ether, pure as the 
 source from whence it came. All is 
 peace, happiness, harmony. Man alone 
 is ever miserable ! Is it possible that 
 all else was created perfect, — happy — 
 and that man alone was formed defec- 
 tive? Sometimes, in the open, I am 
 more happy than most can be ; so 
 happy I am afraid. When I wander 
 through the fields, amidst the hills and 
 dales, dotted with trees and ribbed 
 with cragged rocks, and crossed and 
 pitted with streams and caverns, and 
 from the mountain's height look out 
 across the peaceful valley o'er the quiet 
 cattle feeding by still waters, and into 
 the haunts of man, my forehead seeks 
 my breast. Of all Nature's giant fam- 
 ily, man alone has left the fold, a will- 
 ing exile ; he alone has deserted the 
 hearth that glows in the west at even- 
 tide. He alone, even by implication, 
 denies his origin, seemingly humble, 
 Teally glorious, miraculous, divine. 
 
OUR IDEAL 
 
Bright as ruddy dawn at break of 
 day, 
 When the East is crowned with 
 golden tresses, 
 And the ocean's mists of pearly gray. 
 Veil the ruby Hps the wave caresses. 
 
 Beautiful as the lily, white and pure. 
 That, circled by the sable pall of 
 night, 
 Unto itself a love-beam lures, 
 
 Unsought, from the nocturnal sheaf 
 of light. 
 
 Elusive as the wandering zephyr, 
 As it goes dancing o'er the rippling 
 streams, 
 Nodding the heads of the purple heath- 
 er. 
 Climbing the sunbeams to the land 
 of dreams. 
 
 Frail as the crystal mirror of the lake, 
 That in the paly twilight shimmers, 
 
 Where the delicate tracery of the brake. 
 And the shadows of the white birch 
 shiver. 
 
Peren'ial as the snow on the mountain- 
 top, 
 That rears its hoary head with wis- 
 dom crowned, 
 Above the hills and dales, and wood- 
 man's cot. 
 That nestle safely at its feet around. 
 
 Sad as the sobbing of the mo'rning 
 dove, 
 On the topmost bough of the tallest 
 tree, 
 Striving to tell of the depth of its love, 
 For the grove and field, for life and 
 for Thee. 
 
 Blithe as the lark in the meadow's hay, 
 Bursting its throat with notes of 
 melody. 
 Gladdening the reaper through all the 
 day, 
 With its songs of praise and psalm- 
 ody. 
 
 Vague as the will-o'-the-wisp at twi- 
 light, 
 Hov'ring o'er the marsh where the 
 whip-poor-will sings. 
 Betraying the songster of drowsy 
 night. 
 To the owl o'er-circling on heavy 
 wing. 
 
THE MEADOW-LOT 
 
The pitiless North sends an arrows 
 flight, 
 Borne straight and swift on winged 
 feet, 
 In the icy blast of the frozen night. 
 The russet grasses wade in snowy 
 deeps. 
 
 The biting wind howHng on its way 
 Where tossing boughs oppose its 
 mighty sweep, 
 There, in the shadow of that giant fray, 
 I lay me down in dreamless peace 
 to sleep. 
 
 The thawing sun sends forth its golden 
 rays, 
 And tears of joy flow from my 
 grassy mane. 
 Before the fiery darts of spring's mid- 
 day, 
 Drear winter's robe dissolves in 
 sparkling rain. 
 
 The god of day removes my winding 
 sheet, 
 And nourished at my breast there 
 springs to life 
 The children of Nature; the purple 
 sweet 
 O'erflows my lap, an' about my feet 
 runs rife. 
 
NATURE 
 
 A Fragmentt 
 
One day whilst strolling through the 
 greenwood, 
 Aimless, following the paths as they 
 led, 
 A thought arose from the stream where 
 I stood, 
 That startled my soul from its 
 slumbrous bed. 
 
 On the mossy banks of that forest 
 prism, 
 I sought in vain for the silver key, 
 That might release from its subtle 
 prison. 
 The thought that was given to die 
 with me? 
 
 In vain the forests whispered the 
 theme, 
 Stretched out their giant arms to 
 bid me hope, 
 'Twas not for me to interpret the 
 dream, 
 Worthier minds unfold the dotted 
 slope. 
 
 As I left the rill for the homeward 
 path. 
 The cataract's moan smote my will- 
 ing ear, 
 
Threading a boisterous way through 
 the mountain pass, 
 Where the ribbed rocks baulk, as 
 if in fear. 
 
 Beside that steady, onward, forceful 
 rush, 
 I listened to the song of its thun- 
 drous note, 
 And I felt that struggling like it, I 
 must 
 Strive o'er the rocky path, fo»- e'er 
 to grope. 
 
 j» jt ^ 
 
 Ring! Silent bell, — see, — I beseech 
 thee, ring! 
 Thy iron tongue with molten passion 
 trembling. 
 Strike ! from thy yawning mouth thy 
 music fling, 
 With thy clangor tell of the doom 
 impending. 
 
 On the mountain-side I find thee sway- 
 ing, 
 Thy ringing voice calls out to me 
 from far, 
 At thy shrine I kneel, humbly praying, 
 In thee, — I find my guiding star. 
 
In the forest's depths I hear thee toll- 
 ing, 
 From shore to shore 'cross the silent 
 lake, 
 Along the ravine thy echoes rolling, 
 Speak of faith to all, where all ven- 
 erate. 
 
 Why art thou silent in the haunts of 
 man? 
 The world heeds thee not, at thy 
 humble shrine; 
 Can I not move where gentle zephyrs 
 fan, 
 While the oak's thy belfry, thy rope 
 a vine? 
 
 Pour out thy healing balm o'er this 
 thy land, 
 Not to the wild alone thy voice con- 
 fine, 
 
 Pity thou,— 
 
Peace, — thou mysterious spectre, 
 shrieking 
 Thy wrath o'er the mouth of the 
 gaping grave. 
 Whose horrid tongue, silence forever 
 keeping, 
 Mutely speaks me from out the nev/- 
 made cave. 
 
 ^^w f^f V* 
 
 When the hunted animal is brought 
 to bay, it turns, and in the ferocious, 
 hopeless, unequal struggle, my heart 
 instinctively goes out to it. When 
 death less bitter is than life, when the 
 grave yawns close beneath his feet, a 
 man, if he speak at all, speaks truth — 
 dare speak it ^ 
 
 When I close my eyes there appears 
 before me, from out the misty sadness 
 of the past, a little boy, aged twelve, 
 with a frank and open countenance; 
 no guile is there. He is confronted by 
 a man thrice his bulk. The boy stands 
 weaponless. The man is armed with 
 the poisonous, fiery darts Nature has 
 hidden deep in the bowels of the earth, 
 and in mountain's rocky fastnesses, far 
 from the reach of man ; he is protected 
 
by the storied lore of generations of 
 research. The boy is armorless. The 
 man is refuged, — safe behind the bul- 
 warks of public opinion, surrounded by 
 a vast army of banded brothers. The 
 boy is in the open, alone, a fair and 
 shining mark. Instinct, in the little 
 animal, scents danger, and his eyes 
 rove restlessly from the cold, cruel, 
 shining implements, to the green and 
 red dragons, with golden eyes and 
 crests of crystal, that wink and blink 
 from the shelves in the dark recesses 
 of the room, and he would away to the 
 fields e^ 
 
 O God, help Thou me, that my 
 throbbing nerves may only truth re- 
 veal. I see that boy lying prone on the 
 tented battlefield, with bloodless 
 wounds that mutely cry for mercy. 
 For nights and days he has moaned 
 and writhed in sleepless agony, his 
 mother standing a helpless sentinel by. 
 At last the mother sleeps, and alone, 
 he weeps and prays for death, fearful, 
 trembling, but hoping for sweet re- 
 lease, — that death is sleep. 
 
 At last, fainting in delirious dreams, 
 his prayers are heard, and death hovers 
 close about his head, the unequal 
 struggle nearly o'er. In mighty con- 
 
sultation, allied forces join, and so de- 
 cide : that they will tell the boy that he 
 is well, that imagination reigns su- 
 preme, and the mother that he must 
 die «^ 
 
 The scene is changed ; a mighty 
 force has joined the light. An old 
 physician, hoary grown, gray and ripe 
 with years, has raised his banner o'er 
 that field — and his force is with the 
 boy: and all the drugs and medicines 
 are put aside, and through the open 
 window the pleasant breath of mead- 
 ows sweeps, and for one so weak the 
 food of babes is given, unchanged by 
 artificial means ; and later, small fruits 
 and nuts, man's natural food, un- 
 changed by man, and the boy recovers, 
 — and lived, — a wreck, to drift about 
 on life's broad sea, a helpless derelict. 
 
 When nature calls me home, through 
 death, 
 
 When I return to Mother Earth, 
 I fear that my imprisoned breath, 
 
 Will to the bleeding thorn give birth. 
 
Much of the thought set forth in 
 this book was born into the world only 
 after much travail, much suffering, 
 many bitter experiences. From the 
 grave I implore, do not satirize, do 
 not destroy it wantonly. 
 
MAN, NATURE'S ANALOGUE 
 
To experience a miracle, a man need 
 but close his eyes in thought. A glance 
 from the window suggests a multitude. 
 How m.iraculous is the harmony which 
 prevails throughout nature's realm! 
 The green platform with its nodding 
 grass, so soft, that a fall shall not in- 
 jure, but hard, that a sure footing may 
 be secured, and withal, so beautiful, as 
 the sunlight sifts through the leaves of 
 the o'erhanging boughs. The lowjy, 
 unobtrusive mold, just beneath, — in- 
 finite in the variety of the m.iracles it 
 may bring forth, working in unison 
 with other forces of nature : seemingly 
 helpless, even the worm triumphs over 
 it, but vegetation rejoices in the vic- 
 tory. While armed with a spade, it 
 is apparently at our mercy, yet we 
 could not possibly destroy even a 
 small quantity. From it, the thrifty 
 housewife, or the student of economics, 
 might well take a lesson, for although 
 nature has been termed prodigal, she 
 is really prodigally economical. Emer- 
 ald blades spring forth everywhere in 
 great profusion; the hilts ornamented 
 with diamond clusters sparkling in the 
 golden sunlight of early morning, form 
 a jewel casket that is as fair as it is 
 useful, as practical as it is beautiful. 
 
upon the dewy herbage the horned 
 deer and other animals with spreading 
 nostrils feed, deriving the energy 
 which sustains them, from the earth, 
 through the mediate grass, and from 
 the atmosphere, the transparent lluid 
 in which the earth is immersed. 
 
 The restless, cunning, flesh-consum- 
 ing animals, with small nostrils, and 
 eyes set close together, as cruel vv^hile 
 glowing about to spring, as the un- 
 sheathed claws, are sustained by the 
 same humble mold, though a little 
 more indirectly, through the mediation 
 of vegetation, and of the herbiverous 
 animals upoa which they prey. It is 
 evident that the earth and air contain 
 all the life-giving elements that build 
 up our bodies and our minds from the 
 time of infancy, through the develop- 
 ment of the several senses, until dis- 
 solution takes place. The germ of the 
 thoughts that hurry fleet of foot across 
 the mental vision, jostling in the 
 crowded passages of the mind in their 
 anxiety to find expression, is separated 
 from the mold by nature, using the 
 word in its broadest sense. Where the 
 germ, or fundamental principle under- 
 lying all creation originated, it is im- 
 possible to determine, for all life is 
 
capable of supporting all other life. A 
 supposedly dead animal may furnish 
 life to vegetation, which sustains its 
 own progenitors, or its progeny, or 
 both ! 
 
 The bodies of some men, and of 
 some animals, are capable of better 
 analysis and separation, or in a word, 
 of better assimilation, than others, 
 which partially accounts for the great 
 difference in physical and mental 
 strength, and quickness of action and 
 thought. When this power of assimi- 
 lation becomes so feeble that nature's 
 endless chain is broken, that a man in 
 his relation to nature is useless, a bur- 
 den as a living organism, he is lopped 
 off and dissolved in nature's labora- 
 tory that his ashes may nourish more 
 worthy life. Nature is never wasteful, 
 she never gives without a return ; she 
 loans us her life-building elements, and 
 when we are no longer capable of mak- 
 ing a return, dissolution takes place, 
 that we may make room for more use- 
 ful life. That man who interprets na- 
 ture's laws wisely, and lives his life 
 accordingly who receives each day a 
 part of his food direct from nature's 
 storehouse, and cleanses his body 
 through the inhalation of much out- 
 
door air, unchanged by the artificial 
 methods of man, will prove useful to 
 nature, and receive her recognition by 
 constantly increasing mental and phy- 
 sical endurance and strength. Her ele- 
 ments must be utilized, not consumed. 
 Nothing can be stolen from nature, or 
 used up. Even fire does not consume 
 the life-giving principles, but returns 
 to the dead(!) earth, in concentrated 
 form, the living elements absorbed by 
 the tree. The instinct of self-preserva- 
 ion is as strongly marked in nature 
 as in man, and as no one form of life 
 can stand alone, that the w'orld, aye, 
 that the universe may endure, harmony 
 must prevail. 
 
 Nature, great in all things, greatest 
 among poets, greatest of all artists, is 
 greater, more practical, and more in- 
 genious than the shrewdest business 
 man, as the thriving shade-tree well il- 
 lustrates. Beautiful, with a beauty the 
 artist can only imitate, whispering 
 songs of v/isdom no poet can translate, 
 and absorbing from the earth and air, 
 as a sponge, the leaves which it re- 
 turns, to be absorbed by the thirsty 
 earth, and reabsorbed, as the fountain 
 is fed by the waters in the rocky basin 
 which it fills: (fills with pure, living 
 
water, that could only exist as such, 
 through motion, through circulation, 
 which is life) and as every living thing, 
 animate or inanimate, finds an ana- 
 logue in every other living thing, as 
 life as a whole is analogous to indi- 
 vidual life, so may the world have an 
 analogy to the universe, and the uni- 
 verse may be analogous to God; and 
 Nature seems to say to me, that the 
 secret of the cause of life and death is 
 the simple law of self-preservation, and 
 that the immortal soul is very near to 
 God and that an analogy lies close be- 
 yond. 
 
 -*- 
 
TWILIGHT 
 
Pleasant it is in Niature's peaceful 
 realm, 
 Where harmony prevails o'er hill 
 and dell, 
 There in the shadow of the o'erhang- 
 ing elm, 
 Soothed by the murmurs of the syl- 
 van bell. 
 
 There the mind is released from earth- 
 ly dross, 
 And roams through sweet Elysian 
 fields alone. 
 Leaving the body on its bed of moss, 
 Lulled by the song the brook-side 
 insects drone. 
 
 The spirit released of its weight of 
 clay. 
 One with All, one with God and Na- 
 ture is, 
 And through her pores, as the moon- 
 beams stray, 
 Drinks of the peace that in the forest 
 lives. 
 
For me, the shades of night are draw- 
 ing near, 
 Drear autumn when falls the crim- 
 soned leaf. 
 Shadowy forms I see across the mere, 
 The precursors of my soul's release. 
 
 Slumbrous dreams benumb the decay- 
 ing mind, 
 Reason wavers under death's mes- 
 meric wand, 
 A dewy garland the tortured brow en- 
 vines, 
 Hesitant, the spirit hovers o'er the 
 great beyond. 
 
A COLONIAL BURIAL 
 
Slow, through the village the proces- 
 sion winds, 
 
 The body of a youth, the coffin binds, 
 
 On, toward the forest, with solemn 
 tread, 
 
 On, to the silent chamber of the dead. 
 
 Along the path, by the river's side, 
 Where the lilies bloom, and serpents 
 
 glide. 
 O'er the gentle slope, by the tinkling 
 
 rill. 
 Which the tears of weeping nature fill. 
 
 Within the shadow of that gnarled oak, 
 
 Whence trills the cuckoo's mournful 
 note. 
 
 On the bosom of Mother Earth fore'er 
 to sleep. 
 
 We consign the ashes to gentle Na- 
 ture's keep ! 
 
TRUTH 
 
Dreamlike, vague, as visions of hope 
 Seen through the gauzy veil 
 stretched thin by death, — 
 As the mimic battle the gods invoke, 
 Midst distant hills, when softly stirs 
 the summer's breath. 
 
 When the cattle stand knee-deep in 
 
 grass. 
 
 And dimly float as phantom ships, — 
 
 When hopeful youth and his bonny 
 
 lass. 
 
 Taste untold joy with trembling lips. 
 
 When fireflys flit above the lea, 
 
 And the beetle winds his droning 
 horn, — 
 When the distant crunch of whirring 
 wheels, 
 Echoes faint across the glimmering 
 lawn. 
 
When rushlights gleam midst maple 
 trees, 
 And o'er the fields the well-sweep 
 groans, — 
 When creeping close, the rabbit flees, 
 Across the road, where the moon- 
 beams shone. 
 
 When the mists of night are hanging 
 low, 
 Where the river across the meadow 
 goes,— 
 There, — in the light of creepy, mid- 
 night's bow. 
 When the stream's golden path- 
 way dully glows, — 
 
 Jk 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 
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