AUTHOR'S EDITION OF H BY MRS. MflRTHfl E. WHITTEN, ILLUSTRATED. XX ioo/, I^ "^tim- 'i\.^ \88o. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 188G, by MRS. MARTHA E. WHITTEN, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. s~^-^ V ^ .» • — r s g- — ' 0. ^^ , THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO MY BELOVED FATHER, WILLIHM'S. HOTCHKISS, TO WHOSE CAREFUL TRAINING, AND TO WHOSE LOVING ENCOURAGEMENT AND ASl^ISTANCE—WHO FILLED TO REPLETION EVERY DUTY AND TRUST OF FATHER AND MOTHER— I OWE A DA UGHTEWS GRATITUDE; AND TO HIM BELONGS THE HONOR OF WHATEVER SUCCESS I MAY ATTAIN IN LIFE AS A WOMAN— FILLING THE DUTIES OF WOMAN— OR AS AN AUTHORESS; AND TO WHOM I OWE FOR HIS CARE, HIS '1 RAINING, AND HIS LESSONS, MY LOVE FOR THE TRUE, FOR THE GOOD, AND FOR THE BEA UTIFUL . MARTHA E. HOTCHKISS WHITTEN. INTRODUCTION. n ^HIS is an age of books. Truly, "of making many books there jjifc is no end." One is almost bewildered by the many well ^'' dressed, nice mannered, highly endorsed volumes that knock at the door of his library, and is not to be blamed if, when he sees his time and energies being wasted in an effort to decide which to admit and which to reject, he is tempted to slam the door in the face of all new comers and settle down to Emerson's advice, not to read a book that is not more than one year old. If in that mood, will the reader be advised and kindly make an exception in favor of this latest candidate for attention ? For Texas Garlands having been written is anxious to be read, and ought to be. These poems were not originally written with the deliberate inten- tion of giving them to the public in this form, but the author wrote for the love of it. Built up from the bloom of many summers, the author plucking the flowers that sprang up in her fertile fancy, this wellwrought wreath is now sent forth on its mission. The book is Texas born, Texas christened, and Texas bred, and like other Texas institutions stands on its merits. Give it a chance. Don't pass it by because it is new and unpretentious, nor because it hails from Austin instead of from Boston. But for certain unavoid- able circumstances it might have been written and published at the TEXAS GARLANDS. latter place instead of the former, not the least of which is — the author happened to be born in Texas. But where is the difference ? A mockingbird is equal to a nightingale, if it sings as sweetly — it is all in the song. The wild flowers of our prairies are as many colored and rich in their native beauty as the hot house bloom of northern latitudes. The author is not unknown as a writer, having long been a con- tributor, in prose and verse to matiy of the leading papers and peri- odicals of Texas. This volume will be gladly welcomed by a host of friends and admirers who have been cheered and charmed by her occasional pieces. Mrs. Martha E. Whitten, daughter of Judge Wra. S. Hotchkiss, one of the pioneer settlers of Austin, was born near Austin, in Travis county, Texas, on the third day of October, 1842, She attended B. J. Smith's Female Academy at Austin, for years; afterwards old McKen- zie College, under J. W. P. McKenzie, which latter fact is commem- orated in one of her most popular poems. She began writing verses at the early age of eleven years, and at twelve contributed to the press. Some of these earlier poems are included in this collection. These poems were written amid the burdens of domestic life. The cares of a large family have often forced the impatient pen to lie idle. But the songs are the sweeter for having been sung above the home nest. Many a weary housewife will find comfort and rest here, communing with one who walks by her side, and pours over the scenes and incidents of common-place life the mellow light of poesy. Happily the day is past, and our American poets have hastened it forward, when red handed war, deeds of the so called great, or the impossible doings of imaginary beings, can furnish the only themes for the Muses. The heart of genius touched and tuned by the hand INTRODUCTION. of the Crucified, finds its noblest inspiration in the struggles and ex- periences of its fellowmen, and its happiest etnployment in making life easier and brighter for them. Such has been the mission of the author of this volume. She has written, not for fame nor for pecu- niary advantage — but with a desire to do good. She recognizes the truth that Art is an instrument, not an end — A servant, not a master, nor a God To be bowed down to. Every verse has been laid at the feet of a higher Master. Every poem is shot through and through with the light of Christian hope. The reader will be reminded on every page that these garlands blossomed in the atmosphere of prayer, and that their roots struck deep in a ripe Christian experience. To the critical there will appear blemishes. How could it be other- wise? The sun has spots. But here is also true poetry, tender and beautiful, with occasional passages of surprising excellence and power, revealing like a flash of light the rare gifts of tlie author. If her Muse sometimes sinks to the common-place she as often ri.ses to the sublime. The lark that sings in the sky also builds her nest on the ground. • What is to be the career of this volume is in the hands of a dis- criminating public to determine. Of one thing be assured the author and book deserve a generous reception. W. W. PINSON. Austin, July 7, 1886. PREFIICE. f my readers — especially those dear friends at whose earnest ^X. soh'citations these poems have been compiled in book form and '^^ presented to the public, and whose kind words of loving cheer have been to us like "hidden treasure" urging us on to success. We confess it is with considerable trepidation that we have con- sented to launch our Texas Garlands upon the great sea of liter- ature, conscious as we are of their many imperfections, and yet we trust not altogether devoid of merit. These verses are no*, the fruits of leisure hours — we have had none. Life with us has been full of pressing duties and cares, but the gentle Muses have deigned to linger with us while performing our home duties and ministering to our dear ones — sometimes in the hush of evening while we were rocking a babe to sleep with gentle lullaby; sometimes in the fragrant woodland surrounded by all nature's loveliness; sometimes by the couch of a sufferer; but oftenest in the silence of the death chamber, where torn and bleeding hearts poured forth their uncontrollable grief in stifled moans and broken sobs. There are pieces here for the glad and gay — for the lonely and the bereaved. Reader ! if a great sorrow has weighed down your loving heart — if the Reaper has gathered some beautiful bud to him- self, leaving your heart torn and bleeding, then turn and read Our PREFACE. Dove With Folded Wings, or Little Pet — or if the coTipanion of your bosom has been borne to the silent home of the dead, then turn to Rest In Peace, or At The River, and be comforted. We have endeavored throughout this work, wherever we are conscious of ap- propriating the thoughts, or expressions of others, to give due credit, and yet, like some long forgotten strain, or some dream but half re- membered, perhaps the thoughts of others have intruded upon us when we were unconscious of it. Many of these poems have already been given to. the public in different newspapers and periodicals of our State, but by far the greater number appear in print for the first time. Reader! may you be comforted and benefitted by the perusal of these pages, and we can only hope that you may enjoy to some ex- tent iu reading them the pleasure that we have enjoyed in witting them. THE AUTHOR. AUSTIN CITY. W'USTIN ! fair city of our Southern land, l^y nature's gifts adorned on every hand ! What pen so gifted can thy beauties trace? Or tell the charms thy lovely features grace? What painter skilled can touch in varied dyes Thy changeful scenes ? Thy soft Italian skies ? Thy towering hills, thy fragrant leafy bowers; Thy gardens fair, abloom with choicest flowers? What noted lute attuned to songs of praise, In thy behalf can fittinn- music raise ? What Poet's song in measured flowering verse Can well the grandeur of thy scenes rehearse? Sure, Nature decked thee in her wanton pride, With more of beauty than an Eastern bride; Thy streets are teeming with commerce and gain; Thy suburbs still some pristine charms retain. Like quiet nuns, in sombre garb arrayed, Thy forest oaks lends here and there a shade; While fragrant cedars in their emerald dress, Enhance, fair ('ity, thy rare loveliness. 12 TEXAS GARLANDS. Thou sittest a Queen! Secure thy royal throne On statelier hills than e'er old Rome had known ; "We render homage to thy gentle sway, And mark with pleasure thy renown today. We, who caught first thy early cradle hymn, 'Mid grand old oaks with shadows weird and dim — Contrast delighted thy sublime career. Thy present glory with thy rude frontier. The red deer feasted on the grasses green, Where thy smooth pavements, and thy streets are seen; And now the hum of industry is heard Where caroled once the lonely singing bird. 'Mid clash of arms and sounding battle liorn, In the greensward wast thou, fair City, born. Born 'midst the terror of a despot's reign, While martyr's blood thy swaddling garments stain. Fear rocked thy infancy ! Thy lullaby The Indian warhoop, and the cayote's cry; A few rude cabins, dotted through the wood, The red man's missiles and the storms withstood. Like some fair flower, of wondrous beauty rare. Thou hast expanded 'neath artistic care; Business and thrift have to thy center poured ; Unlocked with magic touch thy wealthy hoard. AUSTIN CITY. 13 With what wild rapture now thy beauty thrills! Thy lovelit vales and glory-curtained hills; Thy stately structures — edifices grand, Embossed with splendor from the sculptor's hand. The Colorado, on whose tranquil breast More than ten thousand burnished rubies rest, As flashing back the sun's meridian rays Its rippling waters in refulgence blaze Embraces thee. With murmurings low and sweet, Pours constant homage at thy willing feet — Like mother love, its onward, ceasless flow, Gladdens thee still, as in the Long Ago. Grim, darkbrowed mountains — stately monarchs grand, Wrapping in shadow all the fertile land. Like giant lovers at thy north are seen. Guarding with vigilence their honored Queen. Fairest art thou in all this sunny land, With vast resources waiting thy command! May thy prosperity remain secure ! Through future ages may'st thou still endure ! 14 TEXAS GARLANDS. THE ISLE OF LONG AGO." f'HERE is a beautiful islet Kept green in life's dark main, Where relics of dear heart treasures Enrich its fair domain, And the heart full oft grown weary Witli its weight of care and woe Delights to wander backward To that Isle of Long Ago. There, friends we fondly cherished Are once more by our side; We forget in joyous greeting That they have crossed the tide. We forget in that blest reunion, The shadows that come and go; When we wander away in dream land, To that Isle of Long Ago. Its bowers in springtime verdure Prom us ne'er fade away; And its flowers of sweetest fragrance Ne'er wither by decay. And there. Love's faithful watchfires Through changeless seasons glow. While we wreathe in fadeless beauty, Tiiat Isle of Long Ago. MOTHER'S WORK. 15 Though faded hopes and broken vows Mark well earth's dreary track, Still there are cherished seasons Thr.t win affection back. Still there's a favored islet, Nor change nor blight can know — That blissful isle in memory — That Isle of Long Ago, MOTHER'S WORK. l^URSING and working, ^JfHer duty ne'er shirking, Who can a mother portray ? With heart and hand willing — Rare comforts distilling, To gladden her flock each day — Oh, who is so faithful to watch and to wait ? Toiling for little ones early and late. Making and mending, Ten thousand wants tending With motherly care; Winning and wooing, "Billing and cooing" Over her baby so fair; Hushing its cries with her lullaby song, Seeking its happiness all the day long. TEXAS GARLANDS. Commending, or chiding, The little feet guiding Into the "narrow way;" Reproving or blessing, With tender caressing. Seeking her duty each day; Her heart breathing prayers from morning till night- God bless my children, and guide them aright.'' Baking and broiling; Constantly toiling. Suiting the daintiest taste; Changing and turning, Her hands ne'er spurning, Aught that secures from waste; Doing, and doing from morning till night. Making home happy, and little ones bright. Knitting and sewing, Her duties pursuing. Scarce knowing leisure or rest; Ugly rents repairing, Time nor trouble sparing. In aught that makes children blest; Fashioning, fitting, arranging with care, Beautiful clothes for her darlings to wear. Staying the patter, The noise and the clatter Of so many restless feet; MOTHER'S WORK. 17 Washing their faces, Adding new graces To dimpled cheeks downy and sweet; Combing and braiding the soft silken hair, With deft fingers robing her children so fair. Teaching and training. The wayward restraining; Leading each dear little hand; No Monarch of State Has a mission so great — No General such a command. Oh, who has so much to perplex and annoy ? * Or who knows a tithe of a mother's pure joy ? Herself forgetting, Their crying and fretting She soothes with gentle caress; To cure all their bruises, Her kiss ne'er refuses, Her love healing each distress; Wiio can the charms of a mother unfold ? Or tell of her worth "Above rubies and gold?" Watching and weeping. While others are sleeping, Keeping her vigil alone; With heart well nigh breaking. Her post ne'er forsaking Beside her suffering one; Bathing his temple, arranging his bed. Smoothing the pillow for the dear little head. TEXAS GARLANDS. ***** In yonder homo lonely, One little lamb only The Shepherd would spare; It grew in rare beauty, The mother's sole duty To tend it with care. But now pale and cold sleeps that dear little one, And mother is resting ; her mission is done. GALVESTON CITY. "^^AIL sunny isle ! Hail city by the sea ! ^/Galveston ! I would wake a song for thee ; Of thee may poets sing in rapturous lays, For tliy rare beauty merits lofty praise. Like some fair queen of royal birth — alone Thou'rt reigning today on thy wave girt throne; Of thee, Galveston! Texas well may boast — A wealthy "gem" worn on her wave washed coast. We saw thee first in all thy springtime bloom, "When regal lilies donned their crimson plume; When breezes laden with ten thousand sweets, Strayed through thy groves and cheered thy busy streets. GALVPJSTON CITY. Thy princely homes, embowered with climbing vines, Where honeysuckle with the rose entwines — Far lovelier haunts than Naiads ever knew Arose in splendor to our wondering view. Thy "angry lover"* as the poets tell, Still binds thee fast with his enchanting spell; His swelling heart, in all its yearning pride, Longs to embrace thee as a willing bride. Constant devotion he pours at thy feet. With low soft murmur sings thy praises sweet; He is sobbing and moaning with sad refrain — For thou'rl mocking his love with cold disdain. Thou charming queen ! Thou hast listened long To Ills sobbing moans, and ijis ceaseless song: Thou art still repelling his wanton charms; Thou dost still recede from his frothy arms. Galveston ! Lovely city by the sea ! We fondly cherish pleasant tiioughts of thee; Of gentle hearts whose kind, attentive care, Gladdened our stay upon thy island fair. God guard and keep thee ! May no storm o'erwhelra Thee, lovely city, in thy wave bound realm; May never ihi/ corse 'neath the billowy brine With sleeping mermaids in death recline. ^>Iolly E. Mooro styleil the Gulf, tJalvestou'n angry lover. •20 7EXAS GARLANDS. OUR LILLIE. ^iV — Faded Flowers. DEDICATED TO MR. AND MRS. J. H. ROBINSON, OF OUR CITY. e.O fair was our bud in unfolding, So lovely the casket of clay, That angels from heaven beholding, Soon beckoned our idol away. 'Mid the bleak winds of earth blowing roughly, Mid sorrow, affliction and guile, 'Twas mete that a being so lovely Should only remain a brief while. Not paler the cold chiseled marble, We've reared o'er her last resting place; Than was the sweet face of our darling, While sleeping in death's chill embrace. We'll scatter the violets and roses. In beauty and fragrance around The spot where our Lillie reposes, Unwaked by the zephyr's low sound. We'll not plant the yew and the cypress; Unfitting their dark verdure there. Or the willow with low hanging branches, To shadow the grave of our fair. Stern death may each cherished hope sever. But we'll plant the amaranth* there, For we know that she liveth forever, In that land where the pure spirits are. THE DARK IS COMING DOWN:' 21 "While teardrops our eyes are fast dimming, And grief rends each true loving breast. Our Lillie in heaven is hymning The songs of the happy and blest. We bow 'neath this chastenmg sorrow, Our Father can lessen the pain, And we wait for that glorious morrow When we shall meet our darling again. *The emblem of the amarauth is immortality. ^THE DARK IS COMING DOWN." ^"N earnest child with thoughtful brow, ^'\ And learned beyond his years, With anxious look" and questions grave, By grandma's side appears. All evening long his gossip sweet. For her such music made; They noted not the flying hours, Nor marked the gathering shade. Intent on learning something more. He plied his questions still; The evening shadows longer grew. And wrapped the distant hill. They settled o'er the grove and vale. And o'er the busy town; He started — "Grandma, I must go," "The dark is coming down." 22 TEXAS GARLANDS. Hp hurried off with Hying feet, Nor stayed his rapid pace, Till safe at home in mother's arms. Clasped in her fond embrace; With her warm kiss upon his cheek, Her love his heart to crown; What cared he then for gath'ring night, For "dark fast coming down." In future years that yet may come To that devoted child, May friends be near to comfort hi in. Should tempests gather wild. And, oh ! should fiery trials come. And changeful fortune frown, God keep him safely in Thy care When '-the dark is coming down." When this life with us is over, When its duties all are done, As our feet shall tread that porlal, Whither all must walk alone; When death's mists are gathering o'er us. And its waves our senses drown; Then, oh, blessed Savior, keep us, When "the dark is coming down." HI^J fS RESTTNG. 23 HE IS RESTING. IN MEMORY OF REV. B. J. SMITH,* THIS HUMBLE TRIBUTE IS AFB'KCTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY HIS FRIEND AND FORMER PUPIL. i-E is resting ! 'Tis vacation ! I 'Holiday has just begun ! He is resting from his labors As he ne'er before hath done. Life with him was long and useful, And with deeds of love replete — Let him rest as rests the faithful — Ne'er before was rest so sweet. He is resting — as the warrior Who has conquered all his foes; As the watchman — true to duty Seeks at last his sweet repose; As the brave and fearless hero, When the battle's strife is done, Weary, seeks his waiting pillow, Calmly sleeps at set of sun. Many trophies for the Savior He had gathered by the way; They may not be known or numbei'ed Til! eternity's great day. When its light so grand and glorious Radiates our world below — When God's record shall be opened, Then, perhaps, we each may know. 24r TEXAS GARLANDS. Lo ! a throng of white-robed angels — Pupils who have gone before, Tune their harps to bid him welcome As he nears the golden shore; Happy souls who long have lingered 'Mid those heavenly visions fair; And we wonder who is pupil — Who the teacher over there. Hear the Savior's joyful welcome — "Servant of the Lord, well done," " Rest from sin and pain and labor " — Earth is lost and heaven won. He is resting, sweetly resting — Gone the cross — secure the crown, In the glory of His presence Wliere the dark no more comes down.]^ *Rev. B. J. Smith, who passed iiway July 4, 1882, ha 03 n H H ^ tr- tr ee a> l-b o a' V S cr CO CD 5' r5 B CO 3 P 'r> CD ■ji (^ '-i P P rn en a ^ o n O