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riiK BALLAD 
 
 [a Jeunesse Doree 
 
 And other VERSES, 
 
 Nlarthci Cunningl-iam. 
 
THK BALLAD 
 
 ■OF 
 
 La Teunesse J3oree 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 VE RS ES, 
 
 -BY- 
 
 MARTHA CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 K^^^. 
 
 ;^'?'%pyfi/s«,-''^.5:^ 
 
 
 /.' ' 
 
 HAL Tl.MOKK : 
 
 GUSHING & GO., 
 1895- 
 

 COPYRIGHT BY 
 MARTHA CUNNINfiHAM. 
 

 Cf^ /fm fit- CI ■mn/r.'l -/te-// : 
 

(^ON^TENXS^ 
 
 Page 
 The Ballad of La Jeunesse Doree, - - - . - n 
 
 Her Power, - - - - - - - - - - 14 
 
 Since Time Was, ---..... j^ 
 
 The Angelus, ---------- 16 
 
 Purity, ----------- is 
 
 The Message, --------.. j^ 
 
 To a Lost Friend, -------- 20 
 
 To Jack, with Regrets, ------- 21 
 
 Serenade, - - - - - - - - - - - 2^^ 
 
 Mors Consolatrix, --------- 2^ 
 
 Gi\e Me of Thy Gold, ------- 28 
 
 Optimism vs. Pessimism, ------- 29 
 
 Tile Love Letter of a Maid — 1795, ----- ^o 
 
 The Love Letter of a Maid — 1895, - - - - - ^i 
 
 To Mine Own Lady^ Lo\e, ------ t,2 
 
 The Other Woman, - - - - :^2 
 
 The I\L\n, the God, and the Woman, " " - - 37 
 
 Dawn, ----------- :-g 
 
 Within the Shadow of a Rock, ------ 40 
 
 X'isions of the Night, -------- 4-^ 
 
 Song— Lullaby, - --47 
 
 Aunty's Discipline, --------- 4S 
 
 Lullaby, ---------- 49 
 
 My Rcjunie W^ee, --------- 50 
 
f La J 
 
 eunesse 
 
 D 
 
 onee. 
 
 \\m have lieard of the Land of (jiiaint I'^iljle, 
 W'liere tlie women were fair and l)rain-ahle, 
 And the men, were full strong and heart-stable. 
 
 It is sung;, 'twas a country all Howing-, 
 With the graces of nature all blowing, 
 In whose midst was a garden all glowing. 
 
 Hid away in this garden, fair seeming, 
 Was the fanciful Tower of Dreaming, 
 Fanciful, titful and gleaming. 
 
 And 'twas here in this Garden of Glory, 
 
 In this Tower of mythical story. 
 
 That once dwelt a young soul, Jeunesse Doree. 
 
 Jeunesse Doree, who lived so securely, 
 In her Tower and Garden, demurely, 
 In her maidenhood, primly and purely. 
 
 When the Old World, one idle day spying. 
 In amongst the wild flowers a-Iying, 
 Jeunesse Doree, for her, goes a-sighing. 
 
 Then he ceased from his dinnings and cavils, 
 And he ceased from his feasting and revels : — 
 The ( )ld World was a roue of devils ! 
 
 And he painted his face, all bewrinkled, 
 With sweet perfume his body he sprinkled. 
 But his eye with fierce passion still twinkled. 
 
 Under garlands he hid his head hoary, 
 
 With fine raiment, he clothed his breast gory. 
 
 Ah, the Old World seemed young, Jeunesse Doree! 
 
The Old World " 
 
 for her, aoes a-sighing." 
 
Tlieii lie \cnturetl fortli, gallantly wooing. 
 Her soft hand and warm heart gently suing ; 
 And she knew not, he meant her undoing. 
 
 Spoke the Old World : "iMy Sweet, at your jileasure 
 "Are my lands and domains, without measure ; 
 "At your will, tiieir rare sights and vast treasure." 
 
 "And my lap is e'er soft," ijuotii tiie wooer, 
 "And my lips are e'er warm," said he to her, 
 "And my heart — you'll ne'er lind one that's truer." 
 
 At the Old World then glanced she, demurely. 
 With his perfume and garland— aye, surely 
 He was gallant, and loved her most purely! 
 
 A good-bye to the fanciful Tower ! 
 
 A good-bye to her maidenhood's Bower ! 
 
 A good-bye to each leaf, twig and flower ! 
 
 Then the Tower of Dreaming fell groaning. 
 And the Garden of Youth withered, moaning ; 
 With a sob])ing and wailing intoning. 
 
 'Jeunesse Doree ! " Tiie winds wandered sighing; 
 'Jeunesse Doree!" The winds wandered crying; 
 For fair youth and false love all a-dying ! 
 
 Jeunesse Doree was weeping, a-weeping. 
 And the gods, lack-a-day ! they were sleeping. 
 But the devil was reaping, a-reaping ! 
 
Hen P 
 
 ower. 
 
 H E liokls mt- not by jjower ol smiles, 
 Nor by lier tresses, lustrous, coiled ; 
 l)Ut by tile i)ureness of her heart, 
 And iier faitii liy the world unspoiled. 
 
 She holds me not by beauty's thrall. 
 
 Nor by her glance or sighs ; 
 Fuit by the fervor of her soul. 
 
 And the light in lier earnest eyes. 
 
 ^ 
 
oince I ime W 
 
 as. 
 
 T the beginning uf Time, 
 
 Before the birth of nations, 
 \'ou and I were evolved, 
 Twin thoughts in the wliirl of creation. 
 
 Up tln'ougli tiie cycle of ages, 
 Tin'ough limitless space and wide. 
 
 Towards the earth's plane we progressed 
 Together, side by side. 
 
 Now in this spiiere together. 
 
 We're living this life's brief sixin; 
 
 \\>u in the soul of a woman. 
 And I in that of a man. 
 
 i5 
 
T 
 
 76 
 
 Anaelus. 
 
 ARIE, Jesu ! Marie, Jesu ! 
 ^ Now the Angelus is pealing, 
 Mercy dealing ! 
 At thy altar I am kneeling. 
 Low at Heaven's gate, I sue 
 For the grace 
 Of thy face ! 
 
 Marie, Jesu ! Marie, Jesu ! 
 Once the Angelus' vibration. 
 
 Oscillation, 
 Sang of love and adoration — 
 Love to man and love to you ! 
 
 Now its swell. 
 
 Is a knell. 
 
 Marie, Jesu ! Marie, Jesu ! 
 Still the Angelus is ringing. 
 
 Sadness bringing ! 
 Still my heart to him is clinging, 
 Though he's loyal not, nor true, 
 
 Though he's left me 
 
 And bereft me ! 
 
 Marie, Jesu ! Marie, Jesu 1 
 But I would not say him nay. 
 
 If some day, 
 Thou shouldst send liim liome this way, 
 Vet for this I only sue — 
 
 Guard above him. 
 
 For I love him. 
 
 ' j6 
 
Now the Angelus is pealini;, 
 At tliy altar I am kneeling." 
 
p 
 
 unl V. 
 
 I'^ruin out a star I IVII. and then upon 
 riie cartli, tlcep in a clianiund's (lt|)tli 1 sliuUf ; 
 At Icngtli, 1 lay in the JK-art of a liaif-hlow ii rosu. 
 On a 3<)un;4 girl's hrrast, secure, I now repose. 
 
 18 
 
The M 
 
 essaqe. 
 
 V Soul I sent 
 
 \ On a journey bent 
 
 The girth of earth to span ; 
 
 Tliat she might learn 
 
 Wliy hearts so burn 
 
 And tremble 'neath Sin's ban. 
 For God in His love must yearn, 
 For the sorrowing home of man ! 
 
 O'er mountain peaks, 
 
 Long rippling creeks, 
 
 My Soul an answer sought 
 And back this message brought : 
 "To reach the goal man seeks, 
 He must the path of sorrow go. 
 That true perfection he may know." 
 
 Not yet content 
 My Soul I sent 
 
 Through cavernous depths of air. 
 Through space afar 
 To search each star 
 
 For the solution ol man's welfare. 
 
 From what will Death's hand bar 
 
 The shrinking Soul ? From care ? 
 Turmoil ? Or is one passed 
 From Life to Chaos vast, 
 
 Or plunged in tortures dread ? 
 
 My Soul through Immensity sped, 
 
 This message bearing fast : 
 "God's fair creation holds no i)Iace, 
 
 That does not know His smile and grace. 
 
 19 
 
I A Lost r riend, 
 
 I'RIEND I liad, nor joy, nor care 
 Had I, in vvliicli slie had no part ; 
 
 No thought or hope or wish sought 1, 
 That found no echo in her heart. 
 
 Wh}- have I lost this friend of mine ? 
 
 My heart cries out in wild protest. 
 What have I done? How have I erred — • 
 
 That I should lose what I prize best ? 
 
 .Some day I'll take her hands in mine. 
 Look long into her eyes, until 
 
 Their light sinks in my soul, and therein 
 Reads, that I am loval still. 
 
i cJacI^-— with Regrets. 
 
 O-MORROW you'll hear that I'm married 
 — To wealth, a smart title, and i^out ' 
 And I try iu imagine yoiu" feelings, 
 
 Ami your face, when you first find it out. 
 
 Perhajis you will inwardly curse me, 
 And wish that all women be hurled 
 
 To eternal perdition, and mutter, 
 
 "To be sure it's the way of the world." 
 
 Perhaps you may reel and grow dizzy. 
 
 Or only feel weary and numlj. 
 While your eyes will grow dim, cold and stony 
 
 And your lips become ashen and dumb. 
 
 Or do only the heroes of romance, 
 Behave in this womanish wav ? 
 
 While the men of the latter-day century, 
 I>ut indifterence stolid portray ? 
 
 Well, be it one way or the other. 
 
 Repressed or proclaimed "de haiilc voi.v 
 
 Try to think of my present position. 
 And believe I was left without '"c/ioix." 
 
 Of course it's a very old story, 
 — Has happened so often before, — 
 Vet it does n't quite alter the sufiering. 
 Or make the wrung heart feel less sore. 
 
Remember, wliatever nias- liappeii, 
 How gross be the lie I must live, 
 
 All the past was at least true and blameless 
 So you've notliin.^' in tliat to for,f;ive. 
 
 For surely I was not to blame, that 
 
 The future I could not foresee. 
 Or that life is not just what we will it, 
 
 Or that fate has been stronger than me. 
 
oerenade. 
 
 Good niglit, t^ood niglit, sweetheart, 
 
 All thoui^hts of day depart, 
 
 And let unlettered soar 
 
 'Thy s(jnl lo dreamland's shore. 
 
 .Methinks in tin.' mystic ni.>;ht, 
 riiy spirit wings its liii;ht 
 Through glowing spare afar. 
 To some soft shining star. 
 
 Where heart to heart responds. 
 Untrammelled l)y earth's bonds ; 
 Where triumph soul and mind. 
 Where dwell in love fhy kind. 
 
 And wiien the tlush of dawn 
 Declares the birth of morn, 
 Do no dim phantoms stay. 
 To haunt thy waking day? 
 
 For when again are rife. 
 Life's turmoil, stir and strife. 
 When bush and rose unfold 
 Their leaves; and when its gold. 
 Pure heart each flower rears, 
 The music of the spheres. 
 Still lingers in thy voice ; 
 When heaven bids earth rejoice. 
 The mystery of the skies 
 Haunts still thy wondrous eyes. 
 
 Good night, sweetheart, good night, 
 Thy dreams one long delight. 
 In peace secure, sleep on. 
 Ere night hastes on to dawn. 
 
'Good niglil, sweetheart, good night, 
 Thy dreams one long delight." 
 
M 
 
 ors 
 
 Uonsolatnix! 
 
 ND this is death! Cold, senseless sleep. 
 A silence palpable and deep; 
 Of thought, of energy— repose 
 Complete, eternal. Muie none knows. 
 
 1 iiougli more we hope and more we trust. 
 —It born to think— to act— then thrust 
 Into oblivion or merged into 
 Some other form— we know not who 
 
 Or what— why have been born at all ? 
 Why drink the Ijitterness of gall- 
 That cup life presses to our li|)s, 
 To drink in agonizing sij^s 
 
 Until we drain it more or less. 
 If chaos here and nothingness 
 Hereafter, be our right and sole 
 Inheritance ? If towards no goal 
 We tend, why enter on a race 
 Whose start or finish has no place. 
 
 A bride in wiiite and flowers dressed 
 She seems, hands folded on her breast. 
 So pale, so still, so fair she lies 
 Like one just gone to sleep. Dear eyes. 
 You'll never look in mine again, 
 Nor smile nor weep at joy or pain. 
 Sweet lips, to mine you'll ne'er respond, 
 Nor feel the pressure of my fond 
 Embrace. Still heart, you'll never know, 
 — You'll never guess — I loved you so ! 
 
 25 
 
" Like one just gone to sleep "- 
 
1 luv t^- looked till now on death. 
 And now it only seems, of breath, 
 A short cessation. I can not feel 
 It — life's extinction, nor the seal 
 ( )l (head annihilation, as I 
 Once did. No matter how I try, 
 With your dead face before me dear. 
 The old-time tiieories and fancies drear 
 Serve now to only shame and mock! 
 I marvel how 1 ever thougiit that slmck 
 Of atoms — death — could never be 
 .Survived! At last I seem to see! 
 I can't believe that you have ceased 
 To be. \'ou live uilh powers increasetl 
 .Somewhere — somehow — away, yet near! 
 To you has fate been kind, my dear. 
 In dashing; from your lips the cup 
 Whose mere soft froth you could not sup. 
 Its contents into mine has run ; 
 But knowing well that you have won, 
 And the anguish you are saved thereliy, 
 I'll (|uaff my double portion dry. 
 Content that you are spared tlie pain 
 From which I'll ne'er be free again. 
 
S0N6. 
 
 Uive Me 0] I by Uold. 
 
 ! 
 
 .Vjr I\ K iiie of tliy gold, O Suiisliiiit' ! 
 Of thy silver, give nie, Moon, 
 And I'll take them to my svveetliearl, 
 — She will bid me enter soon. 
 
 Then it will not matter, Sunshine, 
 Then it will not matter, Moon, 
 
 That we have no purse between us, 
 Only love's sweet, priceless boon. 
 
 28 
 
imism vs. 
 
 P 
 
 essimism. 
 
 They tell me, God a despot is, 
 Of ways, most dark and taxing — 
 
 1 look upon this tender flower 
 And muse — "Was He relaxin.c:?" 
 
 Tliey tell me that all men are false. 
 
 With not a trait redeeming. 
 1 look ui:>on this little child — 
 
 "Can here, be just, fair seeming?" 
 
 They tell me life contains no joy, 
 lUit only sighs and weeping. 
 
 And tiien I look within my heart — 
 "Can all, be in my keeping?" 
 
 They tell me that there is no love. 
 Just sufferance for each other. 
 
 And then I ask with doubting breath, 
 "Have I alone, a mother?" 
 
 29 
 
Tbe Love Letter of a Ma,cl-1795. 
 
 Vou thought me lieartless, love, to-day. 
 You asked me if I cared at all — 
 I longed upon your heart to fall; 
 
 Instead, I laughed and turned away. 
 
 \'ou told me you were poor, and asked 
 
 If I would wait a year to wed; 
 
 I tried to say "till death" — instead, 
 I shook my head and looked aghast. 
 
 1 saw your eyes grow dim with pain. 
 You held my hand and sought to trace 
 My soul's true meaning in my face, 
 
 That soul that gladly would have lain 
 
 Its l)eing palpably before 
 
 Your sight, as flowers unfold and lift 
 Their hearts before the light — God's gift 
 
 To Day. I felt my eyelids lower. 
 
 I thouglit the l)lood my heart forsook, 
 ^'ou dropped my hands and turned away; 
 I felt the earth grow cold and grey, 
 
 I dared not speak — 1 dared not look ! 
 
 And so you left me, knowing naught 
 Of what lay deep within my heart, 
 Xor that your name, of it a part. 
 
 Lives there in golden letters wrought! 
 
 30 
 
er CI 
 
 Med- 1895. 
 
 Vuii dear old thing, I hope you know 
 I didn't mean to treat you so — 
 So shabby as it seemed to-day — 
 To-day, before vou went away. 
 
 You know I'm not the sort ol girl 
 To cut a fellow for the curl 
 Of his mustache, or for the fold 
 Of his cravat — or for his gold ! 
 
 I should at once have said my mind. 
 But did not seem just then to lind 
 The proper words I meant to say, 
 So in a Inifl' vou went awav! 
 
 3^ 
 
To Mine 
 
 wn 
 
 Lady^ 
 
 L 
 
 ove. 
 
 In tiie stillness of the dawn, 
 In the gladness of the light, 
 
 In the quiet of the eve, 
 In the vigils of the night, 
 I see theel 
 
 At the waking of tiie buds, 
 At the sighing of the breeze, 
 
 At the singing of the birds. 
 At the falling of the leaves, 
 1 bless thee! 
 
 I-'or the pureness of thy heart. 
 For the beauty of thy mind, 
 
 F^or the strivings of thy soul. 
 For thy goodness to thy kind, 
 I love thee! 
 
 32 
 
I r)e Otrjer Woman. 
 
 DOWN y.)ii purple hill 
 
 Soft twilight, solemn, still, 
 
 Like a messenger of death, 
 
 A soft empyrean breath — 
 
 Descends and fills the soul 
 
 With wistful hope. The whole 
 
 Dim earth seems hushed, and rest 
 
 Sinks down upon its warm, green brtast. 
 
 1 watch the moon ascend 
 
 Behind the trees, then wend 
 
 Across the mystic sky 
 
 Her Imninous course, while I 
 
 Keep watch. Within the room. 
 
 My bride, a lily bloom. 
 
 Sleeps on and dreams of me 
 
 And her new life, to be. 
 
 •Sweet innocent, who thinks 
 
 My soul but holds and drinks 
 
 111 thoughts of her! Why teach 
 
 Her otherwise? Tlie breach 
 
 Of faith need only be 
 
 Endured and felt by me. 
 
 N'er know that when I gaze 
 
 Into your face a haze 
 
 Conceals it from my view, 
 
 from which a face not you 
 
 l>ooks out with wistful eyes 
 
 .And (luivering lips with sighs 
 
 Repressed. \'our hand 1 feel, 
 
 .\nd l)realii, — and yet not rt-al 
 
 rhe\ seem, but phantoms of 
 
 .\ dream — a long dead lo\ e. 
 
 •Since then long years have passed. 
 
 And yet I feel the vast, 
 
 \ague magic of that eve 
 
 When conspirOd to deceive, 
 
 .\11 n.ilure both witiiin 
 
 33 
 
"A cnicitix hangs lu-ar 
 
 -;;- * * -X- 
 
 It was Ikt mother's lout:: ^go." 
 
And out. For tliere had bt-t-n 
 No conscious sense of ill. 
 Nanght but a night when thrill 
 The soul sweet ecstasy, 
 Dim dreams and phantasy; 
 A blissful exultation, 
 A mystic palpitation 
 Pervade and tremble tluoui;!! 
 The earth, the sky and you. 
 I seem to now be where 
 That first love lay! 1 dare 
 Not breathe for fear she wakes; 
 And yet her beauty makes 
 Me mad to hold her in 
 .My arms, and try to win 
 One look of love from tiiose 
 Closed eyes. Her bridal clothes 
 And veil are tossed in sweet 
 Disorder at her feet. 
 Her orange wreath's perfume 
 Pervades and fills tiie room. 
 .Soft rose leaves strew the lloor, 
 And still across the door 
 Her collie lies asleep, 
 ( )utstretched in slumlier deep. 
 A crucifix hangs near 
 Her lied, to her most dear- 
 It was her mother's long 
 .\go. She sees no wrong- 
 in its ivory form, but a sign 
 .\nd symbol of love divine. 
 How still and white she lies, 
 Her dear loved, earnest eyes 
 Are closed. Her hands are pressed 
 Upon her pure young breast. 
 Against her pillow's white, 
 Her hair as dark as night; 
 Its tangled masses gleam 
 In the softly shimmering stream 
 That falls across her bed. 
 She lies as someone dead — 
 .So still. She scarcely breathes. 
 
 35 
 
Outside I hear tlie rustling leaves 
 The fountain's splashing soft, 
 Whose music quaint so oft 
 Hath soothed me when a child, 
 And helped to stay my wild 
 Young fears, that in the still 
 Weird nights against my will, 
 Beseiged my mind and made 
 My heart stand still. Tlien slraved 
 Upon my listening ear. 
 And calmed my childish fear, 
 That sound — the water's fall 
 Against its marble wall. 
 How can she dreaming lie 
 Unmoved and calm, while I 
 With love and passion burn. 
 With soul aflame, so yearn 
 To know and feel her mine 
 By every look and sign! 
 To feel her lips respond 
 To mine, and to my fond 
 Embrace to have her yield. 
 Content love's power to wiekl. 
 
 I must be mad to feel 
 
 This woman is not real, 
 
 Is other than she seems — 
 
 That other of my dreams! 
 
 A woman, womanly sweet, 
 
 In whom all virtues meet. 
 
 The other one? Well she 
 
 Is dead. And yet U) he — 
 
 To press that narrow bed 
 
 With her — to hold though dead 
 
 Her dear, cokl body to 
 
 IMy heart — aye this to do— 
 
 I'd offer uj) my soul, 
 
 And, if 1 had control. 
 
 The souls of her and a// 
 
 Who dare to live — to crawl — 
 
 While she must yield her breath 
 
 Upon the loveless couch of Death ! 
 
^e 
 
 M 
 
 cm, 
 
 Ofi 
 
 L::^od. 
 
 and 
 
 1)6 
 
 Wo 
 
 Oman. 
 
 It is written, a god in an hour ot ennui, 
 To enliven the tedium, out of nil a man made. 
 
 Made a man — who, it seems, was a creature of parts, 
 And of head and of heart— who could walk witlioul aid. 
 
 And the god from iiis high and omnipotent throne. 
 
 From his august, imperial and eminent seat, 
 On the work of his hands, of liis whim, he gazed down, 
 
 At his creature, the sport of his will, at his feet. 
 
 'I am tired of tliis long, this eternal long calm; 
 
 1 am tired of tiiis march, ceaseless march of tlu- spheres; 
 Of law, harmony, ortler and infinite space, 
 The revolving, resolving, interminable years ! " 
 
 'Now this man may perchance help to while away time, 
 Help to dissipate some of existence's long hour. 
 
 .So I'll have thee arise man and dance, dance for me," 
 
 Said tlie god, " for methinks thou hast well this same power, 
 
 riien the man he arose in tiie mighty god's sight. 
 
 And he danced anon slcjw and he danced anon fast; 
 And he danced to the right and the left. And the god 
 
 Cried he out, " 15y my throne, my long boredom is |)ast I " 
 
 And his laughter ran out through the trembling spheres, 
 And it echoed and rolled through the wide halls of I'^ate, 
 
 Rolled afar to the Dome of illimitable Space, 
 Wiiile tiie man danced he long and tiie man danced lie Lite. 
 
 .\nd now surely 'twould be a fine sight, thought the god, 
 If this man had a creature who'd anon dance for him. 
 
 Then would time speed along tor iis lH)th, mused the god, 
 And tlnis musing, lie fashioned a woman — fair — slim. 
 
 Said the god, "Unrewarded my servants ne'er go. 
 
 Thou shalt learn from my fiat, my benignly decree. 
 That this woman I've made is thy creature, and she 
 
 O thou man, at thy pleasure, shall dance, dance for thee." 
 
Then the god turned aside witli a sense of true worth, 
 And the man strutted up with an air proudly brave ; 
 
 For he, too, like a god his own leisure could take, 
 For he. too, like a god had a creature — a slave. 
 
 Then he looked at the woman with masterful eye, 
 And he thought / shall laugh like a god undefiled. 
 
 Then he cried in his godship, " Dance, dance woman, dance ! " 
 And the woman, she bowed her fair liead— and she smiled. 
 
 Then the man stood transfixed with surprise and alarm, 
 
 With a strange all bewildering, pleasurable i)ain. 
 And he suddenly craved, not the woman to dance — 
 
 He would dance, if on him she would so smile again! 
 
 Then the god came upon them in fury and wrath ; 
 
 To the man a dread menace he thundered "O you, 
 O thou Atom! Thy dancing's for me ! Ne'er again 
 
 Dare to venture to rob a great god of iiis due." 
 
 And with lowering brow on the woman he turned — 
 "Aye and you! Thou weak woman! Wilt thou have this man swt pi 
 From creation's domains, bid him dance and 'tis done ! '' 
 And her head bowed the woman — and silently wept. 
 
 Then amazed gazed the god while the woman thus wept ; 
 
 And his deified wrath flowed away with her tears. 
 T'was a mollified god that then spoke : " Nay, weep not, 
 
 It is mirth that befits thee, so banish tiiy tears." 
 
 "After all, it is but a small thing thou wouldst have — 
 
 Have thy way ! " said the god with a marvellous glance, 
 As the woman she smiled, " and hereafter this man 
 Aye, for me or for thee, at thy will, he shall dance ! " 
 
 Then the god went his way, and lie pondered awhile. 
 
 For my pleasure this man, made I him, the god (juoth ; 
 And this woman 1 made her for his, yet methinks, 
 
 With lu-r smiles and her tears she will manage to govern us ho/h." 
 
D> 
 
 iwn, 
 
 I);irkiK-ss, lilackncss, iIr-ii .i .L;rfy, 
 
 lilue lii;lU. that sil\L-r t;ii)\\s and i)ales. 
 
 Stillness, silence ; then a stir 
 Of hreathinj;- life. WMiite trails 
 
 Of sombre cloucls, lloat to tin- West, 
 
 And sink witliin the sea to rest. 
 
 Peak on peak, leaps up rose-tipped. 
 
 And slope on slope then swells wilii thrills 
 Sweet, and pipe and call of bird 
 
 And beast. Then high above the hills, 
 The sun flames up ; and shepherd's horn 
 Resoimds and echoes — Day is born I 
 
 .39 
 
w 
 
 1 11; 1 11 
 
 96 obcftiow o| CI Kocb. 
 
 A RETROSPECTION. 
 
 Come! Rest upon tliis liiml)letl heap of stone, 
 
 And watch the shadows lengllien out across 
 'l"he desert's shining- waste ; and fade and fatlc, 
 
 Till lost among those groxes of palms that mark 
 The dim horizon's bend. Then soon llu- snii 
 
 Below the bnrning sands will sink l)ehind us. 
 And we shall see yon ancient pyramid 
 
 Burn gold and bronze, while right above its pile 
 The moon will cleave the heaven's amethyst, 
 
 A gleaming sickle. And in this silence vast, 
 I>y call of bird or stir of leaves unbroken, 
 
 We'll dream of ages gone, forgotten, lost— 
 When reigned in glory great Rameses' line; 
 
 When mighty Cheop's faith and pride raisi-d hii;h 
 His tomb to be his future dwelling place, 
 
 And wondering haunt of unborn generations. 
 Then back through Eons, through Eozoic Time 
 
 To when Cheops was not, now Sphinz was not, 
 To when the earth was void, unformed. 
 
 Then through the transitory phases of primeval 
 Cosmos ; through imitative stages 
 
 Of protozoic life, to when crinoids 
 Peeped out from torrid seas, on shifting mists; 
 
 Then on to later ages, when giant ferns 
 And mighty pines, aloft their branches swayed 
 
 To heaven's height. When Cycads' growth 
 

 And brusht'd l)y wrathkil pterodactyl's wings." 
 
Was marked by stalking dinosaurs, and hruslu-d 
 
 By wrathful pterodactyl's wing. Then on 
 Through Cenozoic Time to Age of Man. 
 
 And here we ponder long. To what were onr 
 I'irst brothers likened? To what were lluy in mind 
 
 And body fashioned? And were their souls attinu-d 
 T(j nature's perfect harmony ? 
 
 Then muse we — why were they ? and wii.\- are we ? 
 Till life seems nought but one appalling mystery ! 
 
 Is death the key, and will it bring us life's 
 .Solution? Small, so small, we feel within 
 
 Thy shadow, grey old Cheops ! for thou hast seen 
 Of man's progression tidal, unknown ciiapters 
 
 Of its rise and fall. .So long hast thou entlured, 
 That surely we, who suffer, breathe and feel, 
 
 Should have a life outstripping time, a thing 
 Of mortar, of sand and stone! This thought, thou seei 
 
 With silent eloquence to urge, and more: 
 
 That of a great harmonious whole, we are 
 
 A part, — though small, though pitifully .small ; 
 Yet were we lost, the equipoise would be 
 
 Destroyed, — the gracious whole, be incomplete. 
 
 42 
 
V, 
 
 sions 0" 
 
 oe 
 
 N 
 
 ql,l 
 
 DREAM 1. 
 
 Ami I v\as a woman. And llic i^rt-at iimcst lillecl 
 
 My Ix'in.i;. And I called lo llu- Sun, and llie Moon, and tht^ Kartli 
 
 For Iheir ble.ssin<;, hnt iUt-y lu-ard me not, and still that iniqiiicl. 
 
 That Inexpressible. .\nd then a triend, 
 
 Who at my side had stayed, placed a coolini; palm 
 
 In my palm, and on my heart another. 
 
 And the Messini;- of Sim, and of Moon, and of I^'-arlh fell npon me. 
 
 DREAM II. 
 
 1 dreamed before me lay a stretch of land. 
 
 In whose dim centre rose an altar vast, 
 
 Ot clay, bepainted much with cunning art. 
 
 Until it seemed of noble parts, of gems. 
 
 And glistening marble, pure and virgin white. 
 
 And on this altar, prone and spent, bound hands. 
 
 And leet, a woman, pale and weeping lay. 
 
 And here, from tar, from near came men to bend 
 
 43 
 
And on this altar, prone and spent, Ixmnd hands. 
 And feet, a woman, pale and weepinj;, lay." 
 
Tlie knt'c, to \vorshi|) and to lril)UlL' lirin*;. 
 
 And cried thty lout! : "() Woman, Heaven-l)oi n, 
 'Whose falling tears, with purer lustre shine. 
 'Than all the gems that grace thy altar's wortii. 
 'O thou, whose sighs are sweeter far than soft 
 'Night winds, that lull our weary earth to rest. 
 'Tiiou Woman, we thee worship and adore !" 
 
 And pale and weeping, lay the woman still. 
 
 And then I saw fast striding o'er the waste 
 Of land, one bearing in his hand a mighty 
 Sword. And who, when he had reached the altar. 
 Stood still, but bent he not the head nor knee ; 
 But on the woman, with pitying eyes, he gazed. 
 A moment gazed, and then with swift, sure flashes 
 Severed he the cords that bound her, hand and foot. 
 Then lifting her, he placed her at his side 
 Upright, saying : "See, beloved one, 
 'This painted altar we will now destroy. 
 'And I shall make for thee a greater one, 
 'Of alabaster, of jasper and of gold. 
 'Unbound, upon it, thou shalt rest; and all 
 'Will marvel at its beauty and at thine." 
 With wild entreaty, the woman answer made : 
 'Nay, build me not an altar, however fair ! 
 'Destroy this one of clay, for it hath been 
 'The cause of all my woe ; but let none other 
 'Rise to martyr me. And thou, my dear 
 'Preserver, let me go witii lliee, that all 
 'My life's devotion may recpiilr thee for 
 This .service, thou has wrought."" 
 
 45 
 
" This would I do." 
 Replitd the man, "but I have far to go. 
 'The way is rugged, i^erilous and steep, 
 'And thou hast never known endurance. So 
 'Beloved, stay, and I'll return to thee." 
 'Endurance ! " Cried the woman. "O man, 'tis I 
 'Could teach thee somewhat ! Have I nothing borne, 
 'When all the shifting seasons I have Iain 
 'Prostrate upon that altar's height, and on 
 'My breast have beaten rain, and wind, and snow, 
 'And hail, and yet I have not murmured aught? 
 'And if I have not walked, my hand in thine, 
 'I will not fear to fall ; and thou shalt find 
 'I will not Inirden thee, but be a help 
 'As thou hast been to me." And, marxelling mucli. 
 The man did as she bid, and in his hand 
 Took hers, and straightway felt a newer strength 
 .And power. Then smiling, palm in palm, 1 saw 
 Tiieni journey forth into a stranger land. 
 
 46 
 
NG Lullab 
 
 oDy. 
 
 ^'E-(), halow, l)alovv, l)ye. 
 Drowsy is my darling's eye ; 
 Dewy witii the dreams tiiat hie— 
 Hie to greet him — sing tlien low 
 Balow, bye-o, bye-o, b(iw. 
 
 i'"ast are shadows tailing, drear, 
 Thinkest thou the night is here? 
 Nay, I tell thee day's but near 
 I'"or tin fatlier cometh, dear ! 
 And th\' motlier sings for joy. 
 Balow, bye-o, bye-o, boy, 
 B\e-o, l)aIo\\ , balow, loy. 
 
 47 
 
A 
 
 unly 
 
 D 
 
 scipline. 
 
 Tt-ll nif, luuiglily May, 
 Did you liear me say, 
 That you must obty! 
 
 Surely you forget, 
 If you pout and fret. 
 You are not my pel I 
 
 Oil ! a kiss indeed I 
 Now, well may you plead 
 But I'll pay no heed. 
 
 Really, tears 1 spy ? 
 What a brute am I 
 So to make you cry ! 
 
 Oh, my own sunbeam, 
 Aunty didn't dream. 
 So unkind to seem I 
 
 "Course it was in fun. 
 Darling, angel one I 
 Kiss me — now a run ! 
 
 4,S 
 
Lui 
 
 abv. 
 
 I'>;il)v K;Ue, close soft thiiiu e\r, 
 ■.\ Wliile the samlnian's iiassim^- by; 
 ^ l,est lie with liis swarlhv hands, 
 
 1 hrow into tiiinc orl)s iiis sands. 
 
 Shnt ihine eyes, sweet l)ahy mine, 
 .As the stars come ont to shine, 
 Kacii in tnni wiiile thon'rt aslee|). 
 'riirongii thy cnrtains takes a peep. 
 
 Elf" and gnome trip "neatli liie moon, 
 And tiiey dance till midnight's noon ; 
 Frogs and crickets sing in glee, 
 Bats and mice laugh histilw 
 
 Drowsy How 'rets nod antl Mow , 
 While the wind hums soft and low ; 
 Sweet, my little one, sleep on, 
 Till the night pales into daw n. 
 
 When the east grows rosy letl. 
 Peeps from its pillow thy sunny head. 
 Sweet as bluets in earlv May, 
 Sniik thme eyes to gleet the (l,i\ 
 
 49 
 
Mv B 
 
 onnie 
 
 w 
 
 ee. 
 
 Dear, sweet, bonny wee. 
 What's thy lite to l)e ? 
 
 < )tt I w (jnder sore, 
 What's ("or tliee in stoic. 
 
 It i)Ut at my side, 
 
 I'hoii coukist sate al.i(U- ! 
 
 ir l)nt on my ])reasl. 
 
 Thy sweet liead conld rest 
 
 W hen I'm i^one, nn we»-. 
 Wlial's thy late to l)e :' 
 Wliert- will lead tiiy tread ? 
 Where will lay tliy head ? 
 
 < iod to w iiom I pra\'. 
 Will not let thee stray. 
 In His heart all kind. 
 He'll thee keej) in mind. 
 
 Into saints at pra\ er, 
 I nto Heaven's care, 
 I commend thy way, 
 Tliron<;ii the nii^lit and dav. 
 
 Happiness to thee. 
 Pretty, boimie w ee ' 
 May thy future years, 
 r>rin"; more smiles tiian tear 
 
 ,50 
 
C 32 89 ^•'"•i 
 

 
 
 
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 HECKMAN 
 
 BINDERY INC. 
 
 ^^ DEC 88 
 
 N. MANCHESTER 
 INDIANA 46962