PS 3549 
 .047 W3 
 1897 
 Copy 1 
 
 WAY-SONGS 
 
 AND -* 
 
 WANDERING 
 
 lAlBORNE 
 
 '\DI>lSO^' 
 
 YOUNG- 
 
 >• 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 ^:^ 
 
 Cliap...:_r.. Copyright No... 
 Shelf.„D4:lW3 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
I. WAY SONGS 
 
•^N^- 
 -<^^ 
 
 
 
 
 "THAT OUT FROM THE DUSTY HIGHWAY LED. 
 
WAY SONGS AND 
 WANDERINGS 
 
 BY \y^ 
 
 Claiborne Addison Young 
 
 JllttstraUU 
 By Ethelred B. Barry 
 
 BOSTON i^yiCi 
 
 ESTES & LAURIAT ^ '^ ^ . 
 1897 
 I 
 
1 
 
 Copyright, i8gy 
 By Claiborne Addison Young 
 
 SL- ^6lV3l9- 
 
 Colmtial Prfss: 
 
 Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Sinnonds & Co. 
 Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 
 
I 
 
 to- 
 
 WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Way Songs. 
 
 Prelude i 
 
 Time the Fast Driver 2 
 
 *' He Came Unto His Own " , . . . 4 
 
 A Good-By Quaff 5 
 
 To My Brother 6 
 
 Garth to Guy 7 
 
 Requiem 8 
 
 A Greenacre Song 9 
 
 Katahdin II 
 
 A Way Song 12 
 
 The Plowboy's Song 13 
 
 Burns 15 
 
 The Rolling Stone i6 
 
 Heart Songs. 
 
 The Frogs of Boone 19 
 
 Burial of the Lumberman's Horse . . 22 
 
 The Indian Ox-Driver 24 
 
 The World-Wide Masonry .... 27 
 vii 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 A Song of Twain 30 
 
 Love 32 
 
 "The Womanly Leadeth Us Ever" . . 33 
 
 The World Tussle 34 
 
 The Game of Life 36 
 
 The Peanut 38 
 
 Mother 40 
 
 The Aspen-Tree 43 
 
 My Little One Sleeps 44 
 
 To Mamma OOse 46 
 
 Songs of the Soul. 
 
 A Song of The Soul 52 
 
 Alone 54 
 
 Work • • 55 
 
 The Snowdrop and the Rose-Tree . . 56 
 
 Aspiration 59 
 
 The Blade of Grass 60 
 
 Resignation 61 
 
 Unit AS et Trinitas ,62 
 
 The Dead Robin 64 
 
 Samson and Delilah 65 
 
 Hymn to Virtue . . . . . . 67 
 
 My Christmas 68 
 
 Easter Chimes 71 
 
 A Song of Freedom 73 
 
 viii 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 It Snows 74 
 
 A Matin Song 75 
 
 Phillips Brooks 76 
 
 Star Lore 78 
 
 God-Crowned 80 
 
 The Great Spirit 83 
 
 Songs of Many Moods. 
 
 The Organ-Grinder's Boy .... 87 
 
 A Discord from My Lyre .... 89 
 
 The Morning-Glory 90 
 
 Twice-Fed 92 
 
 Legend of Katahdin 93 
 
 "Noblesse Oblige" — The Noble Help. . 96 
 
 A 19TH Century Knight .... 97 
 
 A Bacchic Song 98 
 
 The Call-o-Meter 100 
 
 The Rattlesnake loi 
 
 The Wild Rose 104 
 
 The Mignonette's Message . . . .106 
 
 Wild Honey 107 
 
 Voyagers 11 1 
 
 A Texas Vision 113 
 
 The Purple Tasselled Corn . . . • "S 
 
 The Chickadee 120 
 
 The Washita 122 
 
 ix 
 
These tardy sheaves^ this garnered graitty 
 Unplucked by wayside long had lain. 
 Into this field from fallow lands 
 You came, rubbed heads in hands; 
 You lightly blew the chaff away. 
 " Why, this is wheat I " / heard you say. 
 « The world is full of chaff and cheat j 
 Here! See, this is honest wheat! 
 There's hunger in the world to feed, 
 While this stands here like noxious weed.'''' 
 You thrust in sickle, gathered, gleaned. 
 Gave chaff to winds j the wheat was cleaned. 
 You found my life all sore bested, 
 This wayside field unharvested. 
 As Boaz unto Ruth, I wis. 
 What can I say but simply this : 
 " These sheaves gleaned from the wayside field, 
 This tardy harvest V garnered yield. 
 Is yours, not mine, — yea, and my life 
 Is yours, my leal and loving wife.'"' 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 (preface. 
 
 TV/riLESTONES of my past, 
 
 Whether they will or will not last, 
 That I leave to another. 
 They were the best I could rear, O brother ! 
 I swiftly built 
 As I passed along, 
 Swiftly built 
 While singing my song. 
 Rhythmic strokes are flowing. 
 Should they wilder. 
 Rather than guide, 
 Pity the builder. 
 Step aside, 
 Into thine own path going. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 $ime t^e Sast ©tiDetr. 
 
 ** For his driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of 
 Nimshi ; he driveth furiously." 
 
 'YT'ES, Jehu Time, he driveth fast, 
 
 And a reckless driver is he ; 
 With a whiz and a whirl he dashes past, 
 And our friends we scarcely see. 
 
 Sometimes he seems to slacken his speed. 
 And then we say, " Good-morning," 
 
 But before we've time to say, " Good-by," 
 He's off without a warning. 
 
 We pass through places shady and cool, 
 
 In which we'd love to linger ; 
 With a crack of his whip he says, " You fool ! " 
 
 And he's off with a snap of his finger. 
 
 But for every place that's shady and cool, 
 
 There are twenty dusty and hot ; 
 And I for one, though you call me a fool, 
 
 I like this lively trot. 
 
WAY SONGS. 
 
 If go I must 
 
 Through the mire and dust 
 Of this world and its hubbub of lies, 
 
 Though wheels be rust, 
 
 Their strength I'll trust, 
 I care not how fast she flies. 
 
 So get up, old Red ! 
 
 Go 'long, Old Sled ! 
 I like this jolly driving. 
 
 Though friends be dead 
 
 And hopes be fled, 
 Old Time don't stop for shriving. 
 
 And thus, in spite of prayers and tears, 
 Old Time, he driveth onward. 
 
 God grant that you, and I, and all. 
 For aye be driven sunward. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 **ge Came QJnto gfe d>»n/' 
 
 T F this old barn should stand, 
 
 If time should fail to crumble to decay, 
 Men in after-time shall come 
 To read the characters I have cut to-day. 
 
 A sort of sad farewell, 
 They are carved here 
 Because there were no hearts 
 To write them on. 
 
 But I have that within me 
 That can never die, 
 That yet shall quicken human clay. 
 Standing here they'll say : 
 
 " He came unto his own ; 
 
 His own received him not, 
 
 Or looked with eye askance ; 
 
 So gathered he himself around himself, 
 
 And went his way." 
 
WAY SONGS. 
 
 T HAVE packed my traps, 
 
 I have wrapped myself round me ; 
 If the world does not love, 
 It leaves as it found me. 
 
 If friends fell off 
 
 As leaves fall in autumm, 
 They only did 
 
 What the frost devil taught 'em. 
 
 If you stood firm 
 
 When the wind roared loudly, 
 I can only say 
 
 You did it proudly. 
 
 I toss this off 
 
 As we drink the wine flowing. 
 A health to Humphrey ; 
 
 I drink it going. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 to ®t« QBrof^er. 
 
 "11 7" ELL, Neal, three years grinding, 
 
 And never a minister yet ; 
 Tell mother not to worry, 
 Tell her not to fret. 
 
 For though her boy in a pulpit 
 
 May never wag his head. 
 She may take to herself much comfort 
 
 From the words that Jesus said : 
 
 " The field is the world." 'Twas spoken 
 
 Two thousand years ago. 
 There is fallow land unbroken 
 
 In that field as yet, I trow. 
 
 So I've packed my traps for starting ; 
 
 I leave with my grist unground. 
 I shall not wait for a license, 
 
 Or for the B. D.'s sound. 
 
 I start for the South to-morrow, — 
 
 Start with never a call, 
 Save that of black hands reaching, 
 
 And white that helpless fall. 
 
WAY SONGS. 
 
 <Batf5 to (Ku^ 
 
 " God be wi' you, old fellow." 
 
 T MEAN by this, 
 
 May your good star guide; 
 I mean by this. 
 May no ill betide. 
 
 I shout this after, 
 
 I hail from the Rover; 
 I've greeted few like. 
 
 Though I've sailed the seas over. 
 
 Kali Lukna, I. T. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Q^equiem. 
 
 "VT'E have gone, have gone, my beautiful, 
 
 Ye were untrue to me ; 
 My heart was not undutiful, 
 Yet ye have fled from me. 
 
 Ye go your ways of sorrow ; 
 I hail the glad to-morrow : 
 
 It always finds me free. 
 In dubious ways ye travel ; 
 Life's skein I slow unravel : 
 
 Its thread leads me from thee. 
 
 Else by the wayside sitting, 
 Life's car swift by us flitting. 
 
 Dismal ye croak to me : 
 " The way you choose is lonely." 
 It is the true, the only. 
 
 The only way for me. 
 
 Life's life I must be living. 
 This is the living, giving ; 
 
 All others steal from thee. 
 This sweetens bitter partings ; 
 This hastens dreaded startings 
 Across life's stormy sea. 
 
 8 
 
WAY SONGS. 
 
 (^ (Bteenacte ^ong. 
 
 A STIRRUP-CUP AT PARTING. 
 
 r^ REENACRE, Land of God, 
 
 Where the sky and the silent sun, 
 Bending o'er sea and sod, 
 Blend all, bind all in one. 
 
 Leap forth, O life of the soul ! 
 
 A picture radiant, rare ; 
 And the life that spurns control 
 
 Shall banish our burden of care. 
 
 Be alive, O glad Greek days 
 
 Of Plato's Academe ! 
 Come, still Palestinian ways : 
 
 Bring us the dear Christ dream. 
 
 May the Eternal Youth of Greece, 
 And Jesu's " Like as a little child," 
 
 Blending, bring in peace, — 
 Peace, with her reign so mild. 
 
 Peace, with her white dove's wings, 
 Brooding, sheltering all. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Singing the sweetest things, 
 Seeking far lands with her call. 
 
 Minding not time, nor clime. 
 
 Minding only the soul ; 
 Chanting the rune of a rhyme 
 
 That welds the world as a whole. 
 
 Dear, departing days, 
 
 Stay with us, oh, stay ! 
 Sweet Greenacre ways. 
 
 Come again to us, we pray. 
 
 m 
 
 10 
 
WAY SONGS. 
 
 TJ OW old art thou, Katahdin? 
 Go count the myriad years ; 
 Go tell the columned centuries 
 Man's dimmed by blood and tears. 
 
 I yet was old, Katahdin, 
 Ere Time's car spun along ; 
 
 Ere soldiers fought a battle. 
 Ere poet crooned a song. 
 
 Ay, when the crowding centuries 
 Have pushed men from their sight, 
 
 I, yet as old, Katahdin, 
 Shall dweP h God and night. 
 
 II 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 A H Allah, il Allah ! 
 
 God is good ; 
 And that is all. 
 And great Pan 
 
 Doth fill and brood 
 Man and snake ; 
 And that is all. 
 
 Ah Allah, il Allah ! 
 
 God is pure ; 
 And that is all. 
 He who rests 
 
 In Him is sure, 
 If he rise, 
 Or if he fall. 
 
 Ah Allah, il Allah ! 
 
 God is beauty ; 
 And that is all. 
 What to me 
 
 Is fame or duty? 
 God's heart throbs; 
 And that is all. 
 
 12 
 
WAY SONGS. 
 
 T T P hill and down hill, 
 Over and around hill, 
 
 Through the waving corn. 
 Now crooning, now singing, 
 Thoughts waking, then winging, 
 
 I plow from early morn. 
 
 Till the sun's rays are slanting. 
 Repeating, half chanting, 
 
 This song of a poet born ; 
 This music that haunts me, 
 This singing that daunts me, 
 
 As I plow through the rows of com. 
 
 « My thoughts are like fireflies puls- 
 ing in moonlight. 
 
 My heart is a silver cup, full of 
 red wine. 
 
 My soul a pale gleaming horizon 
 whence, soon, light 
 
 Shall flood the gold world with a 
 torrent divine." 
 
 13 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Ah, poet, I thank thee, 
 Ah, poet, you rank me : 
 
 Thy song is the trill of a bird ; 
 Thy thoughts they go flying, 
 Go singing and flying ; 
 
 Thy song o'er the world is heard. 
 
WAY SONGS. 
 
 TTERE I leave you, Bobbie Burns, 
 A fellow sad and mad by turns ; 
 A fellow too of wondrous heart, 
 A man to take a neighbor's part. 
 A bread and butter week-day poet, 
 A genius, too, who does not know it, 
 Who only knows to touch the heart. 
 With dainty fingers o'er it sweeping ; 
 Now at a wild, weird song we start, 
 Now with him we are laughing, weeping. 
 With him I sought your sunny South, — 
 Of late it's not so sunny either, 
 But he's a friend that sticketh close 
 In sun or rain or windy weather. 
 What though with thee 'tis hard to part ? 
 Yet, Bobbie, in good hands I leave you ; 
 Your sunny smile may take the smart 
 From some hard raps we Yankees give you. 
 
 Laurens, S. C. 
 
 15 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 t^t (goffing ^tone. 
 
 T 'VE heard it said over and over, 
 
 That " rolling stones gather no moss, 
 As if you could measure the Rover 
 By the scale of profit and loss. 
 
 'Tis a saying, no doubt, very clever. 
 By me it shall ne'er be gainsaid ; 
 
 You may harp on it now and forever, 
 But I'm not in the moss trade. 
 
 i6 
 
THE HEART, THE HEART IS STRONGER. 
 
11. HEART SONGS 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 t^t Stogs of (goone. 
 
 T STOOD 'neath the shades of Harvard, 
 
 Under the midnight moon, 
 And my soul to herself was humming, 
 Humming a low, sad tune. 
 
 Up from the North came shimmering 
 
 Aurora's roseate hue ; 
 The moonlight pale was glimmering 
 
 From fleeces of gold and blue. 
 
 Zigzag from the South came sailing 
 
 Wild geese, a jolly crew ; 
 One lone frog was hailing, 
 
 Hailing young Spring's debut. 
 
 But it wasn't Aurora's shimmering, 
 It wasn't the moon's pale glimmering 
 
 That held my heart in thrall ; 
 No, nor the zigzag sailing, 
 But 'twas the frog's weird hailing 
 
 That moved me most of all. 
 
 Perhaps in rules pathetic, 
 Perhaps in rules poetic 
 
 19 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 I here may make mistake ; 
 But the heart, the heart is stronger, 
 Her rules for aye last longer; 
 Though old, they're ever younger 
 
 Than critic or cynic make. 
 
 And I tell you, Neal, — no joking, — 
 That this poor lone frog's croaking 
 
 Cheats time of a score of years. 
 And you and I together, 
 In Spring's first sunny weather, 
 
 Paddle in the pond. 
 And now we pause and listen 
 While gleeful eyes glisten 
 
 To hear what the old frogs say. 
 
 " Jug o' rum, jug o' rum." 
 From the other shore the sound doth come, 
 And away to the other side we dash ; 
 And down he goes with a chug and a splash 
 And we have abolished the toper. 
 
 " Old Hodge got drunk, got drunk," 
 And at him you hurl a rotten chunk ; 
 And in he goes ku chug, ku klunk, 
 And laughing we roll over and over. 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 But now again the pond is still, 
 And I am back to the Minister Mill, 
 
 The Mill where I've brought my grist. 
 But I tell you, Neal, no earthly grinding 
 Shall dim my eyes to the silver lining 
 
 Of the clouds the sun has kissed. 
 But were old Boone swamp all over, 
 For her swamps and her frogs I still would 
 love her. 
 
 21 
 
■WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 (guriaf of f^e £um6eirman*g gorse. 
 
 ^HAT? 
 ^* Pull off his shoes? 
 I ruther guess not. 
 
 If you try 
 I think you'll find them 
 A little too hot 
 For a man like you to hold them. 
 
 He's not in debt 
 As I know on, 
 
 And he's yarded many a spruce. 
 He's held them level 
 On a down-hill jump, 
 
 Where they went like hell was loose. 
 
 Once we yarded 
 Out in the brush, 
 
 And a two-foot spruce shot by 
 That looked as if 
 It had been willin' 
 
 For Bill and I both to die. 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 So I guess we'll bury him 
 Shoes and all, 
 
 If iron is heavy to tote ; 
 And if one of you 
 Starts a single nail, 
 
 I'll ram it down his throat. 
 
 23 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Little girl: " Mamma, do Bullwhackers have souls ?" 
 
 "IITELL, I think they do. 
 
 I think I saw one in one, — 
 If you'll stop I'll show him to you. 
 
 Away in the Indian country, 
 
 In the nation Chickasaw, 
 As white as you or I, sir, 
 
 But an Indian under the law. 
 
 Square and trim as a clipper 
 
 Stood that Indian, William Guy, 
 
 A felt hat slouching jauntily 
 Over a twinkling eye. 
 
 Pants in his boots, in his belt 
 
 A knife and a shooter six, — 
 " With me a knife or revolver 
 
 Is the last way out of a fix. 
 
 24 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 " I'll wait the second shot, sir, 
 
 Rather than kill a man. 
 I've had the drop on a dozen ; 
 
 To kill was to lift my hand." 
 
 A twelve-foot lash of rawhide 
 
 Over his shoulder swung, 
 Is Guy as he stands by his cattle, 
 
 Five yoke with shoulders un wrung. 
 
 You should hear the crack of his whip, 
 Hear him say, » Get up, cattle," 
 
 Hear the half-muffled bells 
 Ahead of his wagon rattle. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I sometimes swear. 
 But I never curse my cattle 
 
 Since I cursed old Buck : 
 
 Next day I heard his death-rattle. 
 
 " I'm one of Nature's children. 
 
 And about as rough as she makes." 
 
 The rough I found a shell ; 
 Break it, a god awakes. 
 
 His hands, maybe, are roughened, 
 But so soft they touch a guitar 
 
 25 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 That moon and stars seem swimming 
 In the azure depths afar. 
 
 He dotes on a scrap of Shakespeare, — 
 Yes, the rough bullwhacker reads : 
 
 I find him at home on the heights 
 Where the winged-souled Byron treads. 
 
 I heard him say last night, 
 
 Half in earnest, half in jest. 
 As he softened a board with a blanket 
 
 His tired limbs to rest : 
 
 " The foxes have holes ; 
 
 The birds of the air have nests ; 
 But the son of man is at home 
 
 Wherever his head rests." 
 
 Would you hear the crack of his whip ? 
 
 Hear him say, " Get up, cattle ? " 
 Hear the half-muffled bells 
 
 Ahead of his wagon rattle ? 
 
 26 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 "NT O, I don't believe in the Masons, 
 Nor any of them things; you see 
 I had tried one or two on 'em, 
 But somehow we couldn't agree. 
 
 I had started to walk to Sherman : 
 Everything seemed out of j'int. 
 
 I had tried straight up and down honest 
 Every way to make my pint. 
 
 Things sometimes go back on a feller, — 
 
 They allers go back on me ; 
 I turned it inside out and over, 
 
 I said, " Ole world, you and I can't gee.' 
 
 I war gwine to turn hermit or hunter, — 
 Somethin' of that sort, you see, — 
 
 No, I warn't a-gwine to turn nothin', 
 I war jest a-gwine to be me. 
 
 I war trampin' along in the mud. 
 
 On my road to the Maine pine woods : 
 
 I warn't bothered by carryin' 
 Any heap of this world's goods. 
 
 27 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 At the start I strained my ankle, 
 So I hobbled along purty slow, 
 
 Thinkin' of the twenty miles ahead, 
 And the hermit plan a poor go. 
 
 A feller came by in a buggy, 
 " Whoa ! Git up and ride," 
 Though he didn't know of my ankle 
 Till arter I war up by his side. 
 
 We rid together up hill and down hill. 
 Twenty miles of the awfullest road. 
 I sed, ez I dumped outen the buggy, 
 " Stranger, what der yer charge fur yer load.?' 
 
 " Nothin' ; no, sir, nothin'. 
 
 Stranger, that ain't my way ; 
 This road's a little too muddy 
 
 Ter haul a man on't fur pay." 
 
 " I'd ruther you'd take it, stranger." 
 " No, sir ; if you don't 'commodate me, 
 
 Pass it 'long, pass it 'long, keep it goin' ; 
 If a thing's good, keep it goin', yer see." 
 
 That feller, he warn't a Mason, 
 
 But he showed up and down a man ; 
 
 28 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 And somehow I didn't turn hermit, 
 'Cordin' ter my 'riginal plan. 
 
 I find, as I limp 'long life's journey. 
 Drives up, every now and then, 
 
 One uv these true-blue fellers, — 
 None uv yer skimmed-milk men. 
 
 " Hello, ole galloot ! how be yer ? " 
 " Jim, darn yer, where 'av yer been ? " 
 
 A hand grip, — the signs and password,— 
 And one uv our order is seen. 
 
 29 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 (^ ^ong of ^JU^ain, 
 
 HE. 
 
 T HAVE nor gold nor lands, my love, 
 Nor fame to offer thee. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 You have your own true heart, my love. 
 And that is more to me. 
 
 HE. 
 
 But the world hath a shoulder cold, my love, 
 For lowly poverty. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Your heart for aye is warm, my love ; 
 What's all the world to me ? 
 
 HE. 
 
 But a gaunt, grim wolf may crouch at the door, 
 When days are dark and drear. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Your arm I know is strong, my love, 
 Why should I doubt or fear ? 
 
 30 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 HE. 
 
 But fairy fabrics become, my love, 
 Warm tints and eider down. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 But I know one would think me fair 
 Did I wear a hempen gown. 
 
 HE. 
 
 You are a violet frail, my love, 
 That shrinks from the summer sun 
 
 SHE. 
 
 The oak has a pleasant shade, my love, 
 You and the oak are one. 
 
 HE. 
 
 But I fear, I fear, my own true love ; 
 It harries me night and day. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Yet God is God, my own true love ; 
 'Twere better to work and pray. 
 
 31 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 A picture — a candle, a moth, a rose, and a dagger in a 
 lady's bower. 
 
 I. 
 
 T GO and come, 
 
 Doth she but call : 
 A rose, a bower, 
 And that is all. 
 
 II. 
 With singed wings 
 The god doth fall : 
 A moth, a flame, 
 And that is all. 
 
 III. 
 Six bearers slow, 
 A midnight pall : 
 Night, and a dagger. 
 And that is all. 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 'npO the noble and pure, 
 
 To the steadfast and sure ; 
 You beckon me ever 
 To firmer endeavor, 
 To the high and the holy. 
 To toil for the lowly. 
 You wed love to duty, 
 You fill life with beauty ; 
 That life no more drifts, 
 That the soul life uplifts, 
 O Rhadha ! so true, 
 This owe I to you. 
 
 33 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 (To a Classmate.) 
 
 TJ UMPH ! old boy, how goes it? 
 
 How wags the world with you? 
 I and the world have had it 
 In a rough and tumble set-to. 
 
 Like Jacob of old I've wrestled, 
 
 Wrestled with the angel Hard Times. 
 
 Adversity, some would call him, 
 Some a lack of dimes. 
 
 And many a time, my angel 
 
 Has thrown me a good fair fall. 
 
 Till it's become a thing so common, 
 I mind it not at all. 
 
 I get up so good-natured 
 
 His grimness grows soft-featured, — 
 
 He seems Hard Times no more. 
 I thus his patience worry, 
 Or else his favor curry, 
 
 As Jacob did of yore. 
 
 34 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 And, humph ! I like this wrestling 
 Better than cosy nestling 
 
 In beds of eider down. 
 It doth the sinews toughen, 
 It doth the soft hand roughen, 
 
 It crowns with manhood's crown. 
 
 Still that old, old story. 
 Told to Israel's glory. 
 
 Is true e'en now as then : 
 That he who comes victorious. 
 From wrestlings long laborious. 
 
 Has power with God and men. 
 
 35 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 ^^e ^amc of £ife. 
 
 ^1 rELL, by this time you've entered college, 
 
 An earnest freshman pursuing knowledge. 
 You've played first inning of that grand match game 
 'Twixt self and the world, 'twixt rot and a name : 
 How stands the score at the end of the inning ? 
 What are the chances of our side winning ? 
 Who is the umpire ? What is his name ? 
 Art sure you've chosen worthy the game ? 
 Did I say " chosen " ? Be strong in not choosing ; 
 Show yourself strong, each upstart refusing. 
 Offers come here, offers come there : 
 " We know the game, we'll umpire fair." 
 Heed them not, heed them not, as you value your 
 
 life,— 
 You are the one concerned in this strife ; 
 You, and you only, can umpire the game, — 
 If it's not on the square, yours is the blame. 
 A word just here, — its truth you will find, — 
 Devilish cool are the old world nine ; 
 Professionals they are who can take an outing, 
 Or make a whitewash with never a shouting. 
 You'll hear the rabble with them siding. 
 You'll hear the laugh, your "flies" deriding; 
 
 36 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 Expect likewise their hideous howling 
 Whene'er they see your awkward fouling. 
 When you're hot and eager, they'll be cool ; 
 When you strike hap-hazard, they'll play rule. 
 Yet, knowing all these odds against you. 
 And knowing, too, the crowd's fornenst you, 
 I've risked on you my bottom dollar 
 That in life's game you're more than the scholar. 
 When the score is up and the game is done. 
 And you have made your last home run, 
 I shall wait, — " Rah, rah ! our side's won ! " 
 
 37 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 f^ NUT of suave and yielding shell ! 
 
 ^^^ Nut of nuts, I like thee well. 
 
 I break thy shell down to a cup, 
 
 And bottom upwards drink thee up. 
 
 I drink a health. Peanut, to thee, 
 
 I drink to Beta Theta Pi ! 
 
 And as I drink thou turn'st to wine, 
 
 To liquid days of auld lang syne. 
 
 And now, before my swimming eyes 
 
 I see a peanut stack arise. 
 
 And Tau around that board is gathered ; 
 
 By Greek cords once again we're tethered, 
 
 And wit like lambent lightning plays. 
 
 O most rare wit of those old days ! 
 
 Kent, and Wood, and Atterbur}^, 
 
 And whole-souled Shaw, with heart so merry. 
 
 That heart so sunny, frank, and gay, 
 
 The clods have hid for many a day ; 
 
 And Kent and Wood have gone to seek. 
 
 Drawn by that heart so truly Greek. 
 
 And Wise, with soul so undeformed, 
 
 And Little, he who all hearts stormed ; 
 
 38 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 And " Doug," the soft and oily lover, — 
 
 Sunday, week-day, love all over. 
 
 And then the Babes, Conger, Haines, 
 
 Both Greeks, well-tempered hearts and brains ^ 
 
 And Tuttle, Campbell, Pierce, and White, — 
 
 I'm glad ye all are here to-night. 
 
 The peanut stack, with « Dorg " on guard. 
 
 The cider jug, half soft, half hard, — 
 
 '' Boys, here's to Hoosier half-and-half ! " 
 
 Then comes the ringing, joyous laugh, 
 
 With toast and story, or with song, — 
 
 The livelong hours are not long. 
 
 Thanks, nut of suave and yielding shell ! 
 
 Thanks for thy weirdly woven spell. 
 
 O cuplet, once again I quaff ! 
 
 This time, 'tis Hoosier half-and-half. 
 
 Dead and alive. Young drinks to ye, — 
 
 A health to Beta Theta Pi. 
 
 39 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 T WISH I could feel to-night, mother, 
 
 Your fingers go through my hair ; 
 I think 'twould set me right, 
 And lighten this load of care. 
 
 I'm weary of toiling up-hill, mother, 
 
 Of rising to fall again, 
 Weary of this yielding will. 
 
 Of bearing this heart of pain. 
 
 You know I would do right, mother, 
 
 I would be pure and true : 
 That I try to follow the right 
 
 None knows better than you. 
 
 I mind me of hearing you tell, mother, — 
 
 I had just begun to lisp, — 
 Of the sad, sad fate that befell 
 
 Him who followed the Will-o'-the-Wisp. 
 
 And when I'm sore misled, mother, 
 Through bogs and deep quagmire, 
 
 I think of what you said 
 About the deceiving fire. 
 
 40 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 But wherefore is the end, mother 
 
 Of all these trials sore ? 
 It may be I'm to be the friend 
 
 Of those who are tempted more. 
 
 For the feeling heart alone, mother, 
 
 Bringeth Gilead's balm ; 
 The storms have raged in his own, 
 
 Who another's breast would calm. 
 
 Sometimes comes the thought, mother, 
 
 Of the Christ we love so well, 
 Whom you think without sin or spot, — 
 
 I sometimes think he fell. 
 
 Else how said he what he did, mother, 
 
 To the Pharisee-hunted girl ? 
 He knew and wisely he chid 
 
 Those who the stone would hurl. 
 
 And when the youth came running, mother, 
 
 To do him homage as Lord, 
 Was Jesus' rebuke but punning, — 
 
 " Only the One is good ? " 
 
 I do not this to excuse, mother, 
 In myself unmanly part ; 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 'Tis because I cannot refuse 
 The kinship of His heart. 
 
 If you knew how this inspires, mother, 
 
 Life in this yielding clod, 
 How for work and toil it fires 
 
 And lifts my heart to God, 
 
 You would not worry your heart, mother, 
 About what your boy believes. 
 
 Ah God ! help him do his part, 
 To soothe the soul that grieves. 
 
 And when the war is o'er, mother. 
 
 And I lay my armor by, 
 When we meet on the farther shore, 
 
 Why should we call it die ? 
 
 You'll forget, if in the strife, mother, 
 My flag went down in the dust, 
 
 If once or twice in my life 
 I let my armor rust. 
 
 You'll only see the scars, mother, 
 
 That your boy has earned in the fight ; 
 
 And perchance you may see the stars 
 That gleam from his crown of light. 
 
 42 
 
 ^^B 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 /^ QUAKING aspen, aspen quaking! 
 
 ^-^^ Tree whose leaves for aye are shaking, 
 
 Tree that is for aye aquiver, 
 
 Tree that zephyrs send ashiver. 
 
 Two of ye did guard the gate 
 
 That mouthed the lane, so long and straight, 
 
 That out from the dusty highway led 
 
 Along the fields to the old homestead. 
 
 There ye stood so feelingly, 
 
 Looking down inquiringly, 
 
 Watching us children come and go, 
 
 Hither and thither, to and fro, 
 
 Till some went forth from out the gate 
 
 Ne'er to come back the lane so straight ; 
 
 And I have wandered many a mile. 
 
 And it's long since I saw the dear old smile 
 
 That used to greet me at the gate 
 
 At the foot of the lane, so long and straight. 
 
 The smile that came so feelingly. 
 
 And always fell so healingly. 
 
 When I was sick and sore. 
 
 Would I could see the aspen's quiver. 
 
 Could hear again their rippling shiver ! 
 
 43 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Otg feittfe dne §{ups. 
 
 TV/r Y little one sleeps 
 
 Mid rose-leaf heaps 
 Tossed and tumbled by chubby hands, 
 
 Hands full of roses; 
 King-like, tired of caprice and commands, 
 
 On his carriage throne he reposes ; 
 He knows I carry and fetch at his call: 
 I'm his veriest vassal, his slave, his thrall. 
 
 Jesu ! a miracle ! that he, 
 
 That red-throated bird. 
 Flew hither from yon 
 
 With never a word ! 
 
 Soft humming of wings, 
 
 Aerial poise. 
 What message thee brings. 
 
 Sphere harbinger of joys ? 
 
 It fed from the rose 
 
 In my wee one's hand. 
 Then flew far away 
 
 To humming-bird land. 
 
 44 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 I hail it an omen 
 
 Auspicious of joy 
 To my darling, my king, 
 
 My sweet baby boy. 
 
 45 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 to (Slamma (Odge» 
 
 nPHOU art not dead, 
 Thou art not gone. 
 My bonnie boy art, 
 Art over and on. 
 
 One little step 
 
 It is, I ween. 
 From here to there, 
 
 Seen to unseen. 
 
 One little step, 
 
 Through dark to light, 
 Into the day, 
 
 Over the night. 
 
 « Come, little leaves," 
 
 I hear him say, 
 " Come o'er the meadows 
 
 With me to play." 
 
 In God's meadows 
 Thou art to-day. 
 
 Thy life God's song. 
 His work, thy play. 
 
 46 
 
HEART SONGS. 
 
 I tell you, there, 
 
 God's song most sweet 
 Is the fairy fall 
 
 Of wingdd feet 
 
 Of some angel child. 
 As it flits to and fro, 
 
 Bearing God's love 
 To hearts full of woe. 
 
 Too heavy our ears 
 
 For the swish of wings, 
 The song the life 
 
 Unending sings. 
 
 Out there, out there. 
 
 Just a little way. 
 In God's meadows 
 
 Our boy is at play. 
 
 Ay, the bonny boy 
 Is bonnier still ; 
 His play is to work 
 God's sweet will. 
 
 I looking, longed ; 
 I heard as of old, 
 
 47 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 In speech whose sweetness 
 Can never be told : 
 
 " We're two little fellows 
 Still gatherin' flowers 
 
 For their mamma." 
 So, in twilight hours, 
 
 There together. 
 
 From meadows so green, 
 We picked these flowers 
 
 From the Grand Unseen. 
 
 48 
 
o sea! o sea! infinite sea! 
 
III. SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 r^ CD is God. Oh, fear not ! 
 
 The Rescuer's tramp you hear not ; 
 But do the work you have in hand, 
 For I who Am, am in the land. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 ($. ^ong of t^e ^out 
 
 t~^ OD, who touched my heart with song, 
 Said, " Son, thou dost to me belong; 
 Thou may'st not waste thy days 
 In pleasing songs, in lulling, lute-like lays. 
 
 " Come, sing me a song of a swimmer bold, 
 Who breasted the waves that over him rolled ; 
 With a toss of the head defiantly. 
 He dared give him to a darksome sea." 
 And I sang this song to the curling waves. 
 To the sea that laps, and kisses, and laves : 
 
 " O sea ! O sea ! Infinite sea ! 
 
 Thou tak'st me to thee lovingly ; 
 
 Wouldst ope thy lips and swallow me ? 
 
 I do not fear thy treachery. 
 
 For buoyant art thou, ay, and strong 
 
 As the rhythmic flow of deathless song. 
 
 " O sea ! O sea ! Infinite sea ! 
 
 I think thou art the mother of me ; 
 
 Up from thy womb I sprang into day. 
 
 5^ 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Sea's arms enfolding, say to me, ' Nay, 
 Child of mine ! child of mine ! mine alway ! 
 For mine is the night, mine morning's ray.' 
 
 " Thou art my mother, O infinite wave ! 
 Now I bethink me, thou, too, art my grave ! 
 Sea of God, lovingly lap me and lave ; 
 Drown me thou canst not, thou canst but save. 
 O sea ! O sea ! Infinite sea ! 
 Ope thy lips lovingly, swallow thou me." 
 
 53 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 (^fone. 
 
 I. 
 
 T SAW an eagle cleave the air; 
 
 He flew alone. 
 I tracked a lion to his lair ; 
 He crouched alone. 
 
 II. 
 A river started to the sea ; 
 
 It wound alone. 
 A mountain rose up haughtily; 
 
 It towered alone. 
 
 III. 
 I looked into eternity, — 
 
 Lo ! God was lone. 
 And then I sang on cheerily, 
 
 But not alone. 
 
 54 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 npHE gods delight in overthrow. 
 
 When human pride is lying low, 
 And human wit is wrecked quite, 
 And chaos, old, comes down like night. 
 Then the genius comes and reigns, 
 And builds new temples, builds new fanes, 
 Working as God works hitherto ; 
 Both work, the universe and you. 
 Each stroke is graceful, primal, true ; 
 With God's grand ease we learn to do. 
 All other work is trifling, marring. 
 All other music discord, jarring. 
 This the spheroid harmony. 
 From out the still eternity. 
 
 55 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 $5e ^noJUjbtop anb t^e (gose^^tee. 
 
 T ITTLE boy Bertie as hard as he can 
 
 Is wishing and trying to grow to a man. 
 Little boy Bertie must learn to wait. 
 Says boy Bertie, " That's what I hate." 
 
 Says little boy Bertie, " 'Tis a big bother : 
 I wish to-day I's big as father." 
 Little boy Bertie, listen to me ; 
 A nice little story I'll tell to thee : 
 
 " One cold wintry day, when the wind howled by, 
 Two wee, tiny seeds in the ground did lie ; 
 But they did not know that the wind did blow, 
 That the ground above was covered with snow. 
 
 " Says one to the other, * 'Tis a big bother : 
 In this little dark hole I'm 'fraid I'll smother. 
 I guess I'll start and grow to a rose : 
 There are fine things up there, every one knows.' 
 
 " Says the other, ' I don't know what I'll be : 
 I guess I'll wait and see.' 
 
 56 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 " So the first one started, and grew and grew 
 Up through the snow to where the wind blew. 
 The cold wind chilled it ; it grew so weak 
 That the poor little thing could hardly speak. 
 
 " A man saw it lying on the crusted snow's top, 
 And named it, dying, ' the little snowdrop.' 
 The next one waited till the warm spring came, 
 Waited, not even knowing its name. 
 
 " The rain came down, and the little seed drank ; 
 The moist earth for its food it did thank; 
 Till, by and by, it peeped out of the ground. 
 And wondered and wondered, looking around 
 
 " At the sky so blue, and the grass so green, 
 For neither of these had the little seed seen. 
 After a while the green leaves came, 
 But the little seed yet did not know its name. 
 
 " Then out from the leaves came a bud, — 
 But what if this should be its blood. 
 Running out from its little side ? 
 ' I almost wish in the ground I'd died.' 
 
 " One thing it did not, — it never cried. 
 After a while the bud opened its eyes wide. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Glad was it then it had not cried, 
 
 For there, blooming out of that little tree, 
 
 « Was the prettiest rose you ever did see. 
 And two young lovers, hand in hand, 
 Passing before that little tree, ' Stand ! ' 
 Says the youth to the maid, ' God made it for 
 thee.' 
 
 " ' Not so,' says the maid ; ' blooms beauty for all : 
 To gladden waste places it comes at God's call.' " 
 Little boy Bertie, which would you be, 
 The little snowdrop or the little rose-tree ? 
 
 S8 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 T ET me lie in thy heart, O God, 
 
 And the many may go and come : 
 The One shall be my home. 
 
 I will take the dowerless Truth 
 My bride and spouse to be, 
 And welcome poverty. 
 
 To speak from the heart of things. 
 From the azure depths of God, 
 I would walk alone earth's sod. 
 
 Poets and singers brave, 
 
 You may toss your words on high. 
 
 Till they shake a blue-roofed sky. 
 
 On God's bosom would I lie. 
 And whisper soft and low 
 What nature tells is so. 
 
 Through this breathing flesh of mine, 
 God's rhythmic heart be sung, 
 That God though old is young. 
 
 Then would I die content, 
 Would sink forgotten, a ghost 
 Mid death's unheralded host. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 t^e (jSfa^e of (Btass, 
 
 /^ BLADE of grass, you preach to me. 
 
 You yield to life and law, 
 You are the spring, ay, you are God, 
 The same the ages saw. 
 
 I kneel to you, and lovingly 
 
 My knees caress the sod ; 
 And sun, and sod, and blade of grass 
 
 Are one : the Living God. 
 
 60 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 (gesignafion. 
 
 T GIVE, most willingly, 
 I give myself to thee : 
 Thou who art the wealth untold 
 That gloweth in the sunset's gold ; 
 Thou who art of elm the gre»n. 
 And in the lilac's purple sheen. 
 Art thou, too, in poor mankind ? 
 Help me in them to find. 
 May I see thee in my foes, 
 When the issue 'gainst me goes. 
 Come there good, or come there ill, 
 May I ever see thee still. 
 
 O God, this is hard to bear ! 
 Yet I know I am Thy care 
 Know that the great tenderness 
 E'en in this means a caress. 
 May I lift my head above, — 
 Nay, may I ope my heart to love, 
 Love that welleth everywhere. 
 Love that cometh unaware ! 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 (^nitM et ttiniiaz* 
 
 'T*HE Rain, the Snow, and the Mist, 
 
 They're three in one, you wist. 
 They come, they go. 
 They ebb, they flow : 
 The form they'll take 
 You never know. 
 
 The Good, the Beautiful, the True, 
 
 The Old yet ever New, 
 
 The track of the Same 
 
 Is in each name ; 
 
 They're three in one 
 
 And one in three. 
 
 Akin to God's own mystery. 
 
 The Rain's the Good, the Ever Giving, 
 
 Never thinking of receiving ; 
 
 She giveth cups of water cool 
 
 Unto Earth's thirsty soul. 
 
 The Snow is the True : 
 
 The Truth it hath its coldness, 
 
 Its presence giveth boldness ; 
 
 It crowns the hills, 
 
 The valleys fills. 
 
 62 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 The Mist is the Beautiful, 
 Child undutiful, 
 Earth born, heaven born. 
 Sea and sky were lovelorn ; 
 Up springs a water sprite. 
 And sea and sky at once unite. 
 
 The Rain, the Snow, and the Mist, 
 
 They are all one, you wist. 
 
 The Good, the Beautiful, the True, 
 
 They are old yet ever new ; 
 
 Ever blending, 
 
 Clouds rending. 
 
 With joy descending ; 
 
 Now a joyous unity, 
 
 Now a blessed Trinity, 
 
 Everywhere Divinity. 
 
 63 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 t^t ®ea^ (go6in» 
 
 "p EDBREAST dead, where is the life 
 
 That woke yestreen with tuneful strife ? 
 Here is the casket, but where is the jewel ? 
 Was it snatched away by a hand most cruel ? 
 Here is the lyre, but where is the song 
 That swept these tuneful chords along ? 
 
 Sped it quick beyond our call ? 
 Fled it back to the soul of all ? 
 Is it heat returned to motion ? 
 Is it a drop gone back to the ocean ? 
 
 Redbreast spirit, whither, say, 
 Tookst thyself from us away ? 
 And art thou yet a redbreast still ? 
 And workst thou yet a redbreast's will ? 
 
 If I am I, on that farther shore, 
 
 Can I tell thee thou art less or more ; 
 
 Or if thou art lost in a silent sea, 
 
 Can I tell thee why I am greater than thee ? 
 
 64 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 " IVT ^ strength is strong, my strength is sound, 
 But let me be by green withes bound, 
 Then shall I be as another man, 
 Weak shall be this strong right hand." 
 With tough green withes they bind him fast, 
 Like flax in flame they're from him cast. 
 
 " My strength is strong, my strength is sound, 
 But let me be by new ropes bound. 
 Then shall I be as another man. 
 Weak shall be this strong right hand." 
 He snaps the ropes like hempen thread. 
 And the liers-in-wait start back in dread. 
 
 " My strength is strong, my strength is sound. 
 Go weave my hair in your loom beam round, 
 Then shall I be as another man, 
 Weak shall be this strong right hand." 
 His seven locks were woven fast ; 
 Lo ! loom, web, all, go walking past. 
 
 Then he opened his lips and told her his heart : 
 " The life that I lead, of my soul's life is part. 
 
 65 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 My strength is strong, my strength is sound, 
 I live to God from sole to crown ; 
 But let me once be shaven, shorn, 
 Then I from myself am torn. 
 
 " Then I shall be as another man. 
 Weak shall be this strong right hand." 
 Then was Samson shaven, shorn; 
 Samson the Strong from himself was torn ; 
 Fierce Philistines crowd around ; 
 Shorn lies Samson, blind and bound. 
 
 " Weakness, O weakness ! 
 Why yield to me ? 
 I thought thee strong, 
 I thought thee free. 
 I loved thy strength, 
 I love thee no longer ; 
 Strong thou wert, 
 A woman was stronger." 
 
 66 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 gcmn to OJirtue. 
 
 T AP me not in Lydian measures, 
 Let me hear storm chariots roll ; 
 Give me toils, not softening pleasures, 
 Grant me hardihood of soul. 
 
 I would not lie in lovely valleys, 
 I'd rather grip the mountain side ; 
 
 There leaps the soul in liveliest sallies 
 Most where danger doth abide. 
 
 Thrill me, fill me with music shrillest, — 
 With blasts of wind, with shrieks of storm ; 
 
 Serenely, queenly, the soul sits stillest 
 Where sounds the wildest war alarms. 
 
 It lives, it gives, for aye grows younger; 
 
 It only dies when honor's dead. 
 Its pains are gains. I feed on hunger, 
 
 When virtue beckons me ahead. 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 'y O-NIGHT I sit in the shadows 
 
 And muse on that legend old, — 
 How Christ was born in a manger, 
 To bring the lost to the fold. 
 
 I keep not that far-off Christmas 
 Whose years betwixt us roll, — 
 
 The one that I keep is near me, 
 'Tis the Christmas of my soul. 
 
 I think of that morning twilight. 
 
 The twilight of my soul, 
 When the Star in the East's first glimmer 
 
 Did on its darkness roll. 
 
 I hear the chant of the angels, 
 The angels that guard the soul, — 
 
 " Immanuel, God is with thee. 
 With thee to make thee whole." 
 
 I feel the Lord Christ growing, 
 Growing within my heart ; 
 
 68 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 And the life into new being 
 Does all within me start. 
 
 I hear the devils shrieking, 
 
 The devils of my heart, 
 As at the word of the Master 
 
 They one by one depart. 
 
 I fear I see a Judas, 
 
 A Judas in my heart, 
 That would sell the Lord Christ Jesus ; 
 
 And act a traitor's part. 
 
 I hear the shout of the rabble. 
 
 The rabble of my soul. 
 Crying, " Crucify this Jesus ; 
 
 We will not His control ! " 
 
 Ah ! in the grave they lay Him, 
 
 The Roman soldiers part ; 
 And o'er that grave securely 
 
 Place the marble of my heart. 
 
 And though they watch and ward it, 
 These hirelings of my soul, 
 
 The angels come in the night-time ; 
 Away the stone they roll. 
 
 69 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 And when my Lord is risen, 
 
 And the darkness doth depart, 
 The first who comes to greet Him 
 Is the Mary of my heart. 
 
 Thus I ever keep my Christmas, 
 
 Keep it in tearful joy, 
 Not cursing the Jewish blindness 
 
 That did its Lord destroy. 
 
 For I look within my own heart : 
 
 I see that, again and again, 
 I crucify and slay Him, 
 
 The God who dwells with men. 
 
 70 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 A 
 
 (Easteif Crimes- 
 
 H, Death, thou canst not kill ! 
 Lo, thou hast ate thy fill ! 
 Yet life is living still, — 
 
 Sweet Easter doth this teach. 
 Ah, Grave, thou'rt terror-shorn ! 
 Triumph is from thee torn. 
 And thou, not we, forlorn, 
 
 Perforce Death's doom must preach. 
 
 As in old Galilee, 
 
 This wonder may we see, — 
 
 The clear words ripple free. 
 
 The Christ, He goes before. 
 Alive in man and womanhood. 
 In sweet constraint of brotherhood 
 We see the dear God's Fatherhood, 
 
 The Christ still hovering o'er. 
 
 « If I uplifted be, 
 I draw all men to me." 
 Lo, this belts land and sea, 
 This prophecy so bold ; 
 
 71 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 And heroes in all time, 
 In every land and clime, 
 Work out those words sublime, 
 Hasting the day foretold. 
 
 We know it cometh nearer, 
 For lo, the words sound clearer ; 
 We know the Christ is dearer. 
 
 The Christ of brotherhood. 
 So shoulder unto shoulder. 
 With faint hearts waxing bolder. 
 In the grave he shall not moulder, — 
 
 The Lord Christ, gentle, good. 
 
 72 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 (S ^ong of Streebom. 
 
 r\ RIVER ! O River ! 
 As you go to the sea 
 Forever and aye, 
 So flowing and free, 
 
 You bow to men's burdens, 
 You grind in their mills ; 
 
 Yet free, fresh, and savage, 
 You flow as God wills. 
 
 O River ! O River ! 
 
 Going down to the sea. 
 Oh, fill me ! oh, fill me ! 
 
 That I, too, may flow free. 
 
 Though I bow to the burden, 
 Though I grind in the mill, 
 
 May I go to the ocean 
 Untamed as God still. 
 
 73 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 3t ^noi»s» 
 
 T T snows. 
 
 Who snows ? 
 Is there any one knows? 
 Mid your jangle of tongues 
 And your jargon, 
 Into night and chaos 
 So far gone, 
 Ye wise ones 
 Tell me ! Who snows ? 
 
 So gently it falls, 
 
 The fairy-thrown balls ; 
 
 So still, yet so strong, 
 
 A soundless song. 
 
 So soft the flakes 
 
 Fall in my face, 
 
 I think they are thrown 
 
 By God's grace. 
 
 Ah ! God snows. 
 
 He only is wise 
 
 Who this knows. 
 
 74 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 ^ (gtatin ^ong. 
 
 A LL night long, 
 •^^ Flit! flutter! flat! 
 Went the horrid wings 
 
 Of a vampire bat. 
 I knew he hunted 
 
 My heart's blood red, 
 So with God's own mantle 
 
 I covered my head. 
 
 Night is gone, — 
 
 Hideous night ! 
 Morn is here. 
 
 With her blessed light. 
 Softly swish 
 
 The wings of a dove, 
 And the olive it bears 
 
 Means peace and love. 
 
 75 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 /^ SOUL so steadfast and loyal ! 
 
 O soul so modest and brave ! 
 To the land of the leal and loyal 
 Thou art gone, but not to the grave. 
 
 Ay, with God and the great-hearted 
 
 Thus thou didst ever live. 
 Death is, — but the ways have not parted, 
 
 In death thy life doth still give. 
 
 Thy life, it was ever a fountain, — 
 Nay, more, like stream ever gushing 
 
 Downward from loftiest mountain ; 
 Manward from God it came rushing. 
 
 A herald, dashing into us breathless,^ 
 
 Sped by thy tidings thou flyest. 
 Stammering thy message so deathless ; 
 
 Thou earnest from the throne of the Highest 
 
 Gone from us is that presence supernal, 
 King-like, Greek-like, and grand. 
 
 * See Yale Lectures on Preaching. 
 
 76 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 With us is that message eternal, 
 
 But gone the great heart and strong hand. 
 
 He is safe with the dead, with the holy, — 
 
 Caught away with them in a cloud, — 
 Monk-martyr Savonarola, 
 
 Robertson, Maurice, McLeod. 
 Jan, 26, iBg3. 
 
 77 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 ^tat feote. 
 
 THE COMRADE STARS. 
 
 'VT'E dear, dumb stars, ye shine the same 
 
 Through my life's growing years ; 
 Ye never look with eyes grown strange, 
 For ye I shed no tears. 
 
 Then ye shall be my comforters. 
 My friends both leal and true ; 
 
 My sounding-line and compasses 
 Assail God's deeps of blue. 
 
 THE FAR STARS. 
 
 Oh ! is there naught in life but dreaming? 
 Must being e'er give place to seeming ? 
 We hunt the world o'er for the real, 
 To clasp ice-cold a dead ideal. 
 Must love e'en love keep hiding. 
 Or seem to be with devil siding ? 
 
 No answer came. The dear, dumb stars 
 Looked piteous forth from heaven's bars ; 
 
 78 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 And leaning, seemed to beckon me. 
 
 stars, what ladder mounts to ye ? 
 
 A soul would climb, climb and be free 
 From earth, its filth and misery. 
 
 1 saw no ladder let a-down, 
 
 My feet yet walked the man-cursed ground. 
 
 Not man-cursed ground, — the filthiest street 
 
 Can hallowed be by blessed feet. 
 
 Then wait not ladder let a-down. 
 
 If thou wouldst walk on hallowed ground. 
 
 79 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 A LONE on the mountain-top, — alone, 
 
 With non( 
 I take my own. 
 
 With none to see, with none to hear, 
 
 With none to see, with none to hear, — 
 
 Nay, the great god Pan 
 Is standing by, is very near ; 
 Withhold thy hand. 
 
 With none to see, with none to hear, — 
 
 Nay, the God of the soul 
 Is standing by, is very near; 
 
 Thou hast the whole. 
 
 I hide me away in the laurel, 
 
 I stand unworthy there ; 
 Yet my brow is twined with the laurel's leaves, 
 
 Its blossoms they tangle my hair. 
 
 " Because thou hast left all and followed, 
 Left the ways and the haunts of men. 
 
 Ay, followed me over the mountain, 
 
 Ay, followed through fell and through glen : 
 
 80 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 « I, the great god Pan, here crown thee, 
 
 Crown thee Poet and Priest ; 
 I, the God of the soul, too, crown thee 
 
 To sing of the Star of the East. 
 
 " To sing of the One Anointed, 
 
 Of the sent, the set apart ; 
 To sing as one can sing only 
 
 With love aflame in his heart. 
 
 " To sing when the soul sits resting, 
 Sits resting in God whilst it sings, 
 
 When thy thoughts like eagles go flying, 
 Take flight without flapping of wings. 
 
 " When thy thoughts like eagles go flying. 
 
 Go sailing my deeps of blue, 
 Like young eagles they mount and fly upward, 
 
 Their flight as bold and as true. 
 
 " To sing as the stars go singing. 
 The stars, that sing through years, 
 
 That sing though men do not listen, 
 Till the nights are bathed in tears. 
 
 " Thy days may be sometimes lonely, 
 And watchful and wakeful thy nights ; 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Thou must follow with fasting the Only, 
 With chariness of delights. 
 
 " Yet come, thou mayst sit at my table ; 
 
 Ay, come and dwell with me, 
 To steep thy soul art thou able, 
 
 In God-wine, flowing free." 
 
 82 
 
SONGS OF THE SOUL. 
 
 $5e &ttai ^pitit 
 
 '« God is a Spirit." 
 
 TT EART was singing a pean, 
 To whom it did not know ; 
 Soul was chanting a Te Deum, — 
 Whither did the chanting go? 
 
 Soul ceased her joyous chanting, 
 Heart ceased its eager panting, 
 Because they did not know 
 To whom their orisons flow. 
 
 Gone is eager longing, 
 No more are fancies thronging ; 
 My heart is dark with woe 
 Because it cannot know. 
 
 The moon was mildly looking, 
 Looking on a world that was sleeping ; 
 The wind was sadly shaking. 
 Shaking the trees to weeping. 
 
 The steeple upward leaping, — 
 Gone was the God of its keeping. 
 
 83 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Where, O where shall I find Him ? 
 What cords of thought shall bind Him ? 
 Where in the universe place Him ? 
 By what footsteps trace Him ? 
 
 Cease this vain endeavor ; 
 He is fled from thee forever, 
 And thou art left alone ; 
 Yet not alone, — 
 Thou art only faithless grown. 
 
 The voice in my heart replying 
 
 Was answered by the wind's sad sighing. 
 
 The eye from the moon that was peeping 
 
 Saw itself in a world that was sleeping. 
 
 The steeple upward leaping 
 
 In the stars met the God of its keeping. 
 
 All was answering all ; 
 
 There was no voiceless call ; 
 
 Melodious, each was ringing. 
 
 Each to the One was singing. 
 
 Singing a joyful pean, 
 
 Chanting a glad Te Deum, 
 
 That on my heart was stealing, 
 
 Wrapping all in feeling. 
 
 My soul to Him was kneeling, 
 
 Kneeling to the All in All. 
 
 84 
 
" O SWEET BOY SINGER WITH FACE SO RARE, 
 you, LIKE THE POET ; YOU POET ARE." 
 
IV. SONGS OF MANY MOODS 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 t^t 4)tgan:?(Bnnber's (got* 
 
 A VOICE baptized in tears, 
 
 Once heard, that haunts for years, 
 That comes from heart outflowing, 
 That mocks the brook's sweet going ; 
 A voice anon that gurgles, gushes. 
 Then plaintive, mimics notes of thrushes. 
 
 A face in whose bronzed tinting 
 
 Italia's suns are glinting; 
 
 Eyes-orbs of fire upturning. 
 
 In soul's recesses burning ; 
 
 A boy's face, a boy's voice, soulful and sweet, 
 
 Yet it sings to an organ that grinds in the street 
 
 Plug him, plug him ! " and down they come, 
 Unchildlike childhood, the avenue's scum ; 
 And the voice is lost in discord harsh, 
 As mountain brooklet in meadow marsh, 
 Or conscience's voice, so still and small, 
 Is hushed and crushed in traffic's brawl. 
 
 This boy, he had done heinous wrong ; 
 His crime to them was his rare song ; 
 
 87 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 His voice so softly, sweetly flowing, 
 So unlike theirs, it mocks unknowing. 
 
 O sweet boy singer with voice so rare. 
 You, like the poet ; you, poet are. 
 With Byron, Shelley, Keats, and Poe, 
 You rival song, you rival woe. 
 
 They sang sweet-voiced. And down they come, 
 Harsh-voiced critics, belles-lettres' scum, 
 And the song is lost in discord harsh. 
 As mountain brooklet in meadow marsh, 
 Or conscience's voice, so still, so small. 
 Is hushed and crushed in traffic's brawl. 
 
 And there, I know not why or how, 
 Save moved by this, I took a vow 
 That less and less, in the ahead. 
 Till work be done, and I be dead. 
 Will I to critic world conform. 
 Which music drowns in wordy storm ; 
 
 Which hates the beautiful and true, 
 
 Because unlike what it can do. 
 
 88 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 (^ ®i0cotb from (git? fei?re» 
 
 "POR days my harp had been hanging, 
 
 Idly beating the wall, 
 
 And music no more was music, 
 
 Heart answered not its call. 
 
 Down from the wall I snatched it ; 
 
 It twanged a weary twang ; 
 Its twanging was never a dirge, 
 
 Its twanging was never a song. 
 
 But I struck from out the heart-strings 
 
 Fitful notes of woe ; 
 And methought I heard a song's footsteps, 
 
 Coming faint and low. 
 
 And I said, O notes that are fitful 
 
 Ye yet shall be a song ; 
 And life that is weak and fretful 
 
 Shall yet be true and strong. 
 
 89 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 AH, the Glory of the Morning ! 
 
 None other hour dare wear thee ; 
 None other time dare bear thee ; 
 Else thy beauty would be scorning. 
 
 Thou with eyes so pure and bright, 
 Some spirit sure has tended thee, 
 And lovingly befriended thee, 
 Throughout the darksome night. 
 
 Thou with eye so softly blue, 
 Thou art thyself a spirit ; 
 And thine eye's hue dost inherit 
 From the sky thou droppest through. 
 
 Thou whose hue is deeper, 
 God's azure depths have glinted 
 Across thee, and have hinted 
 That God himself 's thy keeper. 
 
 Then lovely Morning-glory, 
 
 Keep thy comings, keep thy comings, 
 
 90 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 Keep thy bloomings and thy blowings, 
 Keep them sacred to Aurora. 
 
 Else thy beauty will be scorning, 
 If other hour dare wear thee, 
 If other time dare bear thee, 
 Thou Glory of the Morning ! 
 
 91 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 r\ DELICATE, fragile pea, 
 
 Sway hitherward, toy with me ! 
 Till I lose this appetite keen, 
 Till I cease to be grovelling, mean. 
 First my soul feed ; 
 Then my body's need. 
 O delicate, fragile pea, 
 Sway hitherward, toy with me ! 
 
 butterfly's joy, 
 Be not so coy ! 
 
 1 see thee sway and bend 
 
 To thy gallant satin-robed friend ; 
 Then delicate, fragile pea, 
 Sway hitherward, bend to me. 
 You reach and toy with each other, 
 Like lovers, — nay, sister, brother. 
 O soul of the fragile pea, 
 Thus reach and toy with me ! 
 
 92 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 feegenb of (^ata^^in. 
 
 The Penobscot Indian guides will go with you to Mt. 
 Katahdin. They will not go on it. It is sacred as the 
 abode of their god Pomola, who sometimes rode a black 
 horse shod with fire. The panthers were Pomola's dogs. 
 
 ■\1 rHERE Wassatiquoik's waters 
 Ride hot from the mountain, 
 Dashing mad past Katahdin 
 With clang and with clatter ; 
 Where the pine spreads his carpet, 
 There the braves had gathered, 
 Squaws and sachems 
 By scores and by hundreds, 
 Giving in marriage their sachem's daughter 
 To a chief of Penobscot. 
 The braves have done boasting, 
 How they had heard the dogs of Pomola ; 
 Heard them yelling 
 And not fled affrighted. 
 Now they have taken 
 Themselves to their dancing. 
 Young panthers frisking, 
 Wild steeds prancing. 
 Apart stands Medulmah, 
 
 93 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Whose feet are lighter 
 Than the light-footed brooks 
 That trip from Katahdin. 
 Afar look the eyes 
 Whose glance is brighter 
 Than the spotted fawn 
 That you hunt to the mountain ; 
 For she goes like the fawn, 
 To the lodge of the sachem, 
 That you carry and pen 
 In your parks and gardens. 
 
 She hears not the noise 
 
 Of their shouting and dancing ; 
 
 She is giving herself 
 
 To the God Pomola ; 
 
 She is asking help 
 
 Of the God of the mountain. 
 
 " I would rather rest 
 
 On the couch of the storm god, 
 
 Than panther's hide 
 
 Of chief I love not." 
 
 A screech and a yell 
 That swallows their din, 
 And a light not of pine knot 
 Is blazing in. 
 
 94 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 Pomola on steed 
 Than midnight is blacker ; 
 Hoofs shod with fire 
 Than flame is brighter ; 
 Dogs whose yelping 
 Than war-whoop is wilder. 
 
 Medulmah alone 
 Starts not at their baying ; 
 She is praying to her God 
 She meant her praying. 
 A spring, and she sits 
 On the steed shod with fire ; 
 Then away up the ridge, 
 Up the peak higher, higher ; 
 They see her ascend 
 To the home of Pomola. 
 No brave dare follow, 
 That pathway was holy. 
 
 95 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 "(Itofifegge dfifige" — $5e (Uofife fefp. 
 
 "T*WAS a grand old motto in the days long gone; 
 Men drew the sword, and they lifted the spear ; 
 They lived sans reproche ; they died sans fear ; 
 Was there danger ahead ? They walked straight on. 
 
 And I in these degenerate times, 
 A degenerate son of the noble dead, 
 Dare lift a hand, dare raise a head ; 
 '■'■Noblesse Oblige,^'' I hurl my rhymes. 
 
 If e'er I have stood on the stronger side, 
 
 When the weak went down on the side of the right, 
 
 My pen is my sword, I yield it in fight, 
 
 Yon may call me coward, may mock, may deride. 
 
 If e'er I have sold my sword for gold. 
 
 Have joined with the pack that hounded the weak; 
 
 If one dare accuse, the accuser may speak ; 
 
 I will count my fame a tale that is told. 
 
 If in castled creed the prisoner's sigh 
 Has been borne by the breeze in vain to my ear, 
 You may count it one with the craven's fear, 
 And my motto here a blazoned lie. 
 
 96 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 ^ 19t9 Ctntwct dtnig^t. 
 
 C HE at the crossing stood, 
 
 'Wildered with snow and ice ; 
 A laborer came in a trice 
 And built a bridge most good. 
 
 Dry shod as England's queen, 
 She walked his coal sacks o'er ; 
 Sir Walter did no more 
 Than this poor heaver, I ween. 
 
 A glimpse of womanhood, 
 I think the man had seen ; 
 This he had crowned as queen, 
 This knight of labor good. 
 
 97 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 "^ OW gracefully swinging, 
 Now tiger-like springing, 
 
 Backward and forward you go ; 
 Whiles fading, receding, 
 Then back again speeding. 
 
 The Tantalus melodies flow. 
 Joyous children, free-souled children, 
 
 Blithely dance along ; 
 Joyous children, free-souled children, 
 
 Life is a dance and a song. 
 
 With true Greek abandon, 
 You seem not to stand on. 
 
 Your winged feet fly o'er the floor ; 
 Now you curve beautiful, 
 Now dash undutiful, 
 
 As sea-born waves spurn the shore. 
 Joyous children, free-souled children, 
 
 Blithely dance along. 
 Joyous children, free-souled children, 
 
 Life is a dance and a song 
 
 Your dancing a rite is ; 
 For the gods a delight is ; 
 
 98 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 Thus they worshipped of yore. 
 In this you inherit 
 The true Grecian spirit ; 
 
 Why dig for it, grind for it more ? 
 Joyous children, free-souled children, 
 
 Blithely danced along ; 
 Joyous children, free-souled children, 
 
 Life was a dance and a song. 
 
 As you go away from us 
 Each face is a promise 
 
 That life again shall be song. 
 Shall we be disappointed ? 
 I charge you, anointed, 
 
 That ye be as the Greeks, true and strong. 
 Joyous children, free-souled children. 
 
 Blithely dance along ; 
 Joyous children, free-souled children, 
 
 Make life a dance, a song. 
 
 Class Day^ Harvard. 
 
 99 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 A H, the meter of the visit : 
 
 'Tis art's triumph most exquisite, 
 An instrument discrete and rare ; 
 Adjusted, this being done with care, 
 It will tell you to a dot 
 If you are a bore or not. 
 As the fluid rises, falls, 
 You shall gauge your evening calls ; 
 For the fluid is at one 
 And stands the selfsame base upon 
 As the life-force of your host. 
 You must vanish like a ghost 
 Should you see it downward sink. 
 And upon the whole I think 
 It were neater and completer 
 To call the thing a bore-o-meter. 
 
 100 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 t^t (gattfesnafte. 
 
 A H, subtle one 
 
 -^ With head of diamond shape, 
 With spots like black lace falling, 
 Falling o'er whitest crape ! 
 
 Weird symmetry doth travel 
 
 From head to tipmost tail ; 
 Old Egypt's art sure wrought thee, 
 
 Wrought thee without fail. 
 
 Or else the sun god got thee ; 
 
 And thou, a witch's spawn. 
 With all the sun's intensity, 
 
 Art fire and craft in one. 
 
 What idleness in thy motion ! 
 
 How passive are thy folds ! 
 Thou dreamy fascinator. 
 
 Thine is the spell that holds. 
 
 Thou art indeed the subtlest 
 Of all the beasts of the field ; 
 
 With that swift flash of thy forked tongue 
 They all the palm would yield. 
 
 1 01 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Dost thou wait adown the pathway, 
 Now, thy gay pied lover 's coming, 
 
 That thou peerest up so anxious 
 Through the mountain forest 
 gloaming ? 
 
 Or perchance I am the lover 
 
 That thy soul has anxious waited ; 
 
 One step more had made me thine 
 But that I was other fated. 
 
 Ah, thou lookest like the lover. 
 Tense of heart and passion-laden ; 
 
 Alean and peering through the trees 
 For the coming of the maiden. 
 
 Ah snake, satiric one ! 
 
 Lover, love deriding ; 
 I will kill thee, passion snake. 
 
 For all thy subtle chiding. 
 
 And with stones I quick indented 
 That crafty head of diamond shape, 
 
 Heeding not the graceful falling 
 Of blackest lace o'er whitest crape. 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 Yet it died a beauteous death ; 
 
 Aye more, its own requiem chanted. 
 With vibrant tail it wove weird spells, 
 
 Spells magic fraught and passion 
 heated. ' 
 
 Galbraith Glen, Cumberland Mts. 
 
 103 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 I^HE sun is setting; 
 
 Let it set. 
 And I am fretting ; 
 
 Let me fret. 
 The sun was made to rise and set, 
 And man was born to fume and fret. 
 Let it set. 
 Let me fret. 
 
 Just then a wild rose reaching out 
 Came looking in my face ; 
 Came looking up so tenderly, 
 Came reaching out with grace ; 
 Came with the wind quivering. 
 Soft, but not with fear shivering. 
 God and very God it seemed 
 Was looking from that flower ; 
 Looking out so lovingly, 
 Tenderly, reprovingly. 
 Lone is thy lot deemed ; 
 And hast thou no companion ? 
 See, I hover in the flower ; 
 
 104 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 In the pine-tree lurks my power, 
 In the dust beneath thy feet, 
 In the looks that rose looks meet ; 
 Thus said, and I was comforted. 
 
 South Carolina. 
 
 los 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 t^e (gttgnotteffe'0 (gtesgage* 
 
 /^ O, Mignonette : go, to where my friend lies 
 
 sleeping ; 
 There good angels now their watch are keeping, 
 
 Yet will they not hinder thee. 
 Then, when thy fragrance soft is stealing, 
 Be this message thy revealing ; 
 
 Bear thou this thought for me : 
 
 Unobtrusive as this bloom. 
 
 Silent as its still perfume, 
 
 Thus my soul would come unto thee 
 
 And only with its presence woo thee ; 
 
 An unseen influence 
 
 To help guard thine innocence. 
 
 Thy very own to help thee hold. 
 
 Youth's prophecy to help unfold ; 
 
 Then would I live in thy soul's power, 
 
 And not wax faint like this poor flower. 
 
 io6 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 IN AN ALBUM. 
 
 COME autographs attempt the witty, 
 
 Attempt and fail, the more's the pity. 
 Some are words of sage advising, 
 For one's heeding or despising : 
 This way of precept, line on line, 
 I own, indeed, is mostly mine. 
 Some write a sonnet 'neath your eyebrows ; 
 Your Album's filled with Indian powwows, 
 Where each beau brave thinks he is heard 
 By hurling you love's hottest word. 
 Some are seriously funny ; 
 Some cynic, sour ; some sweet as honey ; 
 Whose pen drops hone}'-, be it the wild. 
 The sweet is clear, cloylessly mild. 
 You'll find the difference much the same 
 Betwixt the wild flower and the tame. 
 Wild honey is the wild flower's body. 
 Distilled by bees, a drunkless toddy. 
 I tried it up in Tennessee ; 
 I scooped it from a hollow tree. 
 Up where by her wooded mountains 
 Leap and laugh her cure-all fountains. 
 
 107 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 In fact 'twas seriously funny, 
 
 The getting of this same wild honey. 
 
 The tree stood in a mountain glen ; 
 
 'Twas quickly felled by mountain men. 
 
 When quickly bees, by thousand, hundred, 
 
 Sang songs of war whose notes ne'er blundered. 
 
 Not thus they sing when sipping flowers ; 
 
 The war-song's sung for alien powers. 
 
 One lance-thrust costs a bee his life, — 
 
 To save his home his only strife. 
 
 The war-song checked the mountaineers ; 
 
 With watery mouths they counsel fears. 
 
 I seize a torch and they dart after, — 
 
 War-songs of bees, and shouts, and laughter. 
 
 I reach the tree-top, reach for honey, 
 
 Much as a Yankee grasps for money. 
 
 Dry leaves, dry tree-top quick takes fire. 
 
 To keep apace with my desire. 
 
 I think 'twas like the fire infernal. 
 
 Where stolen sweets do fiercely burn all. 
 
 There, mid burning, blinding, stinging, 
 
 Fierce hum of bees, yet fainter ringing, 
 
 I filled my pail with mountain honey ; 
 
 You see 'twas seriously funny. 
 
 With bread of maize and squirrel broiled, 
 
 We ate the sweets for which we'd toiled ; 
 
 And as the sun glanced down the glen, 
 
 io8 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 I shared a feast with mountain men. 
 The singing brook, as it danced by, 
 Looked back on us coquettishly. 
 Forgot were stings in a calm joy ; 
 Here once were sweets that did not cloy. 
 
 I think I've made this long digression, 
 
 To save a bitter-sweet confession 
 
 That I have borne the stinging, burning. 
 
 To get the sweets of my heart's yearning. 
 
 But then my sweets were cloyless sweets. 
 
 Forsooth they pulsed with wild heart's beats. 
 
 I thought to sing, — but lo, a sermon, — 
 
 Sing, as some Mermaid unto Merman, 
 
 A song as liquid as the sea 
 
 That flows and flows eternally ; 
 
 That last, the Mermaid simile, 
 
 Fits well a little maiden free. 
 
 She sitteth ever by the sea. 
 
 Society's plashing, dashing sea. 
 
 I would sing thee a song to woo thee away 
 
 From where its treacherous billows play. 
 
 I fear thou'lt perish in that sea, 
 
 O maiden singing joyously ! 
 
 O Mermaid, Mermaid, come from the sea ! 
 
 For see, the waves curl treacherously ; 
 
 They lap forked tongues for thy free soul. 
 
 109 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 O Mermaid, theirs is a weird control ! 
 Up here is the grass and the soft blue sky, 
 And the brook goes laughing, singing by. 
 Down there is naught but shifting sand ; 
 Up here are mountains, as God most grand. 
 O Mtrmaid, Mermaid, come from the sea ! 
 For see, its waves curl treacherously. 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 "YrOU spake with eye upon that sea, 
 
 The nameless, the beyond : 
 " I could wish my life to be 
 A picture, earnest, warm, 
 A talisman from harm." 
 
 I spake from out that sea. 
 
 Where ships with tempests wrestled 
 
 And in no harbor nestled : 
 
 " E'en so 'tis now to me, 
 
 A picture golden tinted, 
 
 That to my rapt soul hinted 
 
 Much of that Yet-to-be, 
 
 And that its light is all that falls 
 
 Upon my life's poor, bare gray walls." 
 
 For this the furies slashed me ; 
 For this my genius lashed me ; 
 That I had dared to say 
 That life was bare and gray ; 
 When earth to me was a fairy clime, 
 And life had flown in a golden rhyme ; 
 And her winged feet kept runic time 
 To music, joyous and sublime ; 
 
 III 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 When the universe is its only walls, 
 And the Light Unchanging o'er all falls, 
 Showing here and showing there 
 Gems and paintings, rich and rare, 
 Flung by the Great Artist's hand, 
 As the ocean sketches the shining sand 
 Whose music is the whirling spheres. 
 Whose laughter, the ripple of the coming 
 
 years ; 
 Where joy and sorrow, good and ill, 
 Play a symphony diviner still. 
 
 112 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 TV/r ANY friends have I, 
 
 CoUards bright and gay, 
 Jocund as the day. 
 This is what they say 
 While to and fro they sway : 
 « We nod to every breeze, 
 Like Alcibiades. 
 Our mission is to please ; 
 We're gods of grace and ease ; 
 We with the breezes sway, 
 Yet with the breezes play." 
 
 They at my window lean. 
 And whispering, seem to nod 
 And peer, as doth some god, 
 At toiling son of sod. 
 Yet, when again they lean. 
 They shift like shifting scene 
 They weave into my dream ; 
 The dead and quick they seem. 
 Past, present, — warp and woof. 
 The Great no more aloof : 
 Socrates, Montaigne, 
 And Emerson, the Plain, 
 Carlyle, Great Sham Killer, 
 And Love Melodious Miller, 
 
 113 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 And Byron, Son of Scorn, 
 
 And Rousseau, passion-torn, 
 
 Grasp hands, shake hands, are brothers, 
 
 Are sons of selfsame mothers. 
 
 I, a mere looker-on. 
 
 Sit sad, apart, forlorn. 
 
 Nor dare to lift my head 
 
 ' Mong Great, alive or dead ; 
 
 When lo, they crowd around 
 
 Like crowding waves of sound. 
 
 They fill me 
 
 And they thrill me ; 
 
 My soul puts on new garb. 
 
 They bid me rise and stand ; 
 
 They reach and clasp my hand. 
 
 They deign to call me brother : 
 
 Aye, son of selfsame mother. 
 
 Ah ! there the vision's gone. 
 
 And CoUards still wave on. 
 
 " A joke, a thing to please ; 
 We're gods of grace and ease. 
 Like Alcibiades, 
 Our mission is to please. 
 Trust not half we say, 
 
 As to and fro we sway." 
 
 Blossom Prairie. Texas. 
 
 114 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 t^e ^tttpfe iasseffeb Com. 
 I. 
 
 f^ TALL and tasselled com, 
 
 With silks of pink and gold ! 
 You grow so still and gracefully 
 Up from the dark, rich mould. 
 
 Your pendent leaves 
 
 What hap e'er grieves ? 
 Come winds, come storms, 
 What hap e'er harms ? 
 
 What loss but quick retrieves ? 
 
 Now I think some Indian maiden, 
 
 In some aeon long ago 
 When the days of gold 
 Slipped by untold, 
 
 Gave her hair to deck thee so ; 
 And the Father of Life, in the olden, 
 Turned it to pink and golden ; 
 
 And so you beauteous grow. 
 Else, in that distant Aiden, 
 Thou gavest thine to the maiden ; 
 
 "5 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Which 'twas I hardly know, 
 
 'Twas long, so long ago. 
 Gone is that aeon and that Aiden, 
 And that glossy silk-haired maiden, 
 
 Gone down in the long ago. 
 But here, so tall, so beautiful, 
 To the white man all too dutiful. 
 
 Thou bendest thy tasselled bow. 
 
 Thou wert bread of life in the olden. 
 With thy silk so pink and golden. 
 
 What now ? I hardly know. 
 We crush thee with steam-whirled boulder 
 'Till thou art dead as the grave, and colder. 
 
 Thou 'rt bread of death, I trow. 
 With thy silk so pink and golden, 
 Wouldst woo us back to the olden, 
 
 To the truth of the long ago ! 
 
 II. 
 
 THE CORN TELLETH THE STORY OF THE FEAST OF THE 
 FIRST FRUITS. 
 
 When they saw my tassels coming 
 Like shaft with drawn bow shaped, 
 
 And my eager ears out pointing 
 
 With their long hair graceful draped ; 
 
 ii6 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 There was hurry, eager rushing, 
 Throughout all the valley wide ; 
 
 Old men talking, young men running, 
 Women joyous in their pride. 
 
 And the stone axe ate the heart out 
 Of the hardest hardwood tree ; 
 
 Shaped the pestle ; shaped the mortar ; 
 Shaped them swiftly, shaped them free. 
 
 And the women from the red earth 
 Took the finest they could find ; 
 
 Whirled it swift as flowing water. 
 Whirled it swift as whirling wind. 
 
 Then they dried it, baked it, burnt it 
 
 In a fierce and eager fire 
 That lapped up all the water : 
 
 Gave them vessels for their mire. 
 
 Some were braiding straws and grasses ; 
 
 Some were dressing furs and skins ; 
 Some were shaping flints and axes ; 
 
 Some were building larger bins. 
 
 When all was new, made over, 
 
 Then, they quickly brought the old, 
 
 All the last year's goods and chattels, 
 Corn, utensils ; all were told. 
 
 117 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 Then the priest, with lighted pine torch, 
 
 Set the filth heap all aflame ; 
 Water washes ; fire washes ; 
 
 Fire washes out a name. 
 
 Down they sat them, foodless, fireless ; 
 
 Watching, fasting, three days long ; 
 With bitter herbs their bodies purging, 
 
 While their souls grew strong. 
 
 On the fourth day, at its dawning, 
 The priest gets fire in sight of all, 
 
 Rubs the cedar sticks together 
 Till the Master lets it fall. 
 
 With the smoke a shout goes upward ; 
 
 Life begins afresh, anew ; 
 With that shout my blades I rustle : 
 
 " Life in death is for me, too." 
 
 in. 
 
 DEATH-SONG OF THE TASSELED CORN. 
 
 " Borne in triumph through the town ; 
 Hair turned from pink and gold to brown ; 
 Leaps to kiss me fiercest flames, 
 Fire and death dissolve a name. 
 
 ii8 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 I still am soul of Indian's soul, 
 A part and parcel of the whole. 
 
 I nestle close to hottest embers, 
 Tasselled corn no more remembers ; 
 With joy I plunge in seething water ; 
 That Indian maiden, ah ! I've caught her. 
 To live in silk-tressed Maiden's hair, 
 For threefold death I would not care. 
 
 U9 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 t^t C^icftabee- 
 
 r^HICKADEE, chickadee, 
 
 Singing your song, 
 The day is yours, 
 
 Be it short or long. 
 No toiKng, no caring. 
 No hoarding, preparing ; 
 Defying and daring 
 
 Whate'er the days give. 
 Come rain, or come blowing, 
 Come sleet, or come snowing ; 
 Unheeding, unknowing, 
 
 You joyously live. 
 A poet who knows it. 
 Who lives it and does it. 
 
 Whose life is one with the song 
 he sings ; 
 Your climbing and clinging 
 Keeps time to your singing. 
 You march to the music 
 
 Your own pipe rings. 
 
 O Grecian, O childhood. 
 Skipping along ! 
 
 120 
 
SONGS OF MANY MOODS. 
 
 Brave little hero, 
 
 With heart so strong ! 
 No thought for the morrow ; 
 No trouble you borrow, 
 From the days ahead, 
 
 For the day that is here ; 
 But joyously twittering, 
 Unheeding Bun's chittering, 
 Who hoards to-day. 
 
 Then watches in fear. 
 O wise little teacher ! 
 O practising preacher ! 
 The only Christian 
 
 The years have seen. 
 Fly farther, soar higher. 
 Brave care-defier ; 
 You carry to-day 
 
 In your beak, I ween. 
 
 121 
 
WAY SONGS AND WANDERINGS. 
 
 HTHE Washita winds 
 
 In a wild, sweet way, 
 Down through that vale 
 Where the rank grass teems ; 
 Like wind-blown scarf 
 It gracefully seems, 
 Cottonwood fringed. 
 O reddest of streams ! 
 You wind in my dreams 
 In a wonderful way. 
 
 Paul's Valley, I. T. 
 
 122 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 
 
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