Class 
 Book 
 
 Gopyright^^ l<j \ .1 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
DREAMS 
 OF YESTERDAY 
 
 BY 
 
 Henry E. Harm an 
 
 M 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 IN PEACEFUL VALLEY 
 
 AT THE GATE OF DREAMS 
 
 IN love's DOMAIN 
 
 GATES OF TWILIGHT 
 
 Publishers 
 
 the state company 
 
 columbia, s. c. 
 
Copyright, 1911 
 )V H. E. Harman 
 
 A 
 
 CI.A3140G4 
 
To Her 
 
 Who Dreams With Me 
 
 The Golden Dreams of Yesterday 
 
 These Simple Songs 
 
 Are Tenderly Inscribed 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Dreams of Yesterday 
 
 8unset .... 
 
 Your Ahseiicc . 
 
 An Old Song . 
 
 What She Brought Me 
 
 An Old Mansion . 
 
 To Einna . 
 
 A Song in the Night 
 
 To a Little Child . 
 
 Manila Bag 
 
 Lovers, You and I . 
 
 Egypt .... 
 
 To an Old Cypress 
 
 Just Longing For You 
 
 My Immortality 
 
 A Carolina Garden 
 
 Pilgrim and Cavalier 
 
 Wood Songs 
 
 The Songs Unsung 
 
 Gray Dawn 
 
 Hallowe'en . 
 
 A Palace in the Pines 
 
 My Hymn . 
 
 The Enchanted Road 
 
 Spring Once More in Carolin 
 
 Silent Vendors 
 
 Two Women . 
 
 Oglethorpe 
 
 Gray Meadows 
 
 Sea and Soul . 
 
 At Tim rod's Grave 
 
 A Plea for Peace . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 3 
 
 7 
 8 
 9 
 10 
 11 
 12 
 14 
 15 
 16 
 17 
 19 
 20 
 21 
 22 
 23 
 25 
 29 
 30 
 31 
 32 
 33 
 35 
 37 
 38 
 40 
 43 
 44 
 46 
 47 
 50 
 
W'luil tJic Mdiidolin ^aid 
 Pine (iiicl Cloud 
 A II (/list Afternoon . 
 (\i/iitJiia'S Garden . 
 Weep Not For Those 
 Has (jone the l^Uent \ 
 Long Lost Days 
 June .... 
 ^Vhen ^^e ^haU Meet 
 Mufidalene . 
 AprU .... 
 Memonfs (i'lft . 
 Night in the Tropics 
 Yellow Jasmine 
 Land of ''Somewhere" 
 Tlic PciHilfj/ of ^in 
 (ill ill J/ *SV'«. . 
 Apple Blossoms 
 t^arol'uia 
 
 The Youth Seekers- 
 Coast of Florida, 
 
 ('!J 
 
 PAGE 
 53 
 
 55 
 56 
 57 
 59 
 60 
 60 
 61 
 66 
 67 
 69 
 69 
 71 
 72 
 74 
 76 
 78 
 79 
 83 
 
 A Legend of the East 
 
 89 
 
DREAMS OF YESTERDAY. 
 
'^Whilc she drraincd in silent wonder all he)- dreams 
 of yesterday — '' 
 
DREAMS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Where the sunset glory lingered in the Autumn's 
 
 crimson glow, 
 With a glance she swept the meadows, where the 
 
 shadows deeper grow, 
 But she did not see the shadows, nor the phantoms 
 
 there at play, 
 For her busy soul Avas dreaming all her dreams of 
 
 yesterday. 
 
 Brow of girlhood, once so tender, now all marked 
 
 with lines of care. 
 Hand of Time, forever busy, left his print of 
 
 sorrows there; 
 Auburn hair, a woman's glory, now bestrewn with 
 
 threads of gray. 
 While she dreamed in silent wonder all her dreams 
 
 of yesterday. 
 
 Once again she heard the whisper of a lover at her 
 
 side. 
 Once again she felt the blushes maiden shyness 
 
 could not hide; 
 Then she closed her eyes in silence, like one bowing 
 
 down to pray, 
 Blessing Fate for leaving still her sacred dreams 
 
 of yesterday. 
 
Mingled with life's sweetest music, woven as a 
 
 silver string, 
 Comes an echo, soft and tender, in the lisp of one 
 
 sweet thing : 
 And the Mother eyes grow pensive, as they wander 
 
 far away. 
 Seeing yet the baby laughter in her dreams of 
 
 yesterday, 
 
 She has lived to golden Autumn, tlirougli Life's 
 
 Spring and Summer time, 
 She has weighed tlie joy of living, in its innocence 
 
 and prime; 
 She has learned that Love, the Master, sings the 
 
 softest roundelay 
 And is fairest of her idols in the dreams of 
 
 vesterdav. 
 
SUNSET 
 
 My beautiful sun, going out tlirougli the gates of 
 
 the West, 
 Going out through the mist covered valleys of 
 
 rest: 
 All day, every bloom that bespangled the meadows 
 
 of Spring 
 Has wrapped you in love, so close to its odorous 
 
 breast. 
 
 My beautiful sun, like messenger silent and 
 
 still, 
 How softly you warm the green bearded wheat on 
 
 the hill : 
 No wonder that men, in the long ago, worshipped 
 
 your name 
 And bowed in obedience, close to your reverent 
 
 will. 
 
 What lotus-bound shores do you pass in your 
 
 journey of night? 
 What valley of dreams do you see in the half 
 
 hidden light? 
 What echo of songs, long lost to the mortals who 
 
 weep, 
 Lifts soft, as you sail, througli the dream-guarded 
 
 vistas of flight? 
 
'*/ have watched the red West, where your last 
 
 waning beams glorify 
 Each loitcrliK/ cloud' — ^^ 
 
I wonder what zepliyr-swept coasts, where the red 
 poppy grows, 
 
 Thus impelling those dreams of delight each 
 mariner knows. 
 
 You touch with your beams, while man in forget- 
 fulness dreams : 
 
 What wind of the blest in the path of your jour- 
 neying blows? 
 
 Ill 
 
 I have seen you go down where the wondrous West 
 
 was afire. 
 And caught your last look from gold-pointed 
 
 cloister spire 
 And wonder what dreams you must pass in the 
 
 silence of night, 
 As you travel the odorous vales through the land 
 
 of desire. 
 
 I have watched the red West, where your fast 
 
 waning beams glorify 
 Each loitering cloud, that sails in indolence by, 
 And have asked the first star, if the secrets you 
 
 keep he could tell. 
 But the star twinkles on, too happy to make me 
 
 reply. 
 
IV 
 
 My beautiful sun, like a curfew of silence you call, 
 
 From field and from mart, your manifold chil- 
 dren, all 
 
 Who roam in your light, but in shade and dim 
 shadows take fright, 
 
 And seek the home nest, ere the phantoms of 
 darkness shall fall. 
 
 I've seen in the meadow the Summer bird busy all 
 day. 
 
 Forgetful of mate in joy of self-pleasing lay. 
 
 Who, missing the light, in the stealthy approach 
 of the night. 
 
 Turned song into search and joy into sudden 
 dismay. 
 
 Good-night, sweet sun, going out through the 
 
 gates of the AVest; 
 I, too, some da}- shall iiass through the portals of 
 
 rest. 
 And like you go out, to the mystical land of the 
 
 night, 
 Like you, on the Morrow, awake for Eternity's 
 
 quest. 
 
YOUR ABSENCE 
 
 The cherry trees have bloomed again since last 
 
 you went away 
 But I am weary and have missed your presence 
 
 just as they; 
 I walk among our garden things and tell tliem 
 
 you'll return, 
 Thougli, as I softly lisp your name, the words with 
 
 sorroAV burn. 
 
 The datfodils came back on time, with cups all full 
 
 of gold, 
 Yet did not bring the thrill of joy they brought in 
 
 days of old, 
 And well I know, along the hedge, where they are 
 
 wont to grow. 
 They miss the step and welcome smile of one who 
 
 loves them so. 
 
 rose lane, 
 And busy thrush is singing too, but in a minor 
 
 strain ; 
 I did not know how much your voice was woven 
 
 in the lay 
 Of every blessed bird of ours, until you went 
 
 away. 
 
I wisli for Avords as many as the leaves upon tlie 
 
 trees 
 And words as sweet as meadow blooms that lure 
 
 the crafty bees 
 That I could tell you, o'er the miles that separate 
 
 us far, 
 How all the glories of the Spring- are asking where 
 
 you are. 
 
 AN OLD SONG 
 
 Her wistful glances swept the golden West, 
 
 Where Day had laid to rest 
 His sweet-faced dreams, entrusting to the Night 
 
 These children of the light. 
 
 She turned about, within the dim-lit room, 
 
 Holy with twilight bloom; 
 Then in the stillness sung an olden tune 
 
 From Youth's forgotten June. 
 
 Without I listened to the words that fell 
 
 Like magic-woven spell : 
 And some one opened wide the palace gates 
 
 Where Love, the Master, waits. 
 
WHAT SHE BROUGHT MB 
 
 Soft tenderness from eyes that never frown, 
 But charm with pleading as they look away, 
 Whose gaze bestows me with a royal crown 
 Yet makes me serf within their range of gray. 
 
 A holy presence; when she moved abont 
 The room or garden somehow Gladness bent 
 And gilded all the landscape in and out 
 And made me worship like a penitent. 
 
 At eventide when she was wont to sing 
 A touch of Heaven hung about the room, 
 A symphony, like some immortal thing 
 In all the mystic gloaming seemed to bloom. 
 
 And in the night time, when she knelt to pray 
 And bowed her head upon the table tliere. 
 Then every doubt within me passed away. 
 She and her God to me alone were fair. 
 
 What did she bring? Ask at the golden gate 
 What Heaven brings to those who enter in : 
 She brought the best that comes to those who wait : 
 She brought me Love, to God the nearest kin. 
 
AN OLD MANSION 
 
 Back from the river's creeping tide 
 It stands among the silent pines. 
 
 Beyond are meadows, stretching wide: 
 O'er all the Autumn sunlight shines. 
 
 Gray chimneys lift above the trees 
 That coming guest might see from far 
 
 They bid a welcome as he sees 
 
 The mansion's friendly gates unbar. 
 
 Here lives a spirit of the past 
 That nevermore sliall live again, 
 
 A picture that is fading fast 
 Through Time's relenting rain. 
 
 The master who was ruler here 
 
 Now sleeps beneath yon cypress trees, 
 
 Upon whose branches, old and sere. 
 The gray moss sadly grieves. 
 
 f 
 
 10 
 
TO EINNA 
 
 Einna, the years have slowly crept, 
 
 As we Love's secret kept; 
 
 Each blessed Spring, with rose and rue, 
 Has brought its scented thoughts of you, 
 
 While Pity with me wept. 
 
 The Autumns pass in crimson haze. 
 
 With Sumacs all ablaze; 
 
 Bleak Winter, with its fields of snow 
 Leaves weary hearts, then turns to go, 
 
 While your sweet memory stays. 
 
 Ah bless the day when first we met. 
 
 One day beyond regret — 
 
 When Love the Master, soft and true, 
 His dearest secret told to you — 
 
 I hear his whisper yet. 
 
 No matter if the hand of Fate 
 
 Between us closed the gate ; 
 
 The lilac blooms are sweeter far 
 Because of you; and every star 
 Guards Mem'ry's doorway, half ajar, 
 
 Where I, contented, wait. 
 
 11 
 
A SONG IN THE NIGHT 
 
 A weird, sweet gloom, the perfumed Southern night 
 
 Envelope hill and vale, 
 While far away, upon a sea of light, 
 
 Star-craft in wonder sail. 
 
 Along the hedgerow crimson poppies blaze 
 
 Into red passion's fire, 
 The primrose lifts its cup in purple haze 
 
 Filled with the night's desire. 
 
 So tense the silence, so profound its peace 
 
 That where the zephyrs went 
 Their noiseless feet the tangled vines release 
 
 In loving wonderment. 
 
 A clump of myrtles bloomed along the hill. 
 
 One strange bouquet of white, 
 These, with the moon and starlight, seemed to fill 
 
 The mystery of night. 
 
 night of silence, slumber of the soul 
 
 Of eager, restless day, 
 
 1 marvel not yon bird could not withhold 
 
 Its love-impassioned lay. 
 
 12 
 
II 
 
 Somehow the slender bauds of sleep 
 
 Untangled as I heard 
 Faint echoes through my window creep 
 Of singing mockiug-bird. 
 
 I leaned without the casement far 
 To hear each love-spent note: 
 
 Then some one left the gates ajar 
 
 Through which old mem'ries float. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The years slipped back to other days, 
 Each bar of song was twined about 
 With one lost face, within whose gaze 
 Old dreams and hopes went out. 
 
 The years slipped back, I knew not how, 
 I only knew I heard a song : 
 Then thought of some one's spoken vow 
 And knew that love is strong. 
 
 I wondered not that tears sliould fall; 
 Who would not sadly weep as I 
 Should some one from the hedgerow call 
 Who long has dwelt on high? 
 
 13 
 
TO A LITTLE CHILD 
 
 Dear Innocence, by sin yet undefiled, 
 
 Dear eyes of wonderment, 
 I look along your pathway, rough and wild, 
 
 With sun and shadow blent : 
 Dear untried feet, tender and soft and white, 
 
 Dear hands without a scar, 
 How my strong love would hold you in its might 
 
 And keep you as you are. 
 
 Alas, I know the pitfalls that await 
 
 Your dear untravelled feet, 
 What sins shall snare, beyond sweet Childhood's 
 gate 
 
 Where will and duty meet: 
 I know the heart-aches that will fill your soul. 
 
 The bitter draught of sin. 
 The broken idols, you must chance behold, 
 
 Before the journey's end. 
 
 Dear Innocence, if I could walk ahead, 
 
 Along your untried way 
 And feel its cutting stones and thorns instead 
 
 Of you, from day to day; 
 How I would shield you witli my circling arms 
 
 And wall you round about, 
 My wishes guard, like some mysterious charm. 
 
 Your going in and out! 
 
 14 
 
MANILA BAY 
 
 Along the gray New England hills, 
 Along the Hudson's valley wide, 
 The sight of Spring's awaking thrills 
 The Summer's coming tide : 
 
 Through Sunny Dixie's fields of green 
 And where the Western rivers flow. 
 The blossoms of the May are seen 
 Nodding, while soft winds blow: 
 
 When sullen, through the stillness of the day, 
 Came with the peace and silence of the May 
 Weird sound of Dewey's guns from far Manila Bay. 
 
 The sound disturbed the peace of tropic lands. 
 It loosed the chain made fast by tyrant hands. 
 And to oppression, like the ages old, 
 It came as when the knell of death is tolled. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Across the wide Pacific wastes it flew, 
 Benighted hearts that heard its whisper knew 
 That Freedom wider still her banners threw 
 And planted Hope where Desolation grew. 
 
 15 
 
IV 
 
 Along the street in Freedom's blessed land 
 
 Men wept and smiled and clasped the trembling 
 
 hand ; 
 In empty homes, where wife or mother prated 
 For absent ones, some conscious touch allayed 
 Old fright and dread; for Hope bloomed like the 
 
 May, 
 When Dewey's ships sailed in Manila Bay, 
 
 LOVERS, YOU AND I 
 
 The moonlight slept upon the water's breast. 
 The June grass reached unto the water's edge. 
 While shadow-clouds sped like a soul's unrest 
 Across the lake. Beside the perfumed hedge 
 Like timid child, you stole with me along 
 The myrtle path, where Love had never been : 
 And when I pressed your hand a night bird's son< 
 Frightened you so, as if forbidden sin 
 Had claimed your soul, when lovers, you and I, 
 Were making joy, for which all others sigh. 
 
 16 
 
EGYPT 
 
 Thou patriarch of nations, wrinkled, gray, 
 Crouching beside thy well beloved Nile, 
 I marvel not the hand of Doom sliould lay 
 So heavy as to hide thy ancient smile. 
 
 If every grain of sand along thy shore 
 Measured a cycle of a thousand years, 
 Counting them all, thy age would still be more, 
 Tlieir measured grief would scarce be half thy 
 tears. 
 
 Thy watch-dog Sphynxes on the desert stand, 
 Invisible the flocks of ghosts they keep; 
 Their grief as boundless as the endless sand 
 That stretches far beyond the vision's sweep. 
 
 Grim land of mummies, where the hot winds creep. 
 Desert of lip-closed secrets of all years, 
 Thy crimes have hardened clouds that cannot weep 
 And crushed thee far beyond the flow of tears. 
 
 If thy sad Nile no pity for thee kept 
 And brought no blessings from the mountain side, 
 Thy woes, alas, would then be doubly wept 
 And Desolation all thy visage hide! 
 
 Ghost of the past : Mother of fallen Pride, 
 Keeper of groans the keenest suffering knows. 
 Stretch far thy sands and let the desert hide 
 Thy crimes and grief, perchance to ease thy woes. 
 
 17 
 
'Oray remnant of the cruel years,' 
 
TO AN OLD CYPRESS 
 
 Gray remnant of the cruel years, 
 Aged vassal of the winds that blow! 
 The measure of your unwept tears, 
 The measure of your nameless fears 
 Would fill the stoutest heart with woe. 
 
 Lifting your unprotected head 
 Within the fury of the rain. 
 Mocking the storms that o'er you tread 
 Mocking the ills that mortals dread, 
 You scoff at awe and pain. 
 
 The winds have wearied of their rage 
 To wrest you from the mountain side : 
 Of faith you keep the heritage 
 Which valor gives to noble age : 
 Amid the wrecks you still abide. 
 
 How bitter was the Winter's cold ! 
 
 How fierce the winds that round you swept. 
 
 These secrets you will not unfold, 
 
 Their story will remain untold : 
 
 These safely in your soul are kept. 
 
 Stand out, gray cypress, let men see 
 Your form against the firmament; 
 For Courage make your silent plea, 
 Teach us your creed, O noble tree, 
 Lift high your own gray monument. 
 
 19 
 
JUST LONGING FOR YOU 
 
 I 
 I cannot tell yon through the many miles that 
 
 intervene, 
 Across the many leagues of sea that sadly lie 
 
 between, 
 How my poor longings stretch away beyond the 
 
 distant view — 
 Like pleading liands of penitent, just wishing for 
 
 you. 
 
 Our Southern skies are just as blue as they have 
 
 always been. 
 Our Summer fields are just as fair and flower- 
 
 hued; but then 
 When I look up to watch the stars, as we were 
 
 wont to do 
 When you were here, ah how I plead, just longing 
 
 for you. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I walk among the flowering things, out in our 
 
 garden fair. 
 And linger, watching rose and vine weave glory 
 
 everywliere, 
 I stoop and kiss tlie glossy leaves just as you used 
 
 to do — 
 Tlien all the blossoms weep with me, just longing 
 
 for vou. 
 
 20 
 
MY IMMORTALITY 
 
 I 
 It matters not how cold the grave may be, 
 Nor yet how far the stretch of vast eternity : 
 It matters not how dark Oblivion's pall 
 Upon the memory of me may sternly fall, 
 If she and I, at last, together sleep 
 In one small grave so dark, so still, so deep; 
 For that old love, Avhich bless'd our human day 
 Would live and thrill beneath Death's sodden clay. 
 
 It matters not what other shores may wait 
 My feet beyond : or what relentless Fate 
 Shall there decree, of happiness or woe — 
 If cycles swiftly speed or slowly go : — 
 If she may walk those hidden shores with me 
 As here — then all the vastness of eternity 
 Will satisfy. But should I miss her there 
 Then Paradise itself would mean despair. 
 
 Ill 
 Above all else, dear God, I hold this prize 
 Of love that looks through wistful human eyes : 
 Above all else in life it means to me— 
 Wealth, lands and home; and even Destiny 
 For it I'd dare: — so Thou wilt not deny 
 My right to cherish and, as well, to die 
 For Thy great gift — meaning far more than all 
 Thy other blessings, which to mortals fall. 
 
 21 
 
A CAROLINA GARDEN 
 
 Larkspur, hollyhocks and the constant phlox 
 
 Blossom along the wall. 
 Outside whose gate the hand of some one knocks 
 
 And unseen footsteps fall. 
 
 Down yonder path gray pinks and asters meet 
 
 Where foxgloves mix about : 
 The rose vine climbs upon the wall to greet 
 
 The daisy blooms without. 
 
 All day gardenias and the jasmine vine 
 
 Distill and scent the air 
 With odors that the blessed past entwine 
 
 With one no longer there. 
 
 Within a clump of old mock orange trees, 
 
 Which to the past belong, 
 The wild thrush sings a minor note and weaves 
 
 A sadness to his song. 
 
 Garden of mem'ries where the past is kept 
 
 Afresh with bloom and vine. 
 For her you leave no blessed day unwept: 
 
 Each blossom is her shrine. 
 
 22 
 
PILGRIM AND CAVALIER 
 
 The Pilgrim knelt upon the rock-bound coast, 
 
 Lifting his voice in prayer; 
 From him the stillness heard no vaunting boast 
 
 His coming to declare — 
 For in his soul the peace of reason glowed 
 
 And blessed his new abode. 
 
 The Cavalier from far Castilian shore 
 Bestrode you tropic beach, 
 
 Athirst for land and all its golden store 
 Seeming within his reach : 
 
 No mercy his, but only greed and quest 
 His mission in the West. 
 
 The tardy years grind slowly but repay 
 
 The right and wrong of man : 
 Where Pilgrim built upon the coast of gray 
 
 His children now command ; 
 But all the coasts of Yucatan display 
 
 Spain's glory in decay. 
 
 23 
 
''Each friendly pinr .stdiid-s as a scutlncl^' 
 
WOOD SONGS 
 
 This is God's cliiirch ; as wide and broad and free 
 As those great lessons that are taught herein; 
 No pent up wall of mortar, mixed with sin, 
 Denotes one spot where man shall bow the knee; 
 But outAvard, onward, vast as is the sky 
 And outward, onward, vaster than the sea 
 This church extends, that man may ever be 
 On sacred soil, his God to glorify! 
 
 Each friendly pine stands as a sentinel, 
 Lifting aloft its canopy of green. 
 To shield the worshipper who kneels between 
 And to the stars his simple message tell. 
 Herein the Master teaches. Those who know 
 And understand his language in the breeze. 
 Who fellowship can claim with friendly trees, 
 May hear his whisper in the winds that blow. 
 
 Here, where the lifted branches intertwine 
 To canopy a nook surpassing fair. 
 Closed to the summer sunlight's outer glare 
 The tireless thrush, in silver notes define 
 How sweet Content and Joy go hand in hand; 
 While just beyond, the mocking-bird, perched high. 
 Where he can see both smiling world and sky. 
 Proclaims his creed, which all can understand. 
 
 25 
 
"I asked the brook to rod it n-ith )ue a while" 
 
I pity him who never yet has known 
 
 Thy peace and solace, faithful woods, nor seen 
 
 The pictured beauty of thy shade and sheen, 
 
 Nor caught the music by thy soft winds blown, 
 
 I pity him, who never yet has heard 
 
 God's low, sweet whisper in this plenteous shade. 
 
 Whose soul of guilt upon the altar laid 
 
 Finds pardon for the ways wherein he err'd. 
 
 Here I have watched the sun paint red tlie West, 
 Leaving the picture of some undefined 
 Glory that man lias sought for and repined. 
 Because it lifted far beyond his quest, 
 Yet, had he looked about the silent wood, 
 And listened to the soft sweet notes that strayed 
 From every hushed and leaf embowered shade. 
 The peace of God would find, just where he stood. 
 
 Come here, my soul, and let us talk alone : 
 These beechen trees shall be our sentinels. 
 To guard the secret that each other tells; 
 Come, let us reap the fields where we have sown. 
 Where we have sinned we bow, and here confess; 
 Where we have wronged, our gains we now restore ; 
 If we have hurt, forgiveness we implore; 
 Out of the past to holier ways we press. 
 
 27 
 
Adown this sun-kissed vale wiiicli runs along 
 The slanting hills, with singing brook between, 
 A thousand dew-wet blooming things are seen — 
 A thousand birds rehearse some sweet old song; 
 And where the deeper woodland shadows lie. 
 Back, where the chestnuts grow so rank and tall, 
 There one can hear the better echoes call 
 And feel new peace as clear as yonder sky. 
 
 I asked the brook to wait with me a while 
 
 Here, where the Spring was bursting into flower 
 
 Just be a laggard for one lazy hour. 
 
 But he passed on with well contented smile: 
 
 "I haste away, to where the meadows wide. 
 
 Fringe all my banks with buttercups, and vine 
 
 And yellow jasmines o'er me intertwine; 
 
 To where awaits the ocean's welcome tide." 
 
 Again I met this happy singing brook 
 Down where the beeches hedge its shores about 
 And where the bramble vines ran in and out 
 Singing along, with more expectant look: 
 "I cannot wait, the South is calling me, 
 Tomorrow I shall kiss the blue-bells rare 
 That dip their heads upon my bosom there, 
 Then I shall haste to join the waiting sea." 
 
 28 
 
^'N'lio has not learned to leave the world aside 
 And sometimes worship in this chapel dim, 
 Has yet to listen to that mystic hymn 
 Which Lethe sings for those who here abide. 
 Who has not learned to reckon here alone 
 With self and sin and computation make 
 Of life's few years, will never rouse nor wake 
 To Duty's call, until her call is gone. 
 
 THE SONGS UNSUNG 
 
 The poet sings his myrtle scented song; 
 Its echoes tremble down the dateless years; 
 Men hear and whistle, as they pass along, 
 Forgetful of life's worries and its cares. 
 
 The poet dies, leaving, alas ! unsung 
 His sweetest lay. The words of burnished gold 
 Were in his heart but there, unspoken, clung; 
 The lips could not his meaning half unfold. 
 
 The poet sleeps, taking into his grave, 
 The melodies he heard but could not tell; 
 The sweetest notes he to his fellows gave 
 Were faint to those which in his crypt shall dwell. 
 
 29 
 
GRAY DAWN 
 
 The city sleeps! Like monster, many-eyed, 
 Its heart throbs slow, within the gray of dawn, 
 Too weary now for laughter or a yawn : 
 This is the ebb-flow of its human tide. 
 
 The last gay reveller now seeks repose 
 Upon a couch, where old Regret will be 
 Companion and as restless tliere as he; 
 Paying the tribute sullen Fates impose. 
 
 Crime hurries past : the day is not for him. 
 Save to forget, in morbid slumber, all 
 His ill-wrouglit deeds, which in his dreaming call 
 Aloud for penance, through his chamber dim. 
 
 She, of the crimson world, no longer seeks 
 Her timid victims through the lanes of night : 
 The gray of dawn awakens sudden fright 
 Within her soul, where weeping Conscience speaks. 
 
 The mass bells toll. A priest with cross and scroll 
 Seeks yonder cloister, with its incense sweet. 
 Where Guilt his weird confessions will repeat. 
 And ask a pardon for his weary soul. 
 
 Through mists of gloom a worker's hasty tread 
 Breaks the dim silence, going forth to spin, 
 That bread may bless his home and tliose within : 
 And now the sleeper wakes: the East is red. 
 
 30 
 
HALLOWE'EN 
 
 O HalloweVu ! sweet Hallowe'en ! 
 How mystic phantoms and the sheen 
 Of dimly fading years are seen 
 
 Far down the dreamer's way. 
 As children, in the days of yore, 
 We fain would look behind the door 
 Of Time and read prophetic lore, 
 
 E'en as we do today! 
 
 O Hallowe'en ! dear Hallowe'en I 
 A tender face comes back serene 
 And mem'ries from the window lean 
 
 To catch its look once more; 
 All ! merry sparkle of lier eyes, 
 A maiden's blush, a maiden's sighs : 
 Only their echoes now arise 
 
 From Time's mysterious shore. 
 
 O Hallowe'en! dear Hallowe'en, 
 You lift sweet fancies yet between 
 The Now and Yesterdays, as clean 
 
 As lilies of the May; 
 Come yet when Autumn glories spread 
 Their Sumac colors overhead 
 To bless the spot where sleep our dead 
 
 And tell us what they say. 
 
 31 
 
A PALACE IN THE PINES 
 
 Hidden among the whispering pines I found, 
 
 Far from the haunts of man, 
 A lowly cot, where silences abound. 
 
 Save fluted notes of Pan. 
 
 Here, all day long, his reed beguiled tlie leaves 
 
 Which tangle overhead, 
 Like phantom song some lonely Echo weaves 
 
 For Dryads when they wed. 
 
 But every note that waked the meadows far 
 
 Was soothed by Love's caress. 
 And rose, like incense, to each waiting star. 
 
 Its gladness to confess. 
 
 Day wore her smile: the sunbeams flooded all 
 
 The wooded aisles with light; 
 Tlien Silence brooded, save where niglit-birds call 
 
 Aroused the sylvan Night. 
 
 Witliin the cot lean Poverty was guest 
 
 And cast his shadow there; 
 But those who passed him, in and out, were bless'd. 
 
 For Love made all tilings Fair. 
 
 The scanty bread and newly vintaged wine 
 
 By unseen hand increas'd, 
 For sweet Content lier benedictions twine 
 
 Where Love sits at the feast. 
 
 32 
 
MY HYMN 
 
 Dark-visaged Storm, break all thy pent-up wrath 
 Where furled seas sweep o'er their trackless path ! 
 
 Peal, Thunders, peal, 
 
 AVith death-exacting- zeal; 
 Then fall, Sweet Peace, as Fury's aftermath, 
 That you may teach the Master's mighty hand 
 And bid us understand 
 What pow'r, to rise and rule, the Master hath. 
 
 Come, Spring, sweet Spring, and star the meadows 
 
 wide 
 With thy rare blossoms. And where shadows hide 
 
 Along the edge 
 
 Of woodland's weedy hedge, 
 There teach thy pale forget-me-nots abide. 
 Then from these blooms their odors scatter far. 
 Unto yon gates ajar. 
 Through which God calls to glory's further side. 
 
 Paint all the West, dear sunset hour of rest. 
 Where daylight's jewels linger as thy guest! 
 
 Hush! listen there 
 
 When all the world is fair 
 And silence thrills the soul in every breast; 
 Then Peace shall whisper in some sweet old hymn 
 Within the twilight dim: 
 Lo! him who listens shall the Master bless. 
 
 33 
 
With iiir she valkcd tliis ixitlnrai/ of <Ir]}(/hf 
 
THE ENCHANTED EOAD 
 
 Where silent piues guard well its course between 
 
 The shy arbutus vines, 
 With canopy overhead of lacy green, 
 
 Til' enchanted roadway twines. 
 
 With me she walked this pathway of delight. 
 
 Blessing its sands of gold, 
 When youth and joy and springtime all unite 
 
 Love's glory to unfold. 
 
 Long since she walks beside a fairer shore 
 
 Where roses never fade, 
 And sacred is the road forevermore 
 
 By her sweet presence made. 
 
 With careless feet, along its raiu-Avashed sands 
 
 Men, passing in and out, 
 Go day by day, nor see tlie pleading hands 
 
 That beckon there about; 
 
 Nor liear the whisper in the grief-swept trees 
 
 That meeting overhead, 
 Embrace, like some one, who in silence grieves 
 
 For its beloved dead. 
 
 35 
 
¥^ 
 
 ^Spring once more in Carolina! Song and sunshine 
 everyioherc/' 
 
SPRING ONCE MORE IN CAROLINA 
 
 Spring once more in Carolina! song and sunshine 
 
 everywhere, 
 Odors from the daisied meadows every wakened 
 
 sense ensnare, 
 Gladness smiles from every hill-top on a world 
 so fair. 
 
 Spring once more in Carolina! every leafy hedge 
 
 is bent 
 With the clustered weight of blossoms by the 
 
 Summer lent. 
 Over all the field and forest hangs a sweet content. 
 
 Spring once more in Carolina ! I can hear the blue- 
 bird's call, 
 
 Like a whisper from my childhood, and its echoes 
 all 
 
 Lift from out the years forgotten shadows gaunt 
 and tall. 
 
 There I know the thrush is hidden, deep within 
 
 each scented lane. 
 And his song of silver vintage thrills like some 
 
 enchanted strain; 
 There the mocking-bird is busy with his art again. 
 
 Spring once more in Carolina! Twilight glory in 
 
 the West, 
 Sunset blazons all the landscape, like the islands 
 
 of the blest, 
 Every hill-top smiles contented, beckoning to rest. 
 
 37 
 
Spring once more in Carolina ! song and incense 
 
 everywliere, 
 While I liold this mem'ry of you all the world is 
 
 fair, 
 For the untried dreams of childhood all awakened 
 
 there. 
 
 SILENT VENDOES 
 
 I 
 As first gray light of early Springtime broke 
 Across my lawn, the call of flower-folk, 
 Vending their wares, the night-pent silence woke : 
 "Come, buy my cups of gold, 
 Come, buy my cups of white, 
 Within each chaliced bowl 
 Some dream was born last night : 
 "Come, buy my cups of gold, weird fancy each one 
 
 fills :" 
 Thus went the cry, across the wold, from all my 
 daffodils. 
 
 II 
 Down where the hedge and brambles intertwine 
 A sweet wisteria trails its leafless vine 
 Upon the wall, waving its plumes divine: — 
 "Come, buy my plumes of white. 
 Come, buy my plumes of blue — 
 Born of the virgin light 
 The early Spring days brew: 
 "In shades to match the sky, or sky and snow 
 
 combine," 
 Thus went the tender, pleading cry from sweet 
 wisteria vine. 
 
 38 
 
Ill 
 
 Here, where the Avarmest April sun rays fall 
 
 Against the ivy-covered garden wall, 
 
 In scarlet glory hear the tulips call : 
 
 "Whose lips are red with Passion's wine, 
 Who thrills at glance of drooj^ing eyes, 
 Come, buy these crimson cups of mine, 
 All filled Avith lover's sighs, 
 
 ''Each bowl is fringed with silken rim 
 
 And filled with gladness to its brim." 
 
 IV 
 
 And thus througliout the Spring-enameled day 
 The blossoms plead, while from the meadow gray, 
 Love's echo calls as wistfully as they: 
 
 "Who pensive walks, who sadly waits 
 Another day, through sleepless night. 
 Come, buy of me and I will light 
 Your pathway up to Eapture's gates: 
 "No cure for grief has yet been found. 
 Like that which in my wares abound." 
 
 And when Love's echo thus had said 
 Each blossom vendor bowed her head: — 
 "Ah what are colors, rich and rare," 
 They whispered, "when Love's golden snare. 
 With our poor gifts, vain men compare." 
 
 VI 
 
 And yet from out the gray kissed dawn. 
 These wistful vendors call and sing — 
 Each sends its perfume down the lawn 
 To greet the coming of the Spring. 
 
 39 
 
TWO WOMEN 
 
 I 
 
 The Christmas night was cold: 
 
 'Twixt earth and sky snow's blooms in mnltitnde 
 
 Fell fast, as gift of Fate's ingratitude, 
 
 Alike on ricli and poor, relentless, damp and rude; 
 
 Each flake the storm foretold. 
 
 The flicker'd gleams of light 
 
 Flashed through tlie storm from out the house of 
 
 mirth. 
 Where Joy had come to celebrate the birth 
 Of Song: and giddy Fashion sat beside its hearth 
 Of show, this op'ning night. 
 
 Passing the gilt-stained door 
 A petted queen of fortune, wealth and pride. 
 Bejewelled, sought the mirth and warmtli inside: 
 While just without, lonely amid the snowy tide, 
 Went sister of the poor. 
 
 Their far-spent glances met: 
 
 She, of the dazzling world, looked back with scorn. 
 Upon the piteous one, whose pale face, worn, 
 Cast but a wistful glance, then pass'd along, 
 
 forlorn. 
 Into her world, Regret. 
 
 40 
 
Into her world, Kegret! 
 
 For thus she thought the meagre life of hers, 
 
 From which Fate every envied gift deters: 
 
 And yet she had Content and Love, which God 
 
 confers. 
 Safe, like an amulet. 
 
 Hers was a cottage fair, 
 
 Beside whose hearthstone when the siren's call 
 Within whose door, when twilight shadows fall, 
 Together Peace, Content and Gladness gather, all, 
 For Love was master there. 
 
 II 
 The storm-swept night had waned: 
 'Twixt earth and sky snow's blooms, in multitude, 
 Still fell, as gift of Fate's ingratitude. 
 Alike on rich and poor, relentless, damp and rude: 
 Revel's last cup is drained. 
 
 A palace welcome shields 
 
 The queen of Fortune in its walls of white 
 
 From Winter's cold without. There, warmth and 
 
 light 
 Give ease ; but Envy, Hate upon the ceilings write 
 A grief to which she yields. 
 
 For, in this mansion fair 
 
 No sirens call beside the hearthstone glow — 
 
 No face of Joy here rises up to show 
 
 Its welcome, and the dreary hours, like eons, go — 
 
 For Love is missing there. 
 
 41 
 
"'Each tall Paliiictto, Ivaiiinij from the shore. 
 
OGLETHORPE 
 
 On the uuveiling of the memorial to his memory in Savan- 
 nah, Georgia, November, 1010. 
 
 At last the centuries' slow, mysterious tread 
 
 Bring lionor to the dead. 
 And Time, forgetting not his valor, grieves 
 
 And crown of laurel weaves. 
 
 The marble long has slept within its tomb. 
 
 Hidden in silent gloom, 
 But now it lifts its plaudits to the sky 
 
 For every passer by. 
 
 The tardy years were slow to place his name 
 
 On obelisk of fame. 
 But justice has her faithful memory kept 
 
 While men, forgetting, slept. 
 
 Yon waves that Avash the broken shore-line dim 
 
 Still sing his requiem; 
 While slow Savannah's tide that passes by 
 
 Remembers with a sigh. 
 
 Each tall Palmetto, leaning from the shore. 
 
 Looking the sea line o'er. 
 Holds tender memories of his name and weaves 
 
 A garland of its leaves. 
 
 This marble shaft now rises to command 
 
 That men may understand 
 How Virtue gives her sure reward at last 
 
 In measure full and vast. 
 
 43 
 
GRAY MEADOWS 
 
 To-nigbt her face came back again, her eyes with 
 
 old desire 
 As once they shone with all the glow of youth and 
 
 passion's fire : 
 And something touched an unused chord upon 
 
 Loye's sleeping \yve. 
 
 My room became a forest wide, where tall cathedral 
 pines 
 
 Let down the rifts of purple light through fes- 
 tooned smilax yines : 
 
 From out my hearthstone's dying flame a ghost of 
 Eden shines. 
 
 There, in the lustre of her face, were tints of far- 
 off skies 
 
 That bent aboye that other world of dream-swept 
 memories, 
 
 Where young Loye walks and all the perfumed 
 roadway glorifies. 
 
 II 
 
 Why did you come? to waken old regret and bruise 
 
 again 
 The half-healed wounds; and start once more the 
 
 pain 
 That Memory tried so long to hide in yain? 
 
 44 
 
Did wakened dreams of that sweet-scented, far-off 
 
 matchless June 
 Through which Love wove his pleading dryad tune 
 Arouse your steps, your coming importune? 
 
 Ill 
 
 Behold, the meadows now are gray, all summer 
 
 blooms are dead, 
 The thrush's golden song is hushed, the hedge-row 
 
 leaves are red. 
 Behold, the dreams of youtli are gone, Love's 
 
 cherished hopes are fled. 
 
 IV 
 
 Your wistful eyes I saw again from out the past 
 
 to-night 
 Looked soft and tender, as of old, but somehow 
 
 seemed to smite 
 My soul with some unmentioned dread and that 
 
 uupitying friglit, 
 
 Which first I knew when Fate decreed, with all his 
 
 quenchless ire, 
 That you and I should walk apart, despite our 
 
 one desire — 
 And each receive from his cold hand a toiler's 
 
 scanty hire. 
 
 45 
 
That pittance KSiiiall, which 
 
 each must wall^: alone, 
 Walled from the touch of quivering hand young 
 
 Love once called its own, 
 Walking the silent meadows gray — where Hope's 
 
 dead leaves are blown. 
 
 V 
 
 Gray meadows stretch their bloomless sedge 
 
 between the wind-swept hills, 
 Beneath the whitened grasses sleep the dreaming 
 
 daffodils, 
 Perhaps, in some far, waiting June Love's own 
 
 fruition thrills! 
 
 SEA AND SOUL 
 
 Flood tide and storm, the angry billows leap 
 
 O'er the unfathomed deep: 
 Low tide and calm, the peaceful waters lie 
 
 As still as yonder sky ! 
 
 Grief-stricken soul, wild frenzied as the sea 
 
 In its immensity : 
 The measure of content in peaceful sleep 
 
 The soul's wide boundaries keep. 
 
 Two mysteries of God beyond compute, 
 
 Where Learning's lips are mute : 
 The sea and soul, whose moods for ill or good 
 
 No age has understood. 
 
 46 
 
AT TIMROD'S GRAVE 
 
 Sleep must be sweet to one who lived as he, 
 
 Knowing that Destiny 
 Would batlie his tomb with love-begotten tears 
 
 Through all the dateless years. 
 
 Rest, poet, thou who through the ills of men 
 
 Saw fellowship and kin 
 With life immortal, calling from afar. 
 
 Beyond Time's distant star! 
 
 Death placed her hand upon his arm 
 And turning to him gently said : 
 'Come walk with me and fear no harm, 
 We go where He has led. 
 
 'So long as blossoms greet the spring 
 And autumn scars the woods with red, 
 To me shall man this tribute bring: 
 His hopes to sacrifice be led. 
 
 'But you have won the golden grain 
 And garnered from the world its best, 
 I see upon your hands no stain 
 Of Sin: Behold yon gates of rest!" 
 
 47 
 
Ill 
 
 And as they went his clear-eyed vision saw 
 The golden spires that glitter from the far 
 Sweet meadow-ways of Paradise; the law 
 Of recompense left yon white gates ajar. 
 
 And as they went sweet echoes, weird and low, 
 Such as liad haunted all his earthly years, 
 Upon each passing zephyr drifted slow 
 Till Joy beguiled his first immortal tears. 
 
 IV 
 
 Man's paltry life goes out like meteor stain 
 Left for a moment on the silent sky: 
 The summers pass with sun and golden rain : 
 
 nor reasons why. 
 
 Not so the singer; when he sleeps serene 
 Within the folded arms of Mother earth 
 His songs shall rise and with their voices clean, 
 To Gladness, in a thousand hearts give birth. 
 
 V 
 
 No more the Spring for him will weave 
 
 Its mantel of celestial things: 
 No more the Thrush for him will grieve 
 
 At daylight when she sings. 
 
 48 
 
But somewhere, under friendly skies, 
 
 Eternal Summer holds his feet 
 And wakens lustre in his eyes. 
 
 Where all his dreams shall meet. 
 
 VI 
 
 Methinks the wind that sighs about his tomb, 
 
 Amid the night's cold gloom, 
 Utters the grief of some inhuman thing 
 
 For one who used to sing. 
 
 And yonder clouds that shed their April rain, 
 
 Like tears of mortal pain, 
 Mourn now for him, who loved the clouds and sky 
 
 And weep while passing by. 
 
 VII 
 
 Tread softly, you, who pass this lowly mound. 
 Weep not, but smile for one who sleeps within; 
 For one who was unto immortals kin ; 
 Tread softly now, for this is sacred gi'oundl 
 
 Nor war, nor statesmen have your honor won 
 Greater than he, O Carolina, mine; 
 Men chant his songs wherever stars may shine : 
 Guard well this spot, lest you forget your son ! 
 
 49 
 
A PLEA FOR PEACE 
 
 I 
 
 I stood l)eside the furuace, Avliere the guns of war 
 
 are cast, 
 I saw the sweated workmen bend above their 
 
 heavy task 
 To forge the arms, that take sweet life and wet 
 
 the orphan's e3^e, 
 Tliat 'gender Hate and Dread and cause sweet 
 
 womanhood to cry. 
 
 We send to lieathen lands and teach benighted 
 
 men to pray. 
 Then school our sons in arts of war and kill far 
 
 more than they, 
 Lavish we spend to keep our arms upon the land 
 
 and sea, 
 But raise no hand to ease the load that rests on 
 
 poverty. 
 
 God of the mighty and the low, are we benighted 
 
 yet, 
 
 That in this age of thoughtful men, we love the 
 
 bloody sweat 
 Of those who weld the arms of war better than 
 
 arts of peace? 
 Shall women work and children cry, while man 
 
 sives no release? 
 
 50 
 
Come, 'null the laws that deal with war, let every 
 
 nation pledge 
 A world-encircling peace, which holds its people 
 
 as a hedge : 
 Come, turn the dreadnoughts into ships that 
 
 plough the sea for bread; 
 Come, turn the armies into men whose feet the 
 
 wine press tread. 
 
 Far better that those sweated men should till the 
 fields of corn 
 
 Than forge the wares, whose mission is to foster 
 grief and scorn: 
 
 Better the navies be dispersed, our armies trained 
 for toil, 
 
 Better the poppy-crimsoned field than blood em- 
 purpled soil. 
 
 II 
 
 Speak, England, with thy master slogan, speak. 
 And all the world will listen. Even now 
 Thy peasants murmur and thy workmen seek 
 Relief from yoke of war, to which you bow. 
 
 And thou, America, where Freedom dwells. 
 Obey the pleading that disturbs thy sleep: 
 Each hungry child the coming tumult tells : 
 Act now; 'tis better than to wake and weep. 
 
 51 
 
Thou Father-land, whose war-betroddeu soil 
 Scarce yields the grain sufficient for thy needs 
 On land and sea, look how thy peasants toil 
 To pay the debts made by thy war-spent creeds. 
 
 Cold Russia, heavy-hearted with thy woes 
 Of war and poverty and discontent, 
 Look thou, and see the day, wlien all thy foes 
 Are friends, to aid in thy vast government. 
 
 Thou nations strong, join hands across the seas. 
 Thy wedded compact every land shall know: 
 To Age of Peace thy counsel holds the key, 
 Speak now and Mars has struck his last red blow. 
 
 Ill 
 Then, from each valley, where the waters flow 
 From every hill top, where the sun rays fall 
 The song of freedom, like a hymn will go 
 And Gladness from each throbbing heart will call. 
 
 Then, little children in their dreams will smile 
 And lustre come to eyes of womanhood: 
 Old Awe and Dread no more the home defile. 
 The Age of Peace, at last, be understood. 
 
 IV 
 
 Ye men, who rule in council halls of State 
 Heed now the plea, that rises from afar. 
 Heed thou the callings, in whose voices are 
 Mingled old griefs, regTet, the blood and scar 
 Of battles past, the dread of pending war: 
 
 The Goddess Peace knocks at your outer gate : 
 
 Why, longer must she wait? 
 
 52 
 
WHAT THE MANDOLIN SAID 
 
 Out of a Past wliere Mem'ry keeps 
 
 Her cherished things and weeps 
 I list and hear, when the grate is red, 
 And phantom folk in the gloaming tread 
 To the words her mandolin said. 
 
 A pine tree lifts its branches high 
 
 In pleading to the sky : 
 The yellow blooms of the jasmine vine 
 Like lamps swing low and somehow twine 
 
 About her words and heart of mine. 
 
 Her dainty fingers touched the strings: 
 
 Then melody of things 
 Lute-like and musical and sweet 
 Beneath the pine tree seemed to meet 
 
 Where Love's own harvest was complete. 
 
 In every note the moonlight swayed : 
 
 At touch her fingers made 
 Upon the strings old loves seemed wed 
 As when one through a dream is led. 
 
 At the words her mandolin said. 
 
 The lute-like notes brought back again 
 
 White spray of April rain: 
 And dew-wet lilacs scent the air 
 Once more, as when she blessed them there; 
 
 Ah ! mandolin and golden hair. 
 
 53 
 
"I lift my storm-swept head so high. 
 
PINE AND CLOUD 
 
 I lift my storm-swept head so high 
 Towards the blue of yonder sky 
 That every winsome cloud that goes 
 
 Smiles down in passing by, 
 And hither tender kisses throws 
 
 With lover's sob and sigh. 
 
 I know these fickle clouds that pass 
 Above my head from day to day ; 
 
 They smile at other pines, alas! 
 That dwell along their way. 
 
 E'en those, demure as nuns at mass, 
 The vagrant clouds inveigli. 
 
 The cloud is wanderer at will. 
 Passing above new lands each hour; 
 Lol now his shadow sweeps the hill. 
 
 Now shades the meadow flower : 
 With Love and Fancy's dreams to thrill 
 
 Is part of his sweet dower. 
 
 At dawn he kissed the tropic sea. 
 When fisher boats had deftly spread 
 Their sails for quest: And forthwith he 
 
 Across the Palm groves sped ; 
 Telling his loves to every tree, 
 
 Though none he chose to wed. 
 
 55 
 
At noon he passed the clover fields 
 And softly touched them with his wing, 
 Catching the scent each blossom yields, 
 
 Sweet tribute for a king: 
 At even-tide, alone, he steals 
 
 Away, where Elfins sing. 
 
 But through tlie storm, amid the rain. 
 What time men sadly sow and reap, 
 I, through the silent years, remain 
 
 And smile as others weep: 
 Teaching tlie courage men may gain, 
 
 Faith's amulet to keep! 
 
 AUGUST AFTERNOON 
 
 Like sullen face of mountain side 
 Dark-visaged clouds of Summer lie 
 Against the pale blue evening sky. 
 Grim robed as they are wide. 
 
 Unbroken calm forbodes the ill ; 
 Wild frightened birds fly in alarm. 
 As breaks the fury of the storm : 
 Night falls, then all is still. 
 
 A thousand stars bloom overhead, 
 Night's chemistry will open quite 
 A thousand daisies, gold and white. 
 Before the east is red. 
 
 56 
 
CYNTHIA'S GARDEN 
 
 I 
 Under pale blue skies, 
 Sloping to the West 
 Cynthia's garden lies, 
 Like an isle of rest. 
 
 Shut in by its wall. 
 Every blossom fair 
 Hears the Summer call. 
 
 II 
 Here the west winds linger 
 Resting as it were. 
 Mute with lip-touched finger, 
 Listening for her. 
 
 Rustling silk and shimmer 
 Of leaves each tenant hears, 
 Softer sunbeams glimmer 
 As Cynthia appears. 
 
 The tulip blushes deeper 
 Than the reddest rose 
 When tlieir dainty keeper 
 Down the pathway goes. 
 
 And the morning-glory, 
 With its pensive look. 
 Mutely tells love's story 
 From its open book. 
 
 57 
 
Ill 
 
 The wild rose claDibers on this garden wall 
 And looks with pity on the trees without; 
 The hollyhocks that grow so wondrous tall 
 Like sentinels survey the fields about 
 And wonder how the flowers blooming there 
 Contented are, outside this garden fair. 
 
 And every breeze that sweeps the sun-kissed hills 
 Lingers and loiters liereabout and waits, 
 Like lotus eaters, whom some magic stills 
 And satisfies, within these mystic gates : 
 Waiting content witliin this soft retreat 
 To hear the sound of Cynthia's blessed feet. 
 
 IV 
 
 It may be strange, I do not know, 
 But I have like tlie blossoms grown; 
 I've learned to love this garden so 
 That all my precious hopes are sown 
 About its walks and sylvan ways 
 Where Cynthia sometimes strays. 
 
 And, like the lotus eaters, I 
 Within this garden am content 
 To wait, where all the blossoms vie 
 Each other's hues of ravishment : 
 Content, if at the close of day, 
 Fair Cvnthia comes this wav. 
 
 58 
 
WEEP NOT FOR THOSE 
 
 Weep not for those who die on glory's field, 
 
 Who in the flush of ruddy manhood yield 
 
 The gift of life. Time hath their sorrows healed. 
 
 Weep not for her, whom death shall call away 
 As Love and Romance beckon down the way, 
 Lethean dreams for treasure lost will pay. 
 
 Nor weep for him, who in a green old age, 
 Finds sleep a welcome, paying all the wage 
 Of life, without a stain upon its page. 
 
 All these are safe and perfumed Memory keeps 
 Watch o'er their tombs, with care that never sleeps, 
 Dreaming their dreams, in silence, as she weeps. 
 
 But strike, O Harp, thy keenest note of sighs 
 For him who in the House of Folly dies. 
 Where Lust and Shame must close his hopeless 
 eyes. 
 
 Strike, Harp of Sorrow, too thy lowest strings 
 For him who shadows to the hearthstone brings 
 And dies, as childhood's grief about him clinss. 
 
 59 
 
HAS GONE THE SILENT WAY 
 
 The 1110011 looks down on you and me 
 And then for one in vain : 
 Together, once, were passing three, 
 But now she sees but twain. 
 
 Alas! from out some sad-robed night. 
 When busy day is done, 
 The moon will cast her mellow light 
 This way and find but one. 
 
 And after some fair Junes have passed 
 The moon will look this way : 
 Of three who walked, behold the last 
 Has gone the silent way. 
 
 LONG LOST DAYS 
 
 Like pale-faced nuns, whose features bear 
 The trace of Love, before stern Duty closed 
 Upon sweet life and penance interposed. 
 Our long lost days of happy youth appear. 
 
 They beckon from that other shore 
 Where lotus blossoms ever swing and sway, 
 Holding the captives, as a willing prey. 
 While we, in jNIenvry, keep them ever more. 
 
 A rift of sunshine after rain, 
 A scent of lilacs in the waking Spring; 
 Dear thoughts of long lost days will bring 
 And waken all their glory (uice again. 
 
 60 
 
JUNE 
 
 Now come the clays between the Summer tide 
 And Spring's fresh blooms ; the jocund month 
 
 of all 
 The merry twelve : when down the wooded side 
 Of hedge and lane the feathered heralds call. 
 Shy thrush and linnet and gay mocking-bird, 
 Each sings a welcome to her majesty, 
 The month of brides, when wedding bells are 
 
 heard, 
 Turning each grove to house of minstrelsy; 
 Singing a soul into the green of every smiling tree. 
 
 So sweet the odors from the meadows now^ ! 
 So soft the sun rays on tlie hillside beam. 
 That shadowy faces, witli their death-scarr'd 
 
 brow, 
 Lift in the woodways and unsmiling, dream; 
 For feathered clioir and unseen lutes that play 
 Within the shade have reached their world 
 
 of pain 
 And called them back, along the worldly way 
 From which they went, scarr'd with the human 
 
 stain 
 Of sin : returning hence once more, to breathe 
 sweet peace again. 
 
 61 
 
'This tcoodcd lodge is full of sacred things/^ 
 
This wooded lodge is full of sacred things. 
 Even the air is heavy with the smell 
 Of heavenly Asphodels. This whirr of wings 
 Belikes the place where Galmel's angels dwell : 
 Who once has heard the choir that sings within 
 This vine-closed clmrch, Avill hold its echoes 
 
 sweet 
 When he has passed beyond the haunts of sin 
 And hears another song along a golden street, 
 And hearing, feel old loves and new, within his 
 bosom meet. 
 
 And he who listens to the melody 
 That whispers soft along the quivering air, 
 Will hear faint echoes, making tender plea 
 Of woodland Dryads that are guarding there 
 The sweet June woods, echoes from distant 
 
 shore 
 Where recollection of forgotten Summer skies 
 Beckon and hither call forever-more. 
 To such as anxious look, through tear-stain'd 
 
 eyes, 
 Longing for taste of love again, whose mem'ry 
 never dies. 
 
 63 
 
" — Where every tree enshrines 
 Within its soul a longing for the light." 
 
Come here, where Mght is over-fresh'd with 
 
 sleep 
 And Dawn peeps through the wet entangled 
 
 vines : 
 Listen! No sound, save where the dew drops 
 
 keep 
 Time's passing hour, and every tree enshrines 
 Within its soul a longing for the light 
 That present breaks upon these sleeping 
 
 things : 
 Then soft dissolves the odorous shades of 
 
 night, 
 While every bird its morning welcome sings 
 To one rare day, about whose dawn, the scent of 
 glory clings. 
 
 Mark well the noon-tide: yonder fields of 
 
 wheat 
 Waving like swells of some Palm-coasted sea; 
 The tasseled corn, that revels in the heat 
 Is mecca now for every droning bee. 
 Above the hills, above the meadows fair, 
 The lazy clouds, enamored of the sky 
 Float aimlessly, only awake to snare 
 The golden sunbeams that are passing by 
 And passing, kiss the shy sweet things that on the 
 meadow lie. 
 
 iJD 
 
When twilight spreads her added glory down 
 Upon this joy-swept vista of repose 
 Weird shades of Eden, field and forest crown, 
 As softly yonder gates of twilight close. 
 Each tenant of the meadoAvs and the wood 
 Reluctant seeks the home-beguiling nest, 
 Each one complaining that the darkness should 
 End, for the while, its joy-engrossing quest : 
 And then the June day softly weaves new glory in 
 the West. 
 
 WHEN WE SHALL MEET 
 
 The day when Ave shall meet 
 Long spent desire will blossom into flame, 
 Old dreamings wake at whisper of your name 
 And sacrifice its compensation claim, 
 
 At coming of your feet. 
 
 The day when Ave shall meet 
 Full measured joy, somehow, aaIII come to me; 
 Of all Avithin the gift of Destiny 
 I shall not ask for more; the melody 
 
 Of love will be complete. 
 
MAGDALENE 
 
 Listen, the angels are calling, calling, 
 Their tears for some poor sister are falling : 
 Such tears of grief by immortals are shed 
 Only when some lone, unfortunate head, 
 Pressed by a crown, made of thorns so appalling, 
 Dies on the Calvary where He has bled. 
 
 See, yonder the world goes happily by, 
 Lifting its head of self -righteousness high. 
 Like Pharisees old, the better than thou. 
 They pass, but to others no virtue allow: 
 Contented with self they breathe not a sigh 
 For her who is dead in oblivion now. 
 
 II 
 
 Within a tinselled room 
 
 Gaudy and full of gloom. 
 No mother's hand to soothe the weary brow, 
 No father's look, with pity in it now. 
 So young she died; with strangers all about 
 To watch and weep as life went slowly out. 
 
 The house was marked for sin 
 
 And no one entered in 
 Save they, who of her crimson world were part. 
 No priest or prelate found it in his heart 
 To minister within a house unclean. 
 Where slept this Christ-forgiven Magdalene. 
 
 67 
 
Ill 
 
 I saw the lone procession pass 
 That bore her to a pauper's grave 
 And marveled one so young, alas, 
 Could die, as dies the brave. 
 
 The few who followed in the wake, 
 Where gaudy cofifin led the way. 
 Shed tears of grief for love's own sake, 
 Few feel and weep as they 
 
 Who walk the bitter ways of sin 
 Like weeping Magdalene of old, 
 For when the good Christ enters in 
 
 Beside the grave no prelate stood 
 The simple rights of death to read. 
 No Pharisee, or righteous could 
 Afford her cause to plead. 
 
 They left her in a pauper's gTave, 
 Where violets of purple grew. 
 But Christ a royal welcome gave: 
 She entered with the few. 
 
 68 
 
APRIL 
 
 Wheu dreary haze of winter days 
 Lifts from the meadows, yet in gray, 
 Somehow we then forget to pray 
 And learn, instead, to praise. 
 
 I look toward the sun-swept sky 
 Through oaks arrayed in silver sheen, 
 Where Spring has east her robes of green, 
 To rest the weary watcher's eye. 
 
 Down hill and slope the hawthorn woke. 
 The dogwood spread her wealth of white; 
 And lo! the alchemy of night 
 Spring's well-worn fetters broke. 
 
 :memory's gift 
 
 The smiling, bright, sweet days, 
 In which some fulsome joy made glad the soul, 
 We mark with dear forget-me-nots of thought. 
 Taking as hostage, Memory's toll 
 To bless our cloud-swept ways. 
 
 And if perchance there be 
 The finger prints of Love's consoling hand 
 Upon that day, which thrilled you into joy. 
 Then will sweet Memory's gift so far expand 
 To yield Elysium's key. 
 
 But those sad days of grief. 
 When Sorrow hung its ebon coat of woe 
 About the soul, Fate helps us to forget; 
 Only the gladness of the past we know. 
 Its bloom and ripened sheaf. 
 
 69 
 
, 
 
 
 
 
 BH^"" f -fj ' *'■ 
 
NIGHT IN THE TROPICS 
 
 I 
 
 How still these waters are! 
 No sandal-footed breeze to stir the dew-wet trees; 
 A silence soft, as that a dreamer sees 
 In slumber's realm, before the vision flees 
 
 Through Fancy's gates ajar. 
 
 Yon silver-crested moon, 
 That rides the vastness of the peace-enamored night 
 Tints every cloud with lacy rims of white 
 And floods the bay with her mysterious light, 
 
 And hither dark lagoon. 
 
 The storm-god sleeps at ease! 
 Not one green leaf the waiting silence bends. 
 No sound above the sand-wrapped shore ascends, 
 A dream awaking from the mist unbends, 
 
 Like incense through the trees. 
 
 What mystery is this 
 That holds the mid-night with Lethean spell 
 Of silence and no secret dares to tell? 
 Guarding, in peace, with mute, sad lips so well 
 
 Its sorrow and its bliss ! 
 
 II 
 Was that the whisper of some joy-swept leaf 
 Of yonder trailing cypress vine, 
 Or else the sound of over-flowing grief 
 From this dirge-singing pine? 
 
 71 
 
Only the dew drops from tlie chemist Night, 
 Falling from leaf to leaf, like sands 
 In tell-tale glass, that mark the steady flight 
 Of Time through orient lands. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Ah ! there is a sound ! 
 A weird, sweet lyric sound of waking bird, 
 O'er-full of joy, of joy that must be heard, 
 But soft and low, as when some fairy stirred, 
 
 Above the sacred ground. 
 
 Where lotus dwellers sing, 
 They tell of echoes, that come sweet and low: 
 So yonder notes rise wistfully and slow, 
 Soothing, as when the sleepy southwinds blow 
 
 And to the blossoms cling. 
 
 YELLOAY JASMINE 
 
 I 
 
 Where the lonesome woodlands hold 
 
 Nymplis and Dryads bold, 
 And while blossoms yet are sleeping 
 
 In the Winter's mold 
 Yellow jasmine comes a-peeping 
 
 Through tlie forests old. 
 
 Long before the rosy Spring 
 
 Teaches birds to sing. 
 Like some propliet, true to duty 
 
 Comes this yellow thing, 
 Hanging out its lamps of beauty, 
 
 Royal as a king. 
 
Round the oak and maple tree 
 
 Jasmine, tenderly, 
 Loves in solitude to twine; 
 
 And in wanton glee 
 Swings its lamps from every vine 
 
 That the birds may see. 
 
 And these lamps swing to and fro 
 
 As the night winds blow: 
 Nymphs and Dryads slip about, 
 
 Parting as they go, 
 Brush and bramble in and out 
 
 Through the yellow glow. 
 
 II 
 
 Jasmine peeps on every side 
 
 With a queenly pride, 
 Hangs alK)ut the sturdy oak 
 
 Like a trusting bride. 
 Then there swings this lover's sign : 
 
 "With thee I abide/' 
 
 Yonder by the dark lagoon 
 
 Where the mid-night moon 
 Throws its mellow lover's light. 
 
 Hear the west winds croon 
 As the jasmine vines they smite 
 
 To some magic tune. 
 
 73 
 
Ill 
 
 Ah, what mystery complete 
 
 In these woods I meet; 
 Ah, what silences abound 
 
 In this wild retreat; 
 Ah, what Sirens walk around 
 
 On their noiseless feet. 
 
 Teach me, yellow jasmine vine, 
 
 Why this charm of thine? 
 Why the forests love you so, 
 
 By what mystic sign 
 You the Springtime's coming know, 
 
 Messenger of mine. 
 
 LAND OF ^'SOMEWHERE" 
 
 The land ''Somewhere," 
 
 Ah must be fair, 
 
 Surpassing fair! 
 For it is safe from touch of human pain. 
 Whose shores have never known the reddish stain 
 Of crime, nor ever felt the curse's bane 
 
 Of sin's despair. 
 
 It must be far. 
 
 Under some blessed star. 
 
 Some undiscovered star. 
 Along whose shores the lotus branches twine. 
 Whose odors quicken, like old vintaged wine, 
 Where melodies about the soul entwine 
 
 And never jar. 
 
It must be, too, 
 
 Though old, yet new, 
 
 Like day-dawn, new 
 As when the Night has wakened from his sleep 
 And Dawn looks forth from out the Orient deep, 
 The promise of another day to keep 
 
 Silvered with dew. 
 
 Under its skies 
 
 Love never dies 
 
 But ever vies 
 With eons, as they take their dateless flight 
 In pointing souls to new paths of delight 
 And finding undreamed glory on each height 
 
 In new disguise. 
 
 Dear God, who knows 
 
 A sad heart's woes, 
 
 A dead heart's snows, 
 Must there not lie, beyond its fitful day 
 We here call life, with all its sliadows gray. 
 This land "Somewhere,'' beyond despair, dismay? 
 
 Whither man goes? 
 
 Its far-off skies 
 
 To human eyes 
 
 Keep in disguise, 
 And yet, sometimes among the summer trees, 
 We catch faint glimpses of its sun-swept leas 
 As one, who ship-wrecked, in the distance sees 
 
 A sail arise. 
 
 75 
 
THE PENALTY OF SIN 
 
 I sinned and all the sunshine lost its light: 
 The warm, soft world grew cold and chill, 
 The sweet, old loves no longer brought a thrill 
 And laughing childhood's voices all grew still : 
 There swept upon my soul the dread of night. 
 
 II 
 'Tis true my hands bore not the crimson stain 
 Of human blood, for no one had I slain 
 And robbed of life, like yonder guilty Cain, 
 But I had used a dagger, keener far, 
 Than sharp edged steel and left a deeper scar 
 Than swords can make. How poisoned cold words 
 are! 
 
 The sharpened point had cut her tender soul 
 And left it bleeding; sutfering does not hold 
 A keener edge than bitter words unfold. 
 
 We soon forget the bleeding and the pain 
 Which dagger thrusts inflict, but look in vain 
 For healing of the wounds where scorn has slain. 
 
 Ill 
 With grief-drawn eyes, as one who softly cries, 
 I sat alone, within my curtained gloom, 
 Like one, though buried, looks about his tomb 
 And prisoned there, is conscious while he dies. 
 
 Upon my door, as from some fateful shore, 
 A strange knock sounded ghostly, faint and slow, 
 'Twas like a whisper, spoken clear, but low, 
 Whose every tone some evil omen bore. 
 
 76 
 
Then stepped within, Time's piinisher of sin, 
 Tlie ghost Kemorse, he with tlie dreaded smile, 
 Who brings new griefs, our sorrows to beguile, 
 Unwelcomed most among the guests of men. 
 
 'Tis he who knows where hidden sorrow flows; 
 His joy to prick the scars of old regret, 
 To keep unhealed what man cannot forget ; 
 Each hidden sin this Master daily shows. 
 
 Througli nights and days, like one who penance 
 
 pays 
 We dwelt together, grim Eemorse and I, 
 Each day I felt 'twere better far to die. 
 Than live with him through heavy-hearted days. 
 
 At last, one day, as I had knelt to pray, 
 Another knock upon my door was heard, 
 And lo, there entered, speaking not a word. 
 The spirit Peace, who came with me to stay. 
 
 My piteous cry had reached his home on high 
 And bringing sweet Forgiveness in his hand. 
 He touched my brow, then I could understand 
 Why grim Remorse departed witli a sigh. 
 
 Wlio sins to-day must walk the bitter way. 
 Must pay the price which watchful Fate demands, 
 Yet he may walk, with clean and spotless hands, 
 When he has learned in penitence to pray. 
 
 77 
 
GUILTY SEA 
 
 What awful glory speaks 
 
 Where ocean's anger, pounding rock and shore, 
 Like giant Fury, restless evermore — 
 Wearing a frown no master ever wore : 
 What toll this monster seeks! 
 
 Are those league-scattered graves 
 That lie upon his coral-covered sand — 
 Stretching between his East and Western land. 
 And those frail wrecks that dot the hidden strand 
 Too few to ease his craves? 
 
 Are not the widowed homes 
 Lonesome enough your thirst for crime to pay. 
 Where children pause, to weep amid their play 
 And look for those so long you keep away, 
 Beneath your crested domes? 
 
 Ill 
 
 Ah, guilty ocean, old, 
 
 Your eyes are sleepless with unreckoned grief, 
 
 Your restless fury brings no soul-relief 
 
 For crimes you've done, upon each hidden reef: 
 
 Your sruilt is half untold. 
 
 78 
 
APPLE BLOSSOMS 
 I 
 
 Dear pale white blossoms overhead, sweet gift of 
 
 God and Spring, 
 Hiding among the fresh green leaves that closely 
 
 round you cling, 
 What picture of her laughing eyes to me you 
 
 always bring! 
 
 The musty scent of pale green blooms floats in the 
 
 drowsy air, 
 The sky, as seen through trembling leaves, seems 
 
 far and very fair. 
 Somehow my heart is tangled in the tresses of 
 
 her hair. 
 
 For where the orchard grasses grow so stately and 
 so tall, 
 
 Down where the rose vine runs along the moss- 
 grown garden wall. 
 
 Standing alone, together we, first heard Love's 
 tender call. 
 
 And still to-day the apple trees dream golden hours 
 
 away, 
 Lulled by far-off siren songs that unseen fingers 
 
 play, 
 And leaves me dreamer, all alone, where wistful 
 
 memories play. 
 
 79 
 
Come, Memory dear, and show to me 
 From out the crowding years between 
 The glory of the apple tree 
 Through Love's dark lashes seen. 
 
 Come, give me back this day to dream, 
 Come, give me back the bluest skies 
 Once more to see the tender gleam 
 That filled her wistful eyes. 
 
 The tardy years that sere the soul 
 And turn the golden locks to gray 
 May yet some compensation hold 
 Along my Autumn way. 
 
 For Fate may burn our castles fair, 
 But Memory wakes each day to see 
 Her face and glory of her hair: 
 These Fate must leave to me. 
 
 Ill 
 
 It was a fitful April day like this 
 
 Winds from the South each waking valley kissed. 
 
 Each orchard tree was like a blossom pale 
 Planted about us from some mystic vale. 
 
 The far-off sky that o'er the garden bent 
 Had all the blue, as if from Heaven sent. 
 
And every breeze that from the meadows crept 
 Brought scented breath from where the Summer 
 slept. 
 
 The apple blossoms dreamiug overhead 
 
 Heard all the words Love's tender whispers said. 
 
 And droning bees, on honey seeking bent, 
 Vied with us in the mission content. 
 
 Love's words are few, the touch of trembling hand 
 And tender looks he best can understand. 
 
 And thus the silence of this April day 
 Made clear for us Love's apple blossom way. 
 
 IV 
 
 The shy white clover scented all the air 
 
 Tliat day when life to me seemed doubly fair 
 
 And sunlight touched the ebon of her hair. 
 
 The thrush, who sings of Summer and the sky 
 Sang but of Love, and when I asked him why 
 The thrush sang on, too glad to make reply. 
 
 The crimson poppies, by the Fairies sent, 
 Blushed deeper red, each by the breeze bent 
 And smiled and swayed in happiest content. 
 
 If there be heaven, fit for man's desire 
 
 The soul can reach, beyond where men aspire, 
 
 It must be where Love holds the soul afire. 
 
 81 
 
V 
 
 The years can leave their finger prints upon 
 The placid brow and gray the auburn hair 
 But where Love dwells that lieart the years will 
 
 shun, 
 They cannot leave their marks of carnage there. 
 
 The years may bring their heart-ache and tlieir pain 
 And mar tlie glory of our human day, 
 But Memory comes to wash away each stain, 
 This gift the years can never take away. 
 
 VI 
 
 The apple blossoms smile once more, blessed by the 
 
 April rain, 
 The crimson poppies bloom and blush along the 
 
 wall again, 
 The thrush is singing, as of old, but then he sung 
 
 for twain. 
 
 I sit where falls the twilight shade, the April day 
 
 is done. 
 The Spring, when Love shall weave his web for 
 
 hearts, is just begun. 
 The thrush is singing as before, but now he sings 
 
 for one. 
 
 Come, Memory, we shall sit alone, come closer, 
 
 heart of mine. 
 And hear from out the buried past Love's first clear 
 
 note divine. 
 Come, you and I shall worship here, upon Love's 
 
 holy Shrine. 
 
 82 
 
SAVOLINA. 
 
 Where the fair Savannah river parts the meadows 
 
 green and wide, 
 Flowing eastward, seaward, onward to a waiting 
 
 tide, 
 There abides an old grav manor, set among the 
 
 live oak trees, 
 Holding visions of a past which faithful memory 
 
 sees. 
 
 Once they called it Savolina, by its faithful master 
 
 uam'd. 
 For the river and a daughter, both for beauty 
 
 famed. 
 Here for generations passing, stately, famous old 
 
 and gray. 
 It has kept the old South's glory to this later day. 
 
 II 
 In this olden home Volina lived and loved, nor 
 
 questioned why 
 All her youth was full of sunshine as it hastened 
 
 by: 
 Somehow birds were always singing for her in 
 
 the sky. 
 
 Down among the spreading willows by the lazy 
 
 river's side. 
 Where the wild forget-me-nots in sweet content 
 
 abide. 
 There she built her ships of conquest for the years 
 
 untried. 
 
 83 
 
Here her castles, tall and gilded, tilled a maiden's 
 
 vision fair, 
 Love bad painted all the pictures up the polished 
 
 stair, 
 Here she saw the glad years beckon through her 
 
 golden hair. 
 
 Ill 
 The full sweet years of maidenhood for her bad 
 
 swept along. 
 Each waking in her tender heart a softer note of 
 
 sure and strong. 
 
 'Twas then the skies seemed nearer still than they 
 
 had been before, 
 The iris had a deeper hue along the river's shore: 
 She drank the richer cup of joy from life's unfail- 
 ing store. 
 
 And he who came and saw and Avon, a prince in her 
 glad eyes. 
 
 Was worthy of her tender love, but oh ! how glad- 
 ness flies: 
 
 Alas! that youth should promise joy which heart- 
 less Fate denies. 
 
 84 
 
IV 
 
 It was in the spring of sixty, when there dawned 
 
 her wedding day, 
 Volina at the alter knelt, love's Avilling debt to pay ; 
 And then commenced the journey, leading up love's 
 
 hallowed way. 
 
 To her the world was like a dream in which all 
 
 things were fair, 
 She reached her hands for gladness and touched it 
 
 everywhere ; 
 Lo! sweet Content came at her call and joy w^as 
 
 waiting near. 
 
 V 
 
 A single month of wedded bliss on golden wings 
 
 had passed 
 When sullen gun from Sumter's throat broke o'er 
 
 the marshes vast 
 And stunned a thousand trembling hearts like 
 
 demon driven blast. 
 
 The sage has told of shattered dreams, of ruined 
 
 castles fair, 
 Of hope that turned to bitterness and gladness to 
 
 despair : 
 All to Volina hastened when that tliunder rent 
 
 the air. 
 
 85 
 
For first of all to bear and heed the sound of 
 
 Duty's call 
 Was he who won her tender heart, on whom she 
 
 staked her all : 
 The golden wine which Love had brought was 
 
 quickly turned to gall. 
 
 VI 
 
 All day long a battle lingered, twixt the blue and 
 
 twixt the gray, 
 Hundreds fell and on the crimson leaves of 
 
 Autumn passed away. 
 Hundreds moaned their last confession ere the 
 
 closing of the day. 
 
 By a clump of burnished Sumac, underneath 
 
 October sky, 
 There Volina's soldier lover heard the truth that 
 
 he must die : 
 Fate was cruel, but the hero never asks the reason 
 
 why ! 
 
 "Comrades, bend and let me whisper," lisped the 
 
 soldier in his plight : 
 "Tell Volina I am passing o'er the mystic stream 
 
 to-night, 
 That I'll wait beyond the river for her coming in 
 
 the light." 
 
Holding close the goldeu locket, with her face aud 
 knot of hair, 
 
 Passed the hero in the twilight, brave aud young, 
 so strong and fair. 
 
 And his comrades left him dreaming by the bur- 
 nished Sumac there. 
 
 VII 
 
 Where the fair Savannah loiters lazily toward 
 the sea 
 
 Autunm spread her crimson glory over valley, 
 field and tree, 
 
 But at Savolina-s doorway Sorrow knocked inces- 
 santly. 
 
 And Volina, angel-hearted, looked at life through 
 
 tears and said: 
 "Though my life is still before me all its promises 
 
 are fled, 
 Hence I walk among the living but I live among 
 
 the dead." 
 
 Wearily the years grew longer, Spring and Autumn 
 
 glorified 
 All the valley and the river, each her colors keenly 
 
 vied: 
 In the Spring Volina gladdened, in the Autumn 
 
 time she cried. 
 
 87 
 
Widowhood and Tonth and beauty pleaded that 
 
 again she wed, 
 But Volina, memory-haunted, wallved her road 
 
 alone, instead, 
 And to all her suitors' pleading tenderly to each 
 
 she said: 
 
 "Love, the Master, true and tender, steals away 
 
 with keenest pain 
 When we build another altar in the heart to him, 
 
 again. 
 All the years we there may worship will not wash 
 
 away the stain." 
 
THE YOUTH SEEKERS— A LEGEND OF THE 
 EAST COAST OF FLORIDA. 
 
 The old story of Ponce De Leon's search for the 
 fountain of eternal youth has always been full of 
 romantic interest. The subject is worthy of an epic. 
 Avhich will doubtless be written some day. 
 
 There is a legend, threaded to the historic search of 
 Ponce De Leon, which relates that the Indian chief. 
 Sequoia, had. about this time, conquered all the near- 
 by tribes and made his domain a powerful and exten- 
 sive one, extending westward as far as the Mississippi 
 River and from the mountains to the Everglades. 
 
 According to the legend, soon after Sequoia had won 
 his final victory and achieved real freedom, he started 
 Southward to hunt big game and was made captive the 
 following day by the Spaniards, who had just landed 
 and were ready for the inland march. 
 
 De Leon had heard that Sequoia knew where the 
 fabled spring was located and made him prisoner — 
 exacting from the chief a promise to act as guide, the 
 reward for which service would be his ultimate free- 
 dom. 
 
 The cunning Indian, chafing under capture, prom- 
 ised to guide De Leon to the famous spring, but in his 
 heart he planned and finally accomplished the Span- 
 iard's undoing. After leading them for weeks through 
 the wildest of the wild country he finally escaped, but 
 he did not leave until he had shot a poisoned arrow 
 into De Leon's thigh, from which the old Spanish 
 cavalier never recovered and from the etfect of which 
 wound he finally died in Havana, whither he went, 
 after his fruitless search was abandoned. 
 
 The little prologues, at the beginning of each section, 
 are intended to show how Hope waned in the hearts 
 of the cavaliers as they slowl}' realized that their 
 search for the fountain of eternal youth was hopeless 
 and in vain. 
 
 89 
 
THE YOUTH SEEKERS 
 
 Part First. 
 
 The Gift of Hope. 
 
 When Peter wrote within his book 
 
 The gifts prepared for men, 
 
 From out a jewelled case he took 
 
 God's gifts of Hope, where they had been 
 
 For ages kept; too costly far, 
 
 To place in angel breast: 
 
 'Take these," said he, to each new star, 
 
 'Fly fast, nor stop to rest 
 
 Until you reach that human land 
 
 Where mortals toil and spin, 
 
 There give them, fresh from God's own hand, 
 
 That they who strive may win," 
 
 90 
 
Then looking dow.n to yonder sky, 
 Each messenger made quick reply 
 'Master of Gifts, we fly." 
 
 The hand of Time had touched De Leon's hair, 
 The reddish locks the years had turned to gray: 
 He dreamed of youth and all its visions fair, 
 What if the years would yet return the day 
 When he was young and longed to do and dare. 
 What if his youth once more would come to stay! 
 
 Braving the wrath of undiscovered seas 
 That border on the Spanish outer main. 
 Waking from dreams, grim Neptune in his ease, 
 Braving his storms and unrelenting rain, 
 Three Spanish ships, built from Castilian trees 
 Bent westward on in search of golden gain. 
 
 The dead years kept a memory-haunted place, 
 A far-off home, as through a purple veil, 
 And Memory, looking backward, far, could trace 
 Dim ships of hope, that through the distance sail 
 About the hearthstone : but Ambition's race 
 Must now be run, and brave hearts never quail. 
 
 Through anxious days and nights of sullen gloom 
 The daring barques were playthings of the deep; 
 The untried seas portended wreck and doom: 
 No days of peace, no nights of restful sleep 
 Upon the wave-swept horizon would loom. 
 When Fate and Destiny their vigils keep. 
 
 91 
 
Sighting at last the shore line to the West, 
 Low-crouching, like a Monster of the deep. 
 The old Castilian's eye, adept in quest, 
 Beheld the land his fount of youth must keep: 
 Beheld the vales and valleys of the blest. 
 Where he, the harvest of his dreams must reap. 
 
 A sickle moon hung in the cloudless sky. 
 Blessing the Palm trees with its mellow light 
 And every breeze, from landward, passing by. 
 Dispensed new perfume through the tropic night. 
 De Leon smiled, then with impatient sigh 
 Longed for to-morrow and to-morrow's sight. 
 
 II 
 If there's spot beneath the skies 
 Als:in to fabled Paradise, 
 'Twas that which met De Leon's eyes. 
 If fount of youth be anywhere 
 It must be in a land thus fair; 
 The strength of youth was in the air. 
 
 Ill 
 Had famed Castile fair blossoms on her hills? 
 
 Perhaps, but not like these; 
 Dark Dryad shade o'erhung tlie Spanish rills 
 
 But far unlike yon trees. 
 
 The yellow fruit that vied the sunlight's gold, 
 
 Beckoned each eager hand: 
 Somehow the Palm trees mystic stories told 
 
 In this enchanted land. 
 
 92 
 
The gray mossVl live oaks thai begirt the sea, 
 
 Though scarred and ages old, 
 Waved welcome arms, unaged by destiny 
 
 And cheered De Leon's soul. 
 
 Ah land of sunshine where the warm sea lies 
 And dreams through rainless days, 
 
 Eternal youth should live beneath your skies. 
 Where endless Summer stays ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Where the slow Matanzas River meets its welcome 
 
 from the sea, 
 Where strange mystery from Eden glorifies each 
 
 blessed tree. 
 There De Leon, hope inspired, knelt upon the 
 
 shining sand 
 And, beside the new cross planted, thus addressed 
 
 the sun-kissed land : — 
 
 "Hail shores, whose mystic woodlands hold 
 
 Within some shaded glen, 
 The spring, whose waters, flowing bold, 
 Bring ruddy youth to men! 
 
 "Perhaps this river, passing slow, 
 
 Through marshes green and wide. 
 Bears on its breast the overflow 
 Of drops where life abide. 
 
 "Yon vista of the golden West 
 
 Behind the live oak's shade. 
 Bends o'er the fountain of the blest 
 Where youth from age is made. 
 
 94 
 
"Througli all the eons of the past 
 
 Time Conquers youth and might, 
 Man yields to Fate and Death at last, 
 Taking a chartless flight. 
 
 "And all the wisdom man has learned 
 Beneath the sun and sky, 
 That most of all, for which he yearned 
 Is missing; he must die. 
 
 "But in yon waters flowing now 
 Amid the tangled weeds. 
 Is youth for every aging brow. 
 
 New strength for all my needs. 
 
 "When I have tasted of that stream 
 And felt my youth again, 
 Of what rich conquests I will dream, 
 What glory win for Spain! 
 
 "Hail, land of splendor, that distills 
 Elixir for the soul, 
 Here every step some new hope thrills, 
 So near this long-sought goal." 
 
 V 
 
 That night beneath the weird Palmetto trees 
 
 De Leon slept. 
 In restless dreaming as when some one sees 
 
 His vision swept 
 By golden argosies that sail the main. 
 
 Freighted with precious gain. 
 
 95 
 
There in his dream, a phantom maiden's smile 
 
 So tender, kind, 
 Beckoned his eager sonl to haste tlie while 
 
 Youth's spring to find, 
 And finding, tlien feel Tonthful pulse once more, 
 
 Restored for evermore. 
 
 Slow breezes from the yellow orange groves 
 
 Deepened his dreams 
 And into all De Leon's fancy wove 
 
 Sun-gilded beams; 
 So, when he woke, within to-morrow fair 
 
 Hope's welcome met him there. 
 
 Part Second. 
 
 The Angelas Return. 
 
 There was a knock at Peter's gate : 
 Without, an angel stood. 
 Fresh from the human land of fate 
 Where evil vies the good: 
 "Master of Gifts, in yon unfavored land 
 Where savage tribes can scarcely understand 
 The gifts thou sent, I saw^ upon each face 
 The smile which Hope, alone, can surely trace; 
 And in each eye there beamed a light divine, 
 There kindled by this w^ondrous gift of thine." 
 
 Then Peter spoke, calling his angel in: 
 "Welcome sweet message, from the land of 
 sin." 
 
 96 
 
I 
 Sequoia, chief of many tribes, who dwelt 
 Within the wonderland of palm and pine, 
 Had conquered well and made his tliralldom felt 
 From mountain ridge to yonder ocean line. 
 
 Secure in peace, a longing for the chase 
 Engrossed his soul : so climbing up the height 
 Of near-by hill, with set and unmoved face. 
 He spoke before the peaceful gates of night :— 
 
 II 
 "There lies the land and yonder sleeps the sea. 
 To where the sun finds refuge in the West 
 My lands extend, tlie South belongs to me. 
 And all these coasts obey my stern behest. 
 
 "For years my foes have goaded in tlieir might 
 My people brave; but we have won at last. 
 Now peace reigns, further than the furtherest 
 
 sight : 
 Through victory's eyes I view the stormy past. 
 
 "There stands my wigwam by the lofty tree, 
 And there my squaw, contented with her lot, 
 Here are my people, happy, strong and free. 
 And there my daughter, safe from cupid's plot. 
 
 "Behold these forests, planted by the hand 
 Of that great Spirit whom we all adore. 
 Behold the rivers, threading all the land 
 And seeking welcome from yon coral shore. 
 
 97 
 
I 
 
'Adieu, my people, to the South I go, 
 Seeking the game that thitherward abound, 
 Freedom I've won from every hated foe, 
 So now, with joy, Sequoia's heart is crowned." 
 
 Ill 
 Thus spoke the Indian, looking to the West, 
 As wigwam smoke rose slowly to the sky, 
 Then turning Southward, on his way of quest, 
 Walked down a coast where tropic glories lie. 
 
 The beach was smooth, unbending to his feet : 
 Above, the stars shone patient still and far. 
 Here sea and land, in splendor, seemed to meet 
 And all the gates of 303^ were left ajar. 
 
 A few short leagues, alone, he pushed his way 
 In thoughtful silence, when a Spanish guard 
 Halted his steps, a prisoner must obey 
 De Leon's will. Ah Fate, thy ways are hard! 
 
 IV 
 
 From freedom to a prison yoke, 
 From victory to chain of steel : 
 What bitterness a day can yield, 
 How soon a stubborn heart is broke! 
 
 How vagrant cloud, in yonder sky, 
 Plaything of every idle breeze. 
 As from his cell, the prisoner sees, 
 Is envied, as it wanders by ! 
 
 99 
 
So grim Sequoia looked about 
 His new-made prison house of gloom, 
 Like one who lives within his tomb 
 And chafes to tread the fields without. 
 
 When stern De Leon looked upon the captive at 
 
 his door, 
 He grasped Sequoia's hand, as if the two had met 
 
 before : 
 Then looking far, toward the West, and pointing 
 
 with his hand 
 He spoke his wish in simple words the chief could 
 
 understand : — 
 
 "To us, brave chief, as captive you belong, 
 But there is hidden in these wilds, among 
 The trackless forests, somewhere, near or far, 
 The spring of youth, whose healing waters are 
 The goal we seek; come now, you guide our 
 
 way. 
 With liberty your aid we will repay ; 
 And you shall drink of these strange waters, 
 
 too. 
 Whose virtues will your passing youth 
 
 renew." 
 
 The haughty chief unbent his hidden pride; 
 With stern, cold face each feeling he could hide, 
 Then to De Leon's wish he thus replied : — 
 
 100 
 
"'Tis well, Great Pale Face, speak and I 
 shall go : 
 Upon this task mj cunning I'll bestow. 
 Here is my bow and pipe ere we depart, 
 Take them as faitlifnl tokens of my heart." 
 
 But all the pent-up ire of thwarted plans 
 Flamed as he looked upon his shackled hands; 
 So when they bound him in a tent alone 
 The chieftain uttered thus, in undertone: — 
 
 "Yes, I will guide you where man never went 
 before. 
 Beyond the Everglades, 
 And leave you lost upon that other shore, 
 Amid its dismal shades. 
 
 "Yes, I will guide you through the tangled 
 waste of trees 
 O'er swamps of ooze and slime, 
 Where, in the maze of wilderness, one sees 
 Earth's gloom in all its prime. 
 
 "There I will leave you, in your prison-house 
 of gloom, 
 From which no roads depart. 
 Amid dim shadows, like a living tomb. 
 Where Dread will fill your heart." 
 
 101 
 
Part Three. 
 
 Second Angel's Return. 
 
 The gates of pearl, which separate afar 
 Yon world and this, were gently left ajar : 
 Without, there stood a messenger of light, 
 Whose face brought back a trace of human 
 
 fright : 
 "Great one," she said, "I've seen thy gift so 
 
 tried 
 That brave, strong men, like little children 
 
 cried. 
 And yet so long as trace of Hope remained, 
 The weakest ones God's hidden treasures 
 
 gained ; 
 But, Master Mine, I dread the fate of him 
 Who loses Hope amid those valleys dim." 
 
 A shadow passed across th' unclouded sky, 
 As, once in ages, some one heard a sigh : 
 Then Peter spoke: "Sweet Pity bows her head 
 For mortal soul, where gift of Hope is dead." 
 
 I 
 On many a field of battle brave De Leon's hand 
 
 had fought, 
 In many a sea storm's fury his frail ships had 
 
 been caught. 
 Long years of brave adventure had traced the lines 
 
 of care 
 Upon his face and left the marks of un-won 
 
 vict'ries there. 
 
 102 
 
Hopes long delayed made sick his heart, but some- 
 how in his soul 
 
 De Leon felt the star of hope would lead him to 
 his goal; 
 
 The fount of youth must soinewhere lie, within 
 this wondrous land, 
 
 But why his search, so fruitless seemed, he could 
 not understand. 
 
 The days grew into weary weeks and these to 
 
 months of pain : 
 The eyes that long had smiled in hope now wore 
 
 a hopeless strain, 
 Each haunting vision that appeared, above the 
 
 woodlands dark, 
 Quick disappeared and fanned away hope's last 
 
 remaining spark. 
 
 Sequoia's Indian cunning knew the wilds without 
 
 a road. 
 He knew the trackless paths that lie, where Awe 
 
 has long abode: 
 At last, by artful windings, he led his captors far 
 Into this swamp, Avhere gloom and dread man's 
 
 onward footsteps bar. 
 
 103 
 
II 
 Here are the wikLs which God intend 
 
 That man shonld never see, 
 Shades dim and dark like guarded page 
 
 From Book of Destiny. 
 The live oaks' glossy leaves hold well 
 
 The sunlight's outer ray, 
 Garnering all the golden light 
 
 That fills a tropic day. 
 Vines, tangled vines, in festoons Imng 
 
 Beneath the live oak's arms, 
 Safe from intrusion of the light 
 
 And oft recurrent storms. 
 
 Beneath the vines tlic- wild reeds grow 
 
 Slender and thick and tall. 
 Pale in that shadowy world below 
 
 Where sun rays never fall ; 
 Here twilight dim and sliadows dark 
 
 Enshroud a world of gloom. 
 Fit for the hiding place of crime. 
 
 Or, for a lost soul's tomb. 
 Each shaded niche becomes the place 
 
 Where creeping phantoms hide, 
 While yonder slimy aisle is where 
 
 Weird, grinning gnomes abide. 
 
 105 
 
1 
 
 Eternal Gloom is master here, 
 
 Ruling with tireless hand, 
 Shielding his spirits. Awe and Dread, 
 
 In this their favored land. 
 And Crime, afraid of day and light. 
 
 Slinks here to find repose: 
 The Evils that once lived in men 
 
 Can here recount their woes. 
 Fear takes the shape of hideousness 
 
 In yonder darkest glade, 
 Weird shapes from out the long ago 
 
 Here fellowship have made; 
 The pain that follows souls in death 
 
 Whispers among the trees. 
 And groans from wrecks upon the main 
 
 Echo in every breeze. 
 
 Eternal Silence revels here, 
 
 Safe from the wistful day, 
 While Fear and Dread both rule alike 
 
 With undisputed sway. 
 
 Ill 
 Luminous stars, in tropic skies, more kind to day 
 
 than night, 
 Watching above the waste of marsh, where man 
 
 had never been. 
 Looked down upon De Leon's braves, now left in 
 
 desperate plight, 
 And saw Fate play his faultless game, who never 
 
 fails to win. 
 
 106 
 
The treeless waste of marsh and grass spread far 
 
 as one could see: 
 Behind, the SAvamp, stood as a wall, tliru which 
 
 they just had gone: 
 De Leon gazed, with aimless face, no seeker now 
 
 was he. 
 The eyes that erstwhile beamed with liope, with 
 
 grim defeat now shone. 
 
 That night, beside a sunken mound, where marsh 
 
 and woodland meet, 
 De Leon walked alone in gloom, distrust upon his 
 
 brow, 
 A sickle moon was in the West, as when lie manned 
 
 his fleet. 
 But that which urged his spirit then, was stranger 
 
 to him now. 
 
 The proud Sequoia had escaped and crouching 
 
 thru the wood, 
 Marked well the spot, beside the mound, where 
 
 worn De Leon stood; 
 Then aiming well, his arrow flew, it pierced the 
 
 Spaniard's thigh, 
 As sweet revenge, for injured pride, shone in 
 
 Sequoia's eye. 
 
 101 
 
IV 
 
 "Take that, proud man, with all the poison it 
 
 can give : 
 
 Take that and die; bnt if you chance to live, 
 
 An unhealed wound will follow to your grave : 
 
 Reminder that you made Sequoia once your 
 
 slave." 
 
 Part Four. 
 
 Third Angel's IIeturx. 
 
 The jasper gate in Eden's wall, 
 Where fancy-laden sunbeams fall. 
 Opened upon its hinges old 
 To welcome one Avithin the fold. 
 The angel cast a tear-stained eye 
 About, and shivered Avith a sigh, 
 Then to Saint Peter made reply: — 
 "I pray, O Master, send me not again 
 With gifts to yonder world of human pain. 
 To-da}'', within a lowly cot of white, 
 I saw one soul begin its homeward flight 
 Where Hope Avas lost; and. Goodly Master, I 
 Ne'er yet have seen such gloom in mortal eye ; 
 I shudder now, though safe within the gates, 
 When Mem'ry's page that dismal scene 
 relates." 
 
 Then to his angels good Saint Peter said : — 
 "All gifts bestowed upon the souls that plod 
 In mortal Avorld, Avhere good and sin are wed, 
 The gift of Hope is nearest kin to God." 
 
 108 
 
I 
 
 Tlie dream had wasted, Fate would liave her 
 
 way; 
 The quest was over, Fancy's vision fled; 
 De Leon woke, Ambition's debt to pay 
 And saw Death waiting- there beside his bed. 
 
 Sequoia's dart had filled its mission well; 
 The slimy marsh had breathed its deadly air, 
 And from the day the old Castilian fell. 
 His soul became the plaything of Despair. 
 
 He reckoned well a truce with Death and Fate, 
 Ambition came to bid a last good-bye — 
 The busy Past its stories would relate, 
 While Fancy looked upon him with a sigh. 
 
 Through all the years a dreamer he had been, 
 Reaching for gifts denied the soul of man, 
 Thwarted, the warrior rested now serene : 
 That man must die, he now could understand. 
 
 II 
 Across the room, where lights burned low. amid 
 
 the shadows dim, 
 De Leon cast a wistful look at those who watched 
 
 with him; 
 The fitful journey of his life at last was near its 
 
 end, 
 And now he felt the iron will in meek submission 
 
 bend, 
 And ere he passed, in feeble voice, this message 
 
 he would send : — 
 
 109 
 
"List, comrades, tempt not heartless Fate, who, 
 
 somehow, always wins. 
 And recompense she meets in full to every one who 
 
 sins; 
 The glad, sweet years were not enough to satisfy 
 
 my soul, 
 Hence now before my end should be, grim Death 
 
 exacts his toll. 
 The fabled spring I longed to reach Fate guards 
 
 from human eye, 
 Thus, for intrusion's sin, I must, far from my 
 
 hearthstone die." 
 
 Ill 
 The good, white sisters moved about tlie room 
 
 where Phantoms wait. 
 Within the stillness Death bestows, alike on mean 
 
 and great: 
 They softly smoothed the .furrows from a face 
 
 where Hope had died— 
 While just without De Leou's braves in muffled 
 
 silence cried. 
 
 At Last. 
 
 The Eastern gate, by good St. Peter kept. 
 
 Swung on its golden bar, 
 As one more Soul between the portals swept — 
 
 One who had traveled far; 
 And when he saw this city, wonder-wrought, 
 
 Green-clad in blooms of truth, 
 The Pilgrim found the land he long had sought, 
 
 Where flowed the fount of youth. 
 
 110 
 
DEC 18 1911 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div.