Class JESJi5iIl& GoRyright]^" \^Z2. COPWilGHT DEPOSIT. 'esfrom the renees tes mM OF A Journey ALY TO England .ujusr a 71 1914 d ^ears ^fter \ay not question spent in vain fen to others Igain !OPE PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES CATHEDRAL REVERIES AN ACCOUNT OF A JOURNEY FROM ITALY TO ENGLAND AUGUST, 1914 AND SEVEN YEARS AFTER BY MARGARET COPE Philadelphia THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY 1922 Copyright y ig22^ by Margaret Cope APR -6 '23 CIA704062 lyv^'*^ % Bebttatton To the memory of my brother Alban, whose intense love of nature and its expression in verse, though an invalid unable to voice it, was to me inspiring (a soul set free at last from the prison bars of flesh), I lovingly dedi- cate these verses written shortly after his death. J^tttfiDr's preface This little book of unpretentious verse is published for those who like myself love nature and art, and the thoughts that they inspire in us. To all these it is an open book — to others it is sealed, even though they lift the cover — and to them I make no apology; only hoping it may find a little place in the hearts of some of my relations and friends, and among my many unknown friends scattered over this wide world who have the understanding heart. It has taken the form of a diary of pictured scene and thought during that eventful summer of 19 14 when many of us found we were alone in foreign lands in the unexpected cataclysm of the horrible World War. M. C. Awbury, Germantown^ Aug, lOy 19.22. That so when I am gone I may not question IJ all my wanderings had been spent in vain. But from a grateful heart had given to others The quiet spirit of the past again. Content0 PAGE REMINISCENCES OF WINTER OF 1910 Called Back . 13 Convalescence 14 Epilogue .16 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES The Valley 17 A Rest by the Roadside 17 Above the World 18 A Look Backward 18 By the Roadside 19 Light and Shade 20 An Evening Tryst 20 To the River Cadi 21 Hay Making 22 To THE Little Rivulet 23 On the Mountain 25 Thanksgiving 26 A Bit of Color 27 The Quiet Hour 27 Into the Valley 28 The Secrets of the Morn 30 Morning Praise 31 "I Will Lift Up Mine Eyes" ... 32 After Glow 32 Early Morning Joys ^^ Memories 35 CONTENTS PAGE Climbing Heavenward ^(i A Farewell 37 Continuity 38 Understood 39 CATHEDRAL REVERIES St. Nazaire, in "La Cite", Carcas- sonne 41 St. Nazaire 41 A Simple Picture 42 Carcassonne, "La Cite" 44 Light and Shade 46 To My Brother Walter 47 Avignon 49 Avignon's Lord 49 Languedoc 50 Mounting 51 Le Pui 52 A Picture ^2 "The Old Order Changeth". ... 54 "Le Benediction" . 55 The Ancient Faith 56 l*Eglise de St. Michael 57 "Come Unto Me" 58 Ye Are the Temple of the Living God 58 A Fragment — St. Laurent 59 Statue of Jeanne D*Arc in^^Cathe- DRAL 59 The Deserted Convent 60 The Snow Peaks 62 Le Petit St. Bernard 62 10 CONTENTS PAGE On the Border 64 To Shrouded Mont Blanc . ... 64 To Mont Blanc at Dawn 65 "He that Hath Eyes to See, Let Him See" 66 Pre St. Didier 67 Judge Not 68 Epilogue to Verses on Jeanne d*Arc 69 SWITZERLAND UNDER MOBILIZATION To Weeping Mont Blanc 71 To Mont Blanc 72 Twilight on Lake Leman 73 Glion — Lake Geneva 74 Switzerland after Mobilization . . 75 Early Morning Walk to Caux from Glion Above Lake Geneva . . 76 "GoD*s IN His Heaven, All's Well with the World" 77 Account of Journey from Italy to England in August, 1914. ... 79 ENGLAND "Far from the Madding Crowd". . 105 Whitton Paddocks 107 SEVEN YEARS AFTER England Twilight in a Devonshire Lane . . 109 A Brave Life 109 II CONTENTS PAGE Sea Dreams — ^Tintagel no The Lost Child 112 "Cleave Farm" 113 The Spirit's Sunset 115 Clovelly 115 TiNTERN Abbey 116 Raglan Castle . 117 A Walk FRO^ "Dove Cottage" to "Fox Howe", Grassmere ... 118 "Ears Have They but They Hear Not, Neither Do They Under- stand" 119 London Chimes 120 Twilight in a Surrey Village ... 123 "Albury Woods" 123 A Farewell 124 Le Coucherdu Soliel en Bretagne. 125 Brittany 126 Noontide at St. Cast 127 Eventide — ^a l' Abb a ye de St. Jacut 127 Sunset and Incoming Tide — Mont St. Michel, "Les DEUX Merveilles" 128 Sunrise at Mont St. Michel . . .129 Only the Gulls — and Me . . . . . 130 Contrasts 132 Immigration in 1492 132 12 Eemtnt0cence0 oC 223intec of 1910 Calleb ^atk In Tivoli, in Tivoli The cataract plunges toward the sea; The spray floats up from the Ravine, The Temple and the cliffs between, In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, In bed a traveler lay. She hears the roar the cataracts make, She feels the thunder and the quake. In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, As all alone she lies. She sees dear faces from her home. Dreams in a trance, that go and come In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli With windows open wide The moonlight steals across her room; She sees sweet fancies in the gloom In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, The end seems drawing near — With feeble pulse and failing breath She lies, and calmly faces death In Tivoli, in Tivoli. 13 WINTER OF 1910 In Tivoli, in Tivoli Hark! — in the court below, As voices from an angel band — The dear ones from a distant land In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, To her it seems in Tivoli An answer from her God above — "In the Dark Valley I am Love" In Tivoli, in Tivoli. From Tivoli, from Tivoli Nursed into health again At the good "Ospitale" where The good old monks' and nurses* care Gave life, in place of pain — She journeyed forth again From Tivoli, from Tivoli. ConbaleieJtence {Notes from *'Ospitale Tivoli'*) In Tivoli, in Tivoli The bells at daybreak ring; One after one the sweet refrain Floats softly over hill and plain — Then all is hushed again In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, Below my window pane. The noise of little donkeys* feet 14 WINTER OF /pro Upon the cobbles beat, beat, beat; For day has come again, In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, The little boys go singing by; I do not know the songs they sing, I only know the childish heart That would its gladness thus impart In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, Across the street I see The Sanctuary where must come The people old for their last home. Tended with care by monks alone. In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, A bell is tolling slow — **A brother has gone home,** she said, My nurse who stood beside my bed, I knowing not that one was dead. In Tivoli, in Tivoli. In Tivoli, in Tivoli, In "Ospi tale Tivoli,*' What can I say of things below Where the old monks walked to and fro? I cannot say. But this I know. That my dear nurse made all things go In my bright room in Tivoli. 15 WINTER OF igio epilogue Dear nurse that stood beside my bed, Your presence such sweet sunshine shed, That all the ills that flesh could dread Were chased away from Tivoli — From "Ospitale Tivoli." And when some illness comes to you. May the good God forever true Shower down the blessings due to you — On my good nurse at Tivoli. i6 Pfctutes from tfte Pgrenee^ Soft hay in hay cocks piled, Where the green hillside slopes into the meadow, Rich woods that run down to the river Cadi, Where trill the thrush and blackbird all day long; Above, the rocky mountain crags — And higher still, half veiled by flying clouds. The snowy summit gleams against the grey; Whilst over all Blue shadows fall — And rest. Fernet-les-Bains June 21^ igi4 aaesft bp tfie aaoabsfibe Soft fields of grass, and rocky mountain steeps. And fold on fold, the distant mountains, seen between the gap. Whilst ever in my ears, the Cadi, rushing o*er its rocky bed. Makes music — and the little birds singing their even-song A benediction bring. The crickets chirp — My thoughts fly far away — To Awbury! On the road from Castille VerneUles-Bains June 22^ igi4 17 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Sunshine and shade, and dappled morning sky; Cloud-wreaths that circle round the moun- tain tops; Far distant, every tree casts its blue shade Like to some purple veil that downward drops. Here stretched at ease beneath the pines I lie, While my soul soars above my rocky perch; Far, far below the rushing Cadi roars — All else is still — save that some bird might chirp. High on its rocky crag— the Abbey still re- mains. But where are they who sought that spot remote? Who, climbing upward, tried a place to gain Nearer to Heaven — among the clouds that float High over all — yet let the sun shine down "Upon the evil and upon the good!" — ^Vanished and gone! The Abbey still re- mains — The clouds float ever in their solitude. Vernet-kS'BainSy after a morning climb June 2jy 1914 ^ Hook Patbtoarb The sun is sinking o*er the mountain's brim, And up the vale as far as meets the eye, 18 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES The mountains, fold on fold, melt in the sky. While Vernet's Castle stands out bold and grim. Old Vernet! built upon its rugged hill, A safe retreat in stormy days of old! Castle and Church and town the tale repeat Of times long since gone by, when knights were bold. Gone is the sword, the arrow, and the bow; Gone is the Feudal Lord! — but still plod on The patient oxen, as they homeward go. Toiling that man may live — without reward. VerneUles-Bains June 26y IQT4 ^p tfie aaoabsiitie Little orchards sloping to the meadows, Little crickets chirping in the grass. Little brooks that babble by the roadside. Little girls that loiter as they pass. Giant cliffs that tower each side above me, Mountains blue against a sunset sky. All of nature's throbbing heart to love me. Bird and child and flower. Ah why should I Not take heart of grace, and rest contented? Though afar off in a foreign land. Every place my home, where God has granted Me to sec the working of His hand. 19 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Rest contented, or if traveling onward Courage take for journey on the way, Like the Israelites, who watched undaunted Pillar of fire by night — of cloud by day. On the Castille Roady Vernet'les-Bains June 28^ igi4 ILx^i anb ^ftabe The western light is flooding all the vale While round me shadows deepen. And the cliffs on either side A frame-work make to scenes beyond. So may we, when God His picture paints. Of light and shade, be patient in the shadow And content to be a frame-work to our brother's joy. Knowing His Sun will shine upon us in the morn. On the road from Castille Fernet-les-Bains June 28y ipi4 The light is slowly creeping up the mountain height. While in the West the sun Is sinking down. Blue veils of mist fall with the falling night. And through the gorge the Cadi rushes on — One little cloud above the mountain tops Is turning rosy red, as the sun drops. 20 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES The moon, its silver sickel turned to gold, Is slowly sinking in the Western sky, The birds, their tale of happiness half told. Are bidding to the day a last goodbye: — Evening with silent majesty comes on — Goodbye sweet day! Thy reign of light is o'er; Yet linger yet awhile thy tryst to keep, Before the dew its quiet tear-drops weep. And we — see thee no more. On Castille Roady Vernet-les-Bains June 2g, 1914 Tumultuous river, where are thy springs Un- known ? That thou forever dashest o*er thy stones In joyous spray. Art thou not tired of racing all day long And singing still forever the same song From night till day? Hark ! from above the glorious nightingale Pours through, the night her music on the vale In cadence sweet. Hast thou not time to listen to her song But thou must ever hurry, hurry on In swift retreat? 21 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Listen! she calleth through the evening cool: Wilt thou not rest in silent lake or pool. Nor onward go? Thou restive river! Ah, dost thou not care That thou forever more leavest thy mountain air. And dashest down the heat and dust to share, Of plains below? Once on the plains, thou wilt regret thy pranks. Loitering along with many a backward glance To where with glee Thou leavest thy snowy cradle on the height. Thou leavest thy mother's arms and bosom white. To leap and tumble on in pure delight To seek the sea. Vernet-les-Bains June 30^1914 The scythe cuts swiftly through the meadow grass With steady swing; The father rests not from his daily task. While on the wing The lark sings ever as the clouds do pass. His little children follow in their turn To toss the hay, 22 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Helping with him their daily bread to earn While all the day Old "Canigou" looks down from snowy heights. I hear the rhythm of the scythe which cuts The meadow grass, I hear the father whet his scythe, And see him pass His hand across his brow, 'ere he begins His work in silence done, with steady stroke Of swinging scythe — The only sound that mountain stillness broke, — To keep alive His wife and little ones, he toils all day. Father, I think thine is a noble life. Though thou may est be Hard-worked and poor, despised by those at strife Whom wealth sets free To hunt for pleasure — still eluding them. Vernet-leS'BainSy Morning near Corniella July 2y 1914 tCo tiie Hittle 3aibulet Whither from thy mountain torrent Little streamlet dost thou pass. That I ever hear thee murmur Down between the parted grass? 23 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Like some sweet thought vainly hidden By the words it cannot speak, On the blush that comes unbidden To the silent maiden's cheek. Gurgle, gurgle, by my footsteps. What is it thou fain wouldst say? Shall I seek thy hidden secret In yon mountain far away? Which from down its snowy summit Beckons me with hand so white From the clouds that kiss its forehead, Tempting me to scale its height? No! the mountain cannot tempt me, Though it*s fair to look upon. For I know its heart is icy. For its heart is hard as stone. Tm content to walk beside thee, Through thy pasture broad and fair. In the sweet scent of the hay-field Winnowed by the mountain air. Keep thy secret little runlet — Murmur, murmur, neath the tree, Down among thy parted grasses Where the flowers look at thee; Look and nod and whisper to thee. And at noon time comes the bee. Keep it close — or if thou tellest it — Tell thy tale to them — not me. VerneUleS'Bains July 2, 1914 24 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Z PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Come away, Come away To the flowers opening fast! To the bird on the spray Ere his music is past, Come away, Come away! Come away, Come away In the fresh morning breeze! Ere the sun is on high, And the shade on the trees. Come away. Come away! Come away. Come away! For the little clouds float Up the rough mountain gorge To some regions remote — Come away. Come away! Come away. Come away! For the music is heard Of the hum of the bee And the song of the bird — Come away, Come away! Come away. Come away! For the rivulets pass Down the mountain ravines Just to play in the grass Come away. Come away! Then away. Then away! This fresh morning to greet! To the scent of the hay 34 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES In the meadows so sweet Away and away — There's no time for delay Come away! Vernet'leS'Bains July II, 191 4 The long June days are drawing to a close. But still we hear the beauteous nightingale At morn and eve, — While hark below us in the shadowy vale ^^ <'' ^ ^ Jl :f Sl^J JI^J A Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo! The happy thrush upon the blooming spray, With sweet content, her song warbles above In sun and shade. But oh, that magic sound far off I love i i r-fs 3i 2S: 22 Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo! That sound recalls to me some happy days In England far away on hillsides sweet, Far off and near; ZS PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Ah may my dreams at night that call repeat, — i ■mi =i=^ 22 :2Zt 3^ Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo, Cuo-koo! Vernet-les -Bains July 10, 1 91 4 Climbing f^eabentoarb Ye little clouds that climb the mountain summit At break of day, Where is your resting place, what is your limit Whither away? "We follow up the rocky mountain gorges. Our race half run, Helped by the morning breeze that lifts us onward. To greet the Sun. Ah when he comes, the beauty of his smile Tempts us to stay And lingering yet awhile — without denial We melt away." So we, who still climb here the stony places Of life's rough way. Will see when morning breaks, our dear one's faces 36 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES In God's clear light; And in eternal day- Sorrow will fade away. Vemet-ks-Bains July II, igi4 jFaretoell Farewell "Old Vernet's" tower, Farewell! the parting hour Has come at last with pain, And we must go! Thy little streets so steep, Thy houses with the deep Overhanging eaves that keep The sunshine out: Thy little boys in smocks, And little girls whose frocks Are quaint — beneath their rosy cheeks And soft brown eyes: Thy matrons in white caps Whose greeting smile perhaps Is sweeter for a life Of wholesome toil: Thy lythesome maidens fair, Brown eyes and dusky hair, Blythesome and debonnaire As on they go: 37 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Thy handsome men who work All day, nor ever shirk, With the red scarfs which mark The "Catalan". Thy patient oxen white. Who toil from morn till night, Pulling their heavy loads Down the steep lanes. Thy sheep with tinkling bells. Whose sound the shepherd tells If they are on the fells Or far below. Thy mountains from which come The little brooks which run, And rush — and wander on To meet the sea. Vemet'leS'Bains July 12 y igi4 Contittttftp Farewell to Vernet I go and leave these lovely mountain scenes. But still The brooklet floweth on. The birds still sing upon the leafy bough When I am gone! 38 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES Old Vernet's Tower will stand firm as a rock, Until The crack of doom comes on, The shepherds still will tend the feeding flock When I am gone. The mountains fair will look into the vale, As up The fleecy clouds trail on. The dew still fill the flower's chalice cup When I am gone. The sun will rise and set on pictures fair To see As year by year goes on, Pictures alas seen never more by me For I am gone! Vernet-IeS'Bains July 14, 191 4 What does it matter, if with hearts high strung Singing our song Others not care nor see? God over all Doth answer to our call In perfect harmony. Tis He who knows; 'Tis He inspires our song And all day long We have his listening ear, Communion sweet; 39 PICTURES FROM THE PYRENEES He tunes our hearts — *tls meet. He feels — why should we fear. Then why not journey on, still all day long Singing our song With joyful hearts — nor care? Content to be Misunderstood, if He Who knows, our feelings share. Fon^ Romeau July IS, 191 4 40 CatljeDtal Eetierieg ^t Mmitt. in ''%a Cite/* Cartas^sionne The massive pillars of the silent nave Stretch on from gloom to light, A picture fair of shadowed light and shade Of majesty and height. The jewelled windows shed their magic light Most glorious to behold, Of sapphire, ruby and of emerald. Of amethyst and gold. The sculptured saints above the pillars high Look down as earst of old, — But knight and warrior, prince and page and dame Have passed — with hearts as cold. Ear/y morning July 17, 1914 ^{. i8ta?aire The light falls softly through the jewelled panes In many colors fair Upon the stones trodden for centuries, Like rainbows resting there, Or colors soft woven in tapestry By ladies earst of old — Amethyst and sapphire, opal, ruby, pearl. Amber and gold. 41 CATHEDRAL REVERIES The arches rise far up in shadows dim Meeting in carved bosse — The saints look from their nitches — upon Him— The Christ upon the Cross! Stretched there He hangs upon the "blessed tree" As if to us He said — ** Come unto me 1 Lay all your burdens down, And I will make you glad." Carcassonne^ Sunday morning before service July i8, 1914 ^ Simple 3l^itivixt Sweet patient face! in the Cathedral vast Counting thy beads, after thy life of toil! Dost thou not hear thy Saviour's voice at last? "Thy faith hath made thee whole." I know not what thy life of toil may be Or faith confessed! I only see thy face Beneath its spotless fluted cap, with eyes up- turned, Waiting thy Saviour's grace. 42 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Bells Chiming Go, go in peace, thy sours re — lease i Is sure, for thou be — lie — -25»- — vest. ^^^5P^ istizs 22 To meek in heart will God im— part m ^^=F i :^ f 32 What thou in faith re cei vest. i qzzrzq: r^^3 :2^=^ :st Saved by His grace His loving face Will smile upon thy sorrow Go in and pray Turn not away Thou knowest not the morrow. My ringing bells The music tells Of those who peace would borrow Turn not away Kneel down and pray Come in and heal thy sorrow. 43 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Morn, noon and eve, I all receive Who come in joy or sadness. They enter in To shrive their sin And go in peace and gladness. Then go in peace Thy souFs release Is sure for thou art shriven To meek in heart Will God impart A sense of sins forgiven. Bells Tolling Faith Hope Love Joy Peace Faith Hope Love Joy Peace i e St, Nazaire^ Carcassonne July i8, 1914 From massive wall and battlement and moat. From tower and turret and from barbizon, Old Carcassonne looks down since times re- mote Upon the fertile plain of Roussillon. 44 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Roman and Visigoth and Saracen, Each in his day built up that fortress dread. Long ere the day when the Great Charle^ magne Founded his empire in the Roman's stead. It was a stronghold of the Barons bold And many a bloody scene of sv/ord and lance It saw, before the lawful kingly power Was centered in the majesty of France. It looked upon the land of Troubadours, Their songs were heard and loved by ladies fair, And in the stormy days of Barons* wars Many a knight and dame was sheltered there. Names frought with history's memories it knew In bloody times of the religious wars, Simon de Montfort and St. Dominic, And the Crusader, Raymond of Toulouse ! And oft the Listes were drawn in Tourney gay And mailed knights bore down with heavy lance Wearing their lady's glove — as if alway Her name to honor in the land of Fiance! 4i CATHEDRAL REVERIES With pomp of heraldry and trumpets' blare, With mitered Bishop neath his panoply, With banners gay and shouts that rend the air, Proclaiming to the crowd the victory Old Carcassonne was gay with colors bright, With swords that clashed, and tramp of champing steed — — Ah! vanished quite! The moat with trees bedight — Portcullis gone! The lists a flowery mead! 4( 4t :!: :ic ii( From massive wall and battlement and moat. From tower and turret and from barbizon. Old Carcassonne still looks since times remote Upon the quiet plain of Roussillon. Evening July i8y 191 4 Htgfit anil ^tiabe With radiant light the sunshine comes and goes In the Cathedral vast. Through many a jewelled pane; On floor and walls of nave and aisle it glows — Then darkens once again — The glory past! We kneel in prayer; — and once again our eyes Are lifted up on high — Ah! Once more it is there, 46 CATHEDRAL REVERIES And glistens fair as dew drops from the skies. As if again to vie With rainbows fair. The saints look down the glory to behold In choir and nave and aisle Reflected back and forth; Ah, Christ! Make us Thy "Inner Light" to crave That brightened by Thy smile We may go forth! I turn to go — Feeling the inspiration given By one whose life Overshadowed here below — Now glows — in heaven. Farewell service before leaving for Avignon^ Sunday morning. Cathedral of St, Nazaire, Carcassonne July 20y ip/4 Wo Mv Ptotfier Ualtet Thou Architect who wroughts*t in stone thine epitaph In buildings fair to see. My spirit follows thine through this old France In perfect harmony. 47 CATHEDRAL REVERIES 'Twas thou who taughtest my eyes to love Proportions fair, The grand Cathedrals with their buttresses Soaring in air; The manor-houses, with their old tiled roofs, Walled in with massive gate; The cheerful peasants who still till the fields Early and late. The villages with queer, o'erhanging roofs And stately Tower, Whose carillon far up above tells them The passing hour; The old Chateaux and Castles on the hill, Seen at a glance As on I go — proclaiming still The majesty of France. Ah! well in early days thy pencil wrought In pictures fair To trace, with lines exact, the scenes thou sought And hold them there. — And they are ever there! But thou art gone! Perhaps in regions fair — beyond the moon Thou still art set God's works to trace In heaven's clear air. On train from Carcassonne to Avignon July 20y 191 4, 48 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Thou grand old Papal Palais, words cannot describe Thy majesty and beauty — seen against the sky! With the descending sun flushing thy noble face, Turning the grey to gold and amber Up against the blue. Thy great machicolated towers reaching to- ward heaven. Thy massive buttresses, where lurk the shadows dim, Thy creamy stone crumbling with age — That takes the light and softened shades Of passing day — and fades Into the night. Sunset July 20y igi4 ^U%mxC^ Xorb Philipe le Bel, The powerful king of France, Placing his Popes Where he could watch them well, Philipe le Bel! Philipe le Bel! His tower across the Rhone Watches the Papal Towers Of Avignon — Philipe le Bel!] 49 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Philipe le Bel! What things on earth shall last? The king is gone. The Papal power is past — All things must die: — But still to-day live on The Royal Papal Towers Of Avignon; And o'er the other side Of the swift flowing Rhone, Watching them as of old. Though he is gone, The massive Tower Of the old French king Philipe le Bel! July 22y igi4 Eattgueboc Thou happy land of Languedoc, Land of romance. What other place can give more joy In dear old France. Land of the Troubadour who sang His music sweet, Tuning his golden harp — unstrung — His lady's ear to greet. Ladies the fairest seen, for whose Sweet glance The knights in tilt and Tournament Broke many a lance. 50 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Fixed in their helmets bright Her dainty glove, Saying to all in sight " Tis her I love." Still are the voices rich and sweet In Languedoc, And youths and maidens, singing in the streer, At care do mock; The women's eyes are bright, Their faces fair. Still are the men polite And debonaire. But times have changed in many ways In dear old France In Languedoc — that country Of romance. On leaving Avignon for Le Pui July, 1914 In the Cevennes! Ah! we ascend Out of the dust and the rain. And with delight. Mounting the height. Fling away care on the plain. 51 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Welcome the breeze Blowing the trees. Welcome the fresh mountain air, Rivers that rush Fountains that gush As if our gladness to share. Up as we go Down must they flow, Down to the plain by the sea, As with delight Scale we the height On to the town of Le Pui. On train from Avignon to Le Pui July, IQ14 %t mi We enter the Cathedral vast And lay our burdens down: We come to Thee, O Lord, to pray. And all our sorrows drown. Lord lift our hearts to Thine in praise Ere we depart, That so our souls Thou mayest raise Above man's art. The music in the Choir beyond Doth lift our hearts to Thee Ah may they mount on eagle's wings As those who trust in Thee. 52 CATHEDRAL REVERIES And may we walk and never faint. Or run and not be weary. That so our spirits filled with Thine Can never more feel dreary. Lord Thou hast said Thou dwellest not In Temples made with hands, Yet in Thy name if gathered there Thou in the midst will stand. So in the quiet hush that comes After the singing choir. Our souls shall mount on "Eagles* Wings" As those who cannot tire. Morning service July 23, 1914 a future Poor patient soul, along life's rugged street Toiling thy way to heaven, Hast thou not heard thy Saviour's loving voice "Thy sins shall be forgiven"? Ah, He*ll receive thee, for in hardest work Thou still hast done thy best Soon, soon shalt thou give answer to His voice "Come unto me, and rest"! Thy kerchief and thy snowy cap, All laid aside. Are done with now — S3 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Thou wilt not need them — But the peace is sweet That crowns thy brow. Thy quiet hands — So busy all thy life Folded upon thy breast: Ah, thou hast earned full well Thy Saviour's call — "Come unto me — And rest"! Toiling up to The Cathedral of Le Pui to Afternoon Service July 23,1914 Steep stony streets! what feet have o'er thee trod In century, upon century — When faith in God Was strong, though man was fierce, And battled with his might With sword and glaive of steel To help the right. What clang of armor and of horses hoofs That beat, In charging with their mailed knights The narrow street! What ladies fair watched them From windows high — Seeking to find their loved one With a sigh. 54 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Ah, times have changed! — But still the houses quaint Climb up the narrow street: And many a saint — On pillared wall in the Cathedral high Looks down the nave, Flooded with sunset light: And still its great arch frames, In massive masonry, The hills and red- tiled roofs OfoldLePui. Sunsety Le Put July 23, 1^14 The grand cathedral bell Boometh the hour — As in the ages past To tell — with power — The village folk When work must cease At last. — The aged women In their snowy caps Toil up the steps — It is the hour of "Benediction" — They come perhaps To bring before the Lord Their troubles rare — Laying them at His feet To leave them there. S^ CATHEDRAL REVERIES The Grand Cathedral Portal Frames the sky — All sunset flushed — Above the hills That lie In mystery, Crowning the red-tiled roofs Of old Le Pui — I follow up the steps — Ending the day so long With service — solemn sweet Of Even-Song. Twilight^ Le Pui July 23, 1914 Wtft Ancient Jfaitft The pointed arches of the narrow aisle Fade on — from gold to brown — While at the end the radiant window's smile Sheds light — like jewelled crown. Ah faith, which wrought such miracles in stone Where is it now? Is the world better that it rushes on. The dust upon its brow? We have not time to enter in and kneel In reverence sweet — We have not time our Saviour's grace to feel, His face to greet. S6 CATHEDRAL REVERIES See where He hangs upon the cruel cross Our sins to bear! Ah! the world's gain is counted naught but dross, If we His love can share. St, Laurent Early morningy Le Put July 24, 1914 r€glis(e be ^t iWictiael St. Michael well hast thou thy Dragon slain! See where thy spear has pierced his breast! He writhes in pain, Nor will he ever rise To combat thee again. Here to this little chapel on the height Do many pilgrims come; Can we not learn a lesson from thy might And take it home? The patience too that wrought these pillars fair. With arches round. The frescoes that adorn the panels rare. In the silence profound. A welcome silence to all those who come — A safe retreat. Far, far above the busy noisy hum Of old Le Pui, Still lying at our feet. Morningy July 24^ igi4 250 steps up Bl CATHEDRAL REVERIES *'Come ®nto iWe'' Poor soul! What are thy sins? That thou must seek In the Cathedral vast Forgiveness rare? That thou with weary limbs From shrine to shrine Dost creep. Carrying thy chair. Dost thou not know there is but One can give Remission for thy sins at thy request ? Rest, rest, thy weary limbs. Turn unto Him For He hath said — "Come unto me — All ye who weary are And heavy laden — And I will give you rest/' In the Cathedraly Le Put July 24, I9H ^e are tfje tKemple of tJje Hibins (gob Thou who respectest not man's person But in every place knowest Thine own — Teach us to pray! That so we may Thy presence own. Ah! Thou hast said Thou dwellest not In temples made with hands S8 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Yet in Thy name if gathered there Thou in the midst will stand. Oh, cleanse our hearts That they may be A temple meet for Thee That so we still may have Thee in our midst Until — Eternity. In the Cathedral Le Put ^ jFraBtnent— ^t. Haurent The pointed arches of the narrow aisle Fade still — from gold to brown, The jewelled window casts the sunbeams smile Like angels looking down. The pillars rise to capitals With carving interlaced, And light and shade which plays o*er all In lace work traced. Le Put ^tatut of STeanne ©'Urc in Catfiebral Thou fair Jeanne d*Arc, Who with such purpose high In thy sweet face, In the Cathedral stands — So chaste — so full of grace! 59 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Thou wearest for thy panoply Over thy burnished lance A mantle with the fleur-de-lis — The lilies of thy France Thou thinkest not with shame to don That armor flashing bright, With sword in hand still following on The visions of the night. Ah when a little maid at eve Thou watched thy father's flock Happy and unafraid Knitting thy sock — Dreamest thou that thou would*st stand Firm as a rock? Firm that thy God would'st still Fulfill thy dreams, Until at last thou crown Thy king at Rheims. Le Put July 24, IQI4 Wit ©es^erteh Confaent Ah. France! with ruthless hand dost thou destroy Thy monuments of old! In this old Convent hum loud factory wheels Just for the lust of gold. The quiet nun who paced this garden sweet Where is she now? 60 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Where will she go from this secure retreat After her solemn vow? The flowers that she tended run to seed And riot in the paths — The garden beds are filled with many a weed The poppies in the grass — Hollyhocks and roses, oleanders fair Make harmonies complete. The birds are singing in the branches there As if her song to greet. Hydrangeas, pink and white — droop heavier heads Than they have done before. Sorrowing that her light footsteps' tread They now shall hear no more. Across the Rhone, beyond the garden wall Fair in the morning light I see the towers of the Cathedral tall — While hardly out of sight, Just where the river bends around the wall. Rises — inspiring awe — The massive tower of the old French king Le Philipe de Valois. Ah France! with ruthless hand dost thou neglect Thy monuments of old — 6i CATHEDRAL REVERIES The vacant cloisters crumbling into dust Just for the lust of gold. Vienne Mornings July 2^y 1^14 upward and onward as we pass From regions far below. In narrow defiles where the power of Issiere Down doth flow — The clouds do part and pass As on they go — Ah! there it is at last! Right up against the blue, The snow! — the snow! On the train — Clearing Morning Mounting to Bourg St, Maurice July 28, 1914 ILt ^etit g)t. JSemarb The little chalets with their chapels quaint Nestle in valleys fair. And maids and matrons with an air piquante Their pretty caps still wear. And, where the yellow grain is ripening Upon the hill. The maids, and men with scythes do make The harvest still. 62 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Upon the roadside as we upward pass I see a shrine — Showing the peasants, simple faith still lasts In power divine. The yellow foxgloves toss their graceful heads. And eglantine — All pink and white, in clumps and masses spreads Beside the pine.'^ And orchids rare lift up their faces fair Among the hay, — The few the peasant*s scythe has time to spare, Busy alwayl And Alpine roses flush the hillsides high, And in the snow The print of chamxois' feet tells they are nigh, As up we go. For snow is all about us suddenly Beside our path — Though little rushing rivulets tell noisily It will not last. And up we go to mountains higher still, Nearing the sky. To the old Hospice of the St. Bernard Where clouds do fly. Motor ride to Hospice July 28, 191 4 63 CATHEDRAL REVERIES 0n t|)e JSoriier Thou little lonely lake, set in the snowy hills, Where clouds do pass Letting the sun shine through to catch some snowy peak. Or glimmer on the grass; Ah, knowest thou, thou'rt in Italia fair Land of the vine and sun? The snow falls o'er thee now, thou may'st be frozen ere The day is done. Perchance thou wert set there to mark that border fair; The road descends — Just where thou liest deep, dreaming in sleep. It downward bends. And softer feels the air, the mountains look more fair As down we turn. As for fair Italy — the land of warmth and sun Our hearts do burn. Walk down into Italy, Le Petit St, Bernard Afternoony July 28, 1914 Co ^fjroubeb JHont JSlant Is it that we, unworthy of thy grace. Must fail to see thy face Thou great Mont Blanc Under thy veil of cloud? 64 CATHEDRAL REVERIES Ah! but for one short glance ^ Before we leave thy France! Then we could leave thee lie As in thy shroud. Or is it that thou Hides t thy face so pale By filmy cloud-Hke veil For beauty's sake? Ah, throw it off again! Look down upon the plain, The sun descending now Will flush thy ruddy brow. Thy beauty make. Le Petit St, Bernard Afternoon walk July 28, 1914 ^Q iltont plant at Baton (Village of Pr6 St. Didier) Ah! Mountain white art thou Bathing thy face with dew? Still covered with a cloud Till early dawn — Then cleansed and freshened Looking toward the East To greet thy Lord — the Sun? See as he comes to kiss thy forehead whit^ Thou blushes t rosy red; Ah, give us one more moment of delight Before the cloud is spread Over thee like a mantle, Lest that we, 6c CATHEDRAL REVERIES Lifting our eyes to heaven, Should see thy beauty fair And dazzled be Should see — nor be forgiven. Early dawn July 29, 1914 ''^t tftat JIatti epe« to ^ee, Lord with what lavish hand dost Thou In colors sweet Thy picture paint, Poppies and corn flowers against the golden grain. And over all Mont Blanc. Ah, dull is he of sight, with thoughtless heart, Who does not feel it And Thee thank — The beauteous coloring of fields and woods And over all. With cloud wreaths crowned. The Mountain King Mont Blanc! On the harvest hillsUe, PrSSt.Didier July 30, 1 91 4 66 CATHEDRAL REVERIES A narrow valley nestled in the hills, With poplars tall beside the little road And soft green grass; While firs and pines run down to meet it, And below, The river rushes past. The tiny village with its chapel quaint And old stone roofs that speak of Italy In houses few, With its dark poplars either side The town. Complete the view. Upon the other side the fields of grain Are ripening in harvest's richest tints. All golden brown. Poppies and corn flowers intermingling, And above Mont Blanc looks down. That mountain king looks down from snowy heights, And in grand voice — dressed in his ermine robes — Seemeth to say — "These are my fields, my woods, my rushing stream, I am the King alway." July 30,1914 67 CATHEDRAL REVERIES \ {After service in little churchy where they handed^ round the "bread'* in baskets) Ah, judge not thou thy sister's ancient faith. Or pure intent: What seems to thee an empty form, to her may be A blessed sacrament. Far sadder seems the lack of faith that marks The present day, The men and women from their father's church Turning away. The want of reverence for things gone by. For ancient rites; Desire for knowledge of the things too high, Far out of sight: — Far past our ken — placed there beyond our reach In heaven's clear light. Because our God, proving our hearts — our faith In Him would teach. How oft we think, "Ah, could I once but hear Some loved one's voice. Would it not make me feel that heaven was near? Had I my choice 68 CATHEDRAL REVERIES The spirits gone would come to us again In daily life — Telling us all was well, cheering us on To conquer in the strife/* Ah, who can tell — perhaps unseen by us They're at our side. And ever in the hope they can us aid They there abide: The kindly thought that prompts some loving deed Is theirs not ours: The inspiration of the words that come With rhythm's power. And when we doubt, and close our spirit's ears They're far away; But when we trust, and love, and gentler are, They near us stay. Then let us rest content with God's design In perfect peace, — Feeling that He who knows, will in His time Our souls release. Pre St. Didier, Sunday afternoon Aug, 2y igi4 (KpiIoBue to ^e«e« on STeanne b^^tc But ah! for some high soul with purpose vast! That wars might ever cease. 69 CATHEDRAL REVERIES That so the world forevermore Might crown — at last — The King of Kings, The King of Peace. On the mountain side. Pre St. Didier Afternoon of Aug. j being driven from their homes in France] over the border. I was the only English speaking per-l son in the village, but managed inj French to consult with some Italianj gentlemen who told me I should leave at once, and recommended the island of] Malta as the nearest English territory. Smiling, I replied that I would return to] England as I had planned, by way ol France. "Mais, ce n*est pas possible,] c'est ferme!" they exclaimed. So turn- ing from them in haste, I engaged a seat] for next morning on the last trip of public motor down to Aosta, hoping there toj get a private motor to take me over thei Grand St. Bernard into Switzerland. I arose at 4 o'clock next morning and' 80 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 in a'drenching rain — the first during my stay — motored down that beautiful valley with its picturesque villages, meeting all the while squads of soldiers passing up. At that time it seemed that Italy, according to treaty, would be bound to declare war against France for no cause whatever. Arrived at Aosta, I found my friend. Miss C, to whom I had telegraphed, still awaiting me though deciding to re- turn to her relations in Rome. Finding that a private car was quite beyond my means, the banks refusing to honor my "letter of credit", I engaged the last seat on, I think, the last trip of the public motor to the old Hospice of the Grand St. Bernard. The "diligence" there had ceased running, all men having been mobilized, but I found two English ladies — one New Zealander — who with me procured a conveyance, down as we hoped, into the little village of Orsieres, by misty 81 ITALY TO ENGLANDy 1914 moonlight. Half way down we were turned out in perfect darkness; but I bethought me of my luggage in a sepa- rate van, and with some trouble re- gained it — my hot-water-bag being an object of suspicion to the Custom House officials who held it up, exclaiming gruffly, "Was ist das?" On the way down a burly Swiss who had boarded the front seat of our carriage, fell off half-drunk — I hope at his home — and from there on, everywhere from their chalets, the men, young and old, were turning out with such equipment as they could muster. On arriving late at night in the little village of Orsieres, the "Place" was soon crowded with men and horses equipped for the frontier; and as I watched from my window of the little hotel looking down into the square, the n'ames of all were called out and responded to as they filed out, one man leading two laden horses or riding in the middle — the farm horses that 82 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 were to have reaped the grain of Switzer- land; while the women, standing on seats and benches crowded against the walls, wept and wrung their hands, ex- claiming, "Jamais! jamais! jamais!" and the horses, as if prescient of the horrors of war, sent forth unearthly screams. In the morning when I rose you could have heard a pin drop — all the men of the village had vanished. At Martiguy for the first time I was under military orders, the soldiers patroling the station and railway tracks, but I came in contact with English speaking persons — a rare treat in my travels — all hurrying to Geneva for passports; and arrived at the little vil- lage of Glion above Montreux without further incident. There I procured quarters in a small "Pension" where were gathered representatives of thir- teen different nationalities, myself the only American, with nothing against each other, all indignant at the thought 83 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 of war, and awaiting, many without money, the possibility of getting to their own homes. I recall Madame , the Austrian hostess, weeping and saying she was wishing for " un tremblement de la terre" to keep these two great armies from meeting each other — a "Jove's thunderbolt" instead of machine guns. Next morning I descended by the funicular, and took the early boat to Geneva to obtain my passport, where I found crowds of anxious men and women, the women expecially looking almost distracted under the situation of no money and the necessity of reaching America on specified dates. I was given my number at the Con- sul's office and feared I should have to wait there all day, but by eating my lunch in the office I slipped in while others went away for their's — the Con- sul being so rushed that he never left the place for meals. I was forced to remain at Glion for 84 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 three weeks, making good friends of some delightful young English girls with whom I cast in my lot; taking with them short excursions and walks, yet not dar- ing to go far on account of lack of money and the necessity of awaiting daily the hour when the whole English party in Switzerland would leave "en masse" by chartered train for England. I, an American, being officially admitted to their ranks. Some of my experiences meanwhile might seem humorous. My umbrella was almost worn out and the weather very rainy. It was impossible for a long time to procure any money at Montreux, so that I even hesitated to buy postage stamps — meantime putting notices in the official's windows, advertising my whereabouts, hoping to attract the at- tention of some relations who I thought might pass that way. No letters had been delivered for weeks. At last some money was procured at Montreux, and 85 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 it was necessary to get my passport vised by the French and British Consuls, so continuing in a storm down the lake after visiting the Castle of Chillon, I went to Laussanne. On awaiting my turn amongst a great crowd at the French Consul's office, after looking at my passport, he suddenly exclaimed, "It is no good, it expired three weeks ago! Go back to Geneva and procure another one." The poor overworked Consul at Geneva had made it out for one day instead of a year and a day. On the stairway a young official followed me, saying, "Go to Monsieur M.", giv- ing me his address. "He can help you." Hastening from the Consul's office in a frightful storm, my paper with the ad- dress blew away, but seeing a cab on the opposite side of the street, I rushed across, exclaiming, "Vite! Vite! Mon- sieur M.!" and we drove like mad down hill. Arriving there the servant said, " Monsieur M. is from home." Turning 86 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 191 4 away in dispair, Monsieur M., returning, met me at the door, took in the situation at once, saying, I know the Sub-Consul of Vevey will be returning on this after- noon's boat from Geneva, he will help you; drive fast and you may still catch it." Arriving at Ouchy, the boat nearing the wharf, I paid my fare, sprang from the cab, and my umbrella completely collapsed, all the spokes going through the top. Boarding the boat in a hurricane of wind and rain, my umbrella erected like a peaked tent, I left word with the ticket agent that I would be glad to drink a cup of tea with the Consul. Very shortly he appeared, and though almost stone deaf, took in the situation at once, saying, "You need not go back to Geneva, I can fix you up. Get off at the second landing at Vevey and follow me to my ofHce. I have no umbrella, so must run!" "I have a broken um- brella, so must run," I answered. 87 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 Arrived at the landing, the Consul, with collar turned up, rushed wildly up the street, while I panted after him under my tent-umbrella, while the people on board sent up a shout of laughter. Like the Irish girl going in a carriage to the funeral, "I wished Fd been on the sidewalk to see meself go by." In a moment I was almost knocked down by the Consul running in the opposite di- rection. "My office is closed, follow me!" he shouted as he rushed past. I found him in his rooms at the hotel where with a little acid he removed the number 4, making the date read 191 5, then dismissed me into the storm again, as he was talking to some excited people telling a tale of a chauffeur being shot for not holding up his car when crossing the border. Holding my umbrella carefully with the spokes bristling out above, I took refuge in the cafe, where some of my compatriots, seeing a sister in distress, 88 ITALY TO ENGLAND^ 1914 burst Into laughter which I heartily en- joyed with them. But these same people came bravely to my rescue, mak. ing the concierge give me his umbrella, while, leaving mine as hostage, I started off to spend the first money I had re- ceived for a month in buying a new one. This the woman in the little shop (at last discovered) refused to give me with- out taking my whole big note, saying that she had no change; the P. O. also turned me down indignantly, but I at last procured the umbrella by taking Italian money in change, and promptly spent some of it on a copy of Byron's "Prisoner of Chillon." At last by the " tram-car '* I returned to the funicular at Territet and was soon mounting up into the heights, to my pension at Glion, tired, but well pleased with my long day's adventure. I had to return how- ever next day to Laussanne for the French Consul's "vise" and while there, unknown to me, my relation for whom 89 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 I was searching, stopping one night at Laussanne in returning from the Tyrol, was below enjoying a swim in the lake. The day shortly arrived when we were informed the English party would depart in two days — each being assigned a number for the train, told to provide themselves with food for three days, take only such luggage as we could handle, and leave the rest in their care to be dispatched after the war had ended. I spent the morning attending to this; then all individually were sum- moned to come down again to the "Kursaal" at Montreux for examina- tion of credentials. Though tired with the morning's work, down I went at once in the funicular, and stood in line for two hours awaiting the "last offices" of the "big twelve'', the dozen of the Committee who sat around a long table, some of whom had admitted me. Im- agine the shock, when, my turn arriving, I was gruffly told I could not go with the 90 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 English party. With such breath as remained I feebly protested, "I have my number assigned! You have my luggage." Briefly I was told to go find my luggage again and take the first train I could find from Geneva, alone, next morning. I have no desire to linger over this; I have no grudge against the English for it. To me nationality is nothing, the individual everything. The blaming of a nation for the action of individuals is what makes for war. Who was that wise man who said, "No generalization is always true, not even this one".^ In relating my experience to an English- man whom I met in travel in 1921 who had been in the war, he said in- dignantly, "It is nothing but this in- fernal patriotism." One Scotchman far back in the line seeing my dismay offered to help me find my luggage if I would wait for him. It was then 6 p. m. and I had no time to 91 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 lose, so thanking him cordially I told him I thought I would hereafter depend on a kind Providence, and must leave at once. Taking the tram-car some miles down to Clarens, I was fortunate in finding my box still unstored, waiting in the place where I had left it in the morning among English luggage. Eng- lish ladies there were most kind in sug- gestions, but there was not a man or boy to be found to lift it. At last I was told there was an express wagon going up the lake presently, and if I could ride on it I could leave it at the boat landing at Montreux for the six o'clock boat next morning. So after much delay I was ofF with it at last among piled up bag- gage — my feet dangling from the front seat of the wagon, as the horse trotted rapidly up the lake — and again I could see the humorous side as the people on the sidewalks burst into laughter. Ar- rived at Montreux, the box was de- posited on the wharf, and we flew on to 92 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 Territet, where I was in time to take the last trip up to Glion. But alas! as I began to mount, the porter called, "It is a mistake. The boat does not stop at Montreux, but at Territet." Thrusting my check into his hand, I told him to get my box from Montreux and meet me at Territet at 6 a. m. I took time that evening to say good- bye to many kind friends of different nationalities; and my kind young Eng- lish friends rose with me at 4 a. m and carried my bags down to the little funicular station. Arrived at Territet, the porter met me, saying, "It is a mis- take! The boat does not stop at Territet, but at Montreux." Unfasten- ing the three bags which hung from a leather strap around my waist, I gave him everything he could take to wheel down, while I followed. But in vain I struggled to keep up with him, so shout- ing "Vite! Vite! I will take the tram car," I awaited that uncertainty. It 93 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 came at last, but the boat crossing the lake was always ahead of me; bul somehow I found myself on board just] as it started — then I took breath in two-hours' ride to Geneva. I found the Swiss always most courteous and helpful — such as were left from mobilization; and here the captain told me to wait for the second stop, which would land me just opposite Cook's office. I managed to get some- one to handle my box and hold-all, and Cook's office, though closed, opened to a damsel in distress, and I breathed freely when they said, "Yes, a train starts at 3 P.M." (It was then 1 1 o'clock.) "Our agent will be on board and will attend to you in every way." I drove the agent to the railway station, where he dismounted, saying, "You wait here;" and there I sat on my hold-all, waiting like " Casablanca," for I never saw him again — for all the good he did me he might have been ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 blown to atoms, while I "asked of the winds." At last a porter with "Hotel de la Paix" — bless the name! — in large letters on his cap, asked me why I was waiting, and smiled broadly when I innocently told him the necessity. He had my box registered for me to Paris, and I managed to pull my hold-all into the center of the great room, where I sat on it for hours. By this time the room was filling to suffocation, and the soldiers with bayonets were pointing them in every direction. But I began to meet my compatriots, and people whom I had met on shipboard in May, who gave me news of my relations in the Tyrol, who had gone on, they thought. They tried to induce me from making the attempt alone, but I was bound for my beloved England, and had "put my hand to the plough." Some of them wisely told me I had better relinquish my "hold-all" and secure a seat, so when the doors were opened by the 9S ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 soldiers, I did so, and we were pushed ''en masse**, between the bayonets, down stairs and up again onto the train plat- form, showing our passports and tickets as we went. Securing a seat, I de- posited all my effects on it and quickly returned to search for my deserted hold- all. Coming to the steps, I found I had lost my ticket, but drawing on my im. agination, I exclaimed, "It is necessary for me to return for my baggage, I have left my ticket on my seat in the train. May I pass?" It is strange in emer- gencies how voluble one can be in French. "Yes, madame, but not this way!" So I was forced to go out on to the street, where, taking a "detour," |I picked up a man to help me, and on entering the waiting room there was my hold-all as I had left it, in the center of the great room. Again I hopefully said to the soldier in charge, "I have left my ticket on my seat in the train," and when I at last found my railway carriage, I found I had told the truth! 96 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 I cannot relate half the incidents of that journey; how as our train waited, another came thundering in filled with American Swiss, who had run the gauntlet of the sea in the dark — putting into Bordeaux. All waved Swiss and American flags, and were greeted with cheers by us, which they echoed to the full; how we stopped at Belgrade on the border, where all passports, tickets, baggage, etc., had to be examined by the officials in about as much confusion as before. Again I lost my hold-all. Seeing Cook's agent, I accosted him. "Oh, you'll probably find it in some car- riage, go and look." There were about 500 and the train was being divided, but just as I was despairing I saw a porter wheeling it by, and got him to shove it into my compartment, our train starting at once — the other, with my ship ac- quaintances, going by way of Lyons. Where we went I shall never know; we were in complete darkness and no one 97 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 came near us, but we were told we wen going straight through to Paris without change. I think we were turned out four times, and in the dark. I always having taken off my hat and loosened my leather strap, for, like John Gilpin, I "carried weight.'* The last time, having really gone off to sleep, I became aware of someone pulling at me. "Madame, don't you know that everyone has left this train." Pulling myself together I tumbled out in the dark, and then managed to find a boy to get my hold-all across the railway tracks. There we stood and waited in the dark, till sud- denly something like a cattle-train came rushing in, and there was a mad stam- pede, but I secured a seat and got my hold-all later. All over the floor men were lying, and many women were standing. Opposite me stretched out on a seat, his head on a dress-suit case, "Mi-Lord" lay snoring, 98 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 till I could stand it no longer, but touched his arm, saying, " Do you know that many tired women are standing all night?" "Oh, is that so?'* And up he got, while I went off to find two of the most frail looking — my bags of food coming into good use for these. After this I never closed my eyes, but could have laughed had I dared, to see the open mouths around me and the snores proceeding. The chauffeur, or courier, of the swell party in front inviting the French maid to sleep on his shoulder, and so forth. And there I sat wide awake, watching the dawn steal over France. "Somewhere in France'* we came to a halt, and many of us got out to stretch our stiffened limbs, the seats being hard benches, and to beg of the engineer a little water shot out from his engine to bathe our hands and faces. It was only about twenty-four hours since I had, at 4 a. m., risen at Glion for my journey, but it seemed a week. 99 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 From Geneva to Paris we took thirty-six hours. As we neared Paris before Fontainebleau, the inhabitants at all the little railway stations, probably seeking the latest news, could no longer be kept out, and the gentry in front, of whom I was not one, had to be uncomfortably crowded at last. That Sunday after- noon Paris had her ear to the ground, listening for the German guns — the hotels were closing rapidly and people hurrying away, yet not without per- mission obtained with much trouble. After finding a hotel still open I sat late into the evening in the Garden of the Tuilleries reading the newspapers. It was Sunday. The next day I found my trunk from the Pyrenees, under Cook's storage; hunted up my box at the "Gare du Sud"; got both registered for London; spent endless time hunting up the place where I was to obtain per- mission to leave France; found, through Cook*s office, that all my letters for a 100 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 month had been sent to Switzerland and not delivered; that my relations had been inquiring for me the day before, and were told I was in Switzerland; visited all the Consul's offices hoping to find them; advertised my whereabouts in the New York Herald, and spent the rest of the day hunting all over Paris, from one address to another, for my dear nurse who had saved my life at Tivoli, with whom I had expected to be in Paris before the war changed my plans — finding her at last. The next morning I left my hotel about 4 A. M. in order to obtain a seat in the train for Boulogne. The streets of Paris were being washed as usual, and had I had any breakfast I could have taken it oiF any of them. I was put on the wrong train by a porter, but through kind Providence I found my mistake before it was too late and was allowed a seat "not reserved", on the right one. This was shortly before the lOI ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 great battle of the Marne, and on our way, near Amiens, we saw many Red Cross tents and the first poor bleeding soldiers, while train after train rushed by with the English Tommies waving. At Boulogne all was confusion — people crowding each other out of place in efforts to obtain passage, and I shall never forget the behaviour of some young men, and their language when appealed to, who tried to break the line — the little babies having to be passed back for safety, and many women almost having their arms broken carry- ing their dress-suit cases in the crush. On board, a pretty young French- Irish girl asked me for my protection to escape the rudeness with which she had been treated. It is times like these that show the character of those " tried in the fire." From Folkestone to London I had as companions on the train this pretty young French-Irish girl, trying to catch 102 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 the Dublin express that night, a Can- adian priest, and a Russian violinist hurrying back to Russia via England, to whom we all talked in French. How often I have wondered what became of them all, and if his music was forever silenced by the great silencer, war. I left them near midnight at Charing Cross Station. Next morning through kind Provi- dence I ran across my relations whom I had missed in Switzerland and Paris, who were sailing home next day, and felt repaid later for all I had gone through, in visiting once again all my dear friends in England and Scotland, some of whom have "passed on" since the great war. When one has a sense of humor, a love of adventure, and an interest in his fellow-men, such experiences as mine will in the retrospect, or at the moment, be of intense interest to one, and I trust I can convey a little of this to my readers. 103 ITALY TO ENGLAND, 1914 "All things come round To him who will but wait." Seven years after, visiting England and France again, though seeing and hearing much to sadden me, I felt the healing touch of nature as soothing as ever, as I have tried to portray in the following descriptive verses of 1921, 'Tis true that as Wordsworth says — "Nature never did betray The heart that loves her." M. C. 164 OEnglanti **jfat from tfie iHabbins €xnW* There nestled neath its hills its lies Dear "Little Stretton"! The cottage smoke curls toward the skies. And dewy mists from pastures rise, It is a spot to rest the eyes Sweet Little Stretton. The sheep are bleating on the hills 0*er dear Little Stretton, The brook is filled by many rills, The little maid her pitcher fills, The farmer lad the garden tills Round sweet Little Stretton. The cottage thatch is amber brown At dear Little Stretton, And from above the hills look down, With gorse and heather for their crown; Ah, it is far from noise of town Is sweet Little Stretton. The casement windows open wide In dear Little Stretton On gardens bright, with flowers pied, As they with rainbow colors vied. Rose, lily, larkspur, London-pride, In sweet Little Stretton. There, live four sisters kind of heart In dear Little Stretton, loj ENGLAND And to the traveler they impart The charm of hospitality *s art, And help them on their journey's start From dear Little Stretton. God bless their age with peace and love, In dear Little Stretton, May He all sorrow far remove, And to their faithful hearts thus prove That He is watching from above 0*er dear Little Stretton. Shropshire Sept.^ igi4 Ah, those happy fields of Shropshire In amongst their little lanes, By high hedges over shadowed. How they come in dreams again! Little old half-timber houses With their roofs of mossy tile, Or of thatch where grows the stone crop. Near the foot path by the stile; Giant oaks that stretch their branches 'Cross the lanes beside the way. Little children loitering homeward, Going back from school to play; i66 ENGLAND Gardens fair where stand the mothers, Sweet of voice and soft of eye, Smiling with a loving welcome As the children they espy; Flowers bright of many colors, Every garden overflows, Poppies, red and white and yellow. Larkspurs, lupins, lily, rose; Birds that sing amid the branches. Bees that hum above the flowers. Lambs that fi"isk and sheep that wander, Scent of grass, fresh from the mower; Dimpled hills and happy valleys. Elm and oak in avenue. In the park where deer are feeding With the manor house in view; And one home so dear to memory With its white doves circling round. Coming at her call so gentle, Swooping, fluttering to the ground — She the grandmother and mother Brave by nature, soft of heart, Thinking always of another, Hiding self by every art; And the noble elder daughter. High of soul, of pure intent, 107 ENGLAND Follower of Christ the humble, Ever on some kindness bent; And the little children gathered Neath that sheltering roof so safe, Happy in the love that ever Greets them there from every face; And the dear aunts that are near by In their home at "Whitton Court", Dear old home of bygone history. Where the young and old resort. Ah, God shield all by His presence. Watching o'er them from above. And His banner ever floating over all Be always — "Love". ''Whitton Paddocks" io8 %tun l^eaw after (SnglanH tS^toiltsfit in a Bebon^^liire Hane Deep eut, twixt mossy banks, the little lane Wanders at will o*er hill and dale, Sheltering, neath clinging ivy, tufts Of hyacinth blue and primrose pale; While stretching far, framed in by these. Or seen through gap of gate or break in hedge, With glint of golden gorse guilding the grey, The far off freedom of the Dartmoor Downs. So would my life run on, wandering at will, Deed in the solitude of memories. Not mindless of the good that round me lies. Yet seeing from afar through sunset skies The hills delectable, toward which my goal is set. Devonshire May 8, ip2i a J?rabe %itt She lived alone in a quaint old stone hut Down by the cliffs below Tintagel's height. Year after year hearing the ocean moan Winter and summer — day and night Till she had aged grown; And yet she murmured not. She gathered drift wood from the cove After the storm. The wreck of ships her fuel — oftentimes 109 SEVEN YEARS AFTER The only thing she had to keep her warm And boil the kettle, for she gave to those Who came to see King Arthur's tower above A cup of tea, And thus she made a pittance, and her friends- Year after year hearing the ocean moan And yet she murmured not. Tintagel Cove, Cornwall May 12 y J 92 1 ^ea 3ireams(— tKintagel Resting at ease. My spirit flees Over the hills and plains; Or to the seas As fancies please. Born on the breeze. Flies — and comes back again. No more I yearn For the return Of those I love so well; Free from all care Far in the air With spirits rare They in sweet freedom dwell. Far at my feet The waves retreat, Sucked by deep currents down; 'Ere the next curls Necklace of pearls Circles and circles round. no SEVEN YEARS AFTER Then from the deep, Hushed as in sleep Comes in the mighty swell, Charging the rocks With booming shocks — Baffled — as down it fell. Far in the caves. The indrawn waves Circle in eddies round, Lapping the sheen Of sea weed green. Moving without a sound. On the clifF*s brink. Sea mosses pink Blow in the salt sea breeze; Primroses pale. Hardy yet frail, Bloom as I lie at ease. Bleating of sheep Close o'er the deep Cropping the grassy sward Fearlessly rove, While up above King Arthur's tower stands guard. Cries of the gulls My fancy lulls Resting so drowsily — The waves at play — III SEVEN YEARS AFTER Sound of the spray — Far-far-away — Dreamland has conquered me. Tintagely Cornwall May I4y ig2r Wsit Ho^t Cijifii Only the gulls scream round, — Ghosts of the Knights of yore, — While waves upon the shore Bury the sound. Onward they rush in vain. Charging the rocks — Backward are flung again: — With laugh that mocks Gulls circle round and round — "See, we are free! Far on the air we ride Then on the sea." Into the hollow caves The waves retreat. Seeking a refuge there. Longing for sleep; — Into the caverns deep Seeking a home — Backward are flung again Destined to roam. Only one little pool. Left there alone. Sleeps through the summer day, Dreaming 'tis home; 112 SEVEN YEARS AFTER But when the eve draws on Back sweeps the tide, Onward and onward borne By nature's forces drawn. Circling so wide. Seeks out the cavern deep Where the pool lay. Dreaming in placid sleep Through the long day: Sea-maidens with white arms Circle him round. Bear him upon their breasts Out o'er the foam — Crying "We missed thee, child. The sea's thy home! Come to our arms again No more to roam." Tintagel May 75, ig2i The grassy downs sweep onward to the West And plunge in cliffs and boulders to the sea, While far below the waves sing to the shore. And round the Point you hear the breakers roar — Battling in vain — Only to fall again — Then surging back — BalHed once more. "3 SEVEN YEARS AFTER The little lane runs down through bosky groves Seeking the sea, Where blackbirds whistle, and the thrushes sing, And cuckoos call these days of spring. And through the sunshine up the coves The mist floats in. Shrouding the downs in veils of mystery. And there the old, old farmhouse nestles safe. Taking the mists and sunbeams as they pass — For century after century — a home Where sheep have cropped the grass. And little children have grown old. And men have come and gone. But still the old stone farmhouse stands A sentinel o*er all the land, Amid the downs — a home. And now — A home where ne'er a sour look comes. Nor a harsh voice is heard; A home where all work pleasantly, In daily tasks so readily, With cheerful hospitality. In rain or sunshine steadily, Making, with His help joyously, God's choicest gift — A home! ** Cleave Farm" Cornwall Majy ig2i 114 SEVEN YEARS AFTER rhou seemest to sink into the sea, Thy day's work fairly done. While shadows steal across the lea As homeward I return; And yet we know thou dost not die. But lightest up again The homes we love across the sea. In far off lands; And thus may we Take courage from thy constancy. And solace for our pain; For so what we call death is but The spirit's passing on To realms of immortality, Far distant lands beyond the sea — The shadows left behind. " Cleave Farm^' Cornwall May 2jy ig2i Wedged in between the hills and cliffs it lies. Seeking a shelter from the winds that sweep Across the wolds and far across the deep, Driving the little brown winged boats Out o*er the foam. Fishermen with their nets stand at the helm, Watching the rocky coast and angry sky. While at the little homes above, near by. The wives and mothers watch them outward bound, Praying their safe return. 115 SEVEN YEARS AFTER The gulls sweep round and round breasting the foam, Clamoring incessantly with shrilling cries, — Then, as the eve diraws on and the day dies. The setting sun flames out from amber skies. And the brown sails, turned scarlet, Swift fly home. Clovellyy Devonshire Mayy ig2i What memories thou hast of years gone by Old Abbey, sheltered near thy babbling Wye, That still has flowed from uplands to the sea Long ages before man had dreamed of thee. Or wandered here. Yet came a time with pious feeling fraught, When miracle in stone, that dream was wrought. And massive shaft rose high into the air With painted windows, traced, and colors rare That shed their glory down on the old Monks at prayer In worship mute. And fluted columns echoed with the sound Of chants that rose and fell, richly intoned — ii6 SEVEN YEARS AFTER And censors swung — as incense floated high, Wreathing in clouds the vaults that touched the sky — Then floating downward, seemed to fade and die In the dim air. Yet now the centuries have gone and passed, Thou standest still, a massive ruin vast, Where sunbeams slant a-down thy open nave, And the moon shinest o*er thy architrave. While still the Wye her emerald foot-hills laves In murmuring song. And though through empty windows rooks are flying, Ghosts of the old dead Monks forever crying. Yet from thy wooded hills, the cuckooes calling. And through thy meadows sweet, the water's falling Fill me with feeling, heart and soul enthralling. Remembering thy past. Monmouthshire J^aslan Ca3S(tle Old ruined Castle, set twixt Wales and Eng- land, Strong redoubt, 117 SEVEN YEARS AFTER With thy Tower, " Melyn Gwent," with moat All round about, Thou lookest back on days of revelry When feast and song was rife, and mirth ran high. Yet stormy days thou hadst, when gathered here. The Royalists of England far and near Sought for thy shelter safe — Alas in vain! The Roundheads hemmed thee in, Thy warriors slain. Thyself destroyed — dismantled— Ne'er to rise again! — Now but the rooks their petty warfare make, And, midst thy silence, lonely echoes wake. Monmouthshire June 8, ip2i Hdfefrom **3iobe Cottase" to Bring to my heart a sense of gratitude Tho clearing wind, after a morn of rain; Breathe freshly on my soul, and let it echo The gentle spirit of the Past again: The paths where noble men of old have wandered My footsteps tread to-day, ii8 SEVEN YEARS AFTER Let me but feel their spirit's inspiration As on their paths I stray: — Arnold and Wordsworth, let me con their verses, And gather as I go Their love of woods and rills, pastures and mountains. The bleating flocks below. And clouds above that trail their fleecy- whiteness Around the mountain's brow. That so when I am gone I may not question If all my wanderings had been spent in vain. But from a grateful heart had given to others The quiet spirit of the past again. Grassmere Sept, /, ig2T **€ars( llabe tlTliep 6ut tKftep l^twc Hear the ringing, ringing, ringing Of the bells of old St. Paul's Clashing down upon the pavement. Ringing, swinging, swinging, ringing — As the music downward falls On the pavement near the portals; And the sound our heart enthralls Where the children feed the pigeons 'Neath the steps below the walls. 119 SEVEN YEARS AFTER Hark! the bells have ceased their calling, And the great clock booms the hour — While the choristers are trooping Up the steps below the towers — And the children feed the pigeons— And the city's traffic roars. Hark! the solemn organ pealing, Jewelled light is downward stealing, In the choir the boys are kneeling. Enter in and pray — While the city, like the ocean. Roars outside in swift commotion, Leave the din, and with devotion Enter in and pray. «. Hushed is all the din and roaring. As the music upward soaring Falls again: — with hearts adoring Bow your heads — and pray. London Sept, J, 1^21 Ah, the bells and chimes of London! What is it they say? On this summer Sunday morning — Near and far away — Clashing down upon the pavements. Clamoring to the skies, 120 SEVEN YEARS AFTER Tumbling, clanging, tossing, echoing As the music flies Far away across the river. Where it sinks and dies. Drowned in tumukof the city, With its tears and sighs. Old St. Martin's! how its meniories Stretch back far away To the fields among the daisies Where the children play, Sitting on the flowery meadows Making chains so gay Of the daisies scattered round them "Can it be?" you say. Ring your chimes out, old St. Martin's! There be those who hear — Through the dust and din of traffic Lend a listening ear — Though the crowd rush by unheeding. Though the fields are still receding. Though the times be drear. Down toward the city St. Mary le Strand Answers you merrily, While close at hand St. Clement Danes Clangs its belfry for all, Till it is answered By grand old St. Paul; 121 SEVEN YEARS AFTER Down on the pavement Its music is flung Sheer from the towers Where its great bells are hung Take it or leave it! The heedless among — Children unheeding The pigeons are feeding — Ring away! Clang away! Though 'tis another day Than the far times When your first tunes were rung; Though none else listen Or heed you, you know You will be answered By "Mary le Bow"; Ring away! Clash away! Tell of another day. In the distance faintly heard Through the summer air The great Minster's bells aloft Summon us to prayer. Older it than all the rest. The Great Minster of the West. Hark! the booming of "Great Ben" Slowly striking! — it is ten! London Sept. jy igzi 122 SEVEN YEARS AFTER tKtoilfal&t in a ^urre? 'Village Thou seemest like a bloody cimeter, Thou crescent moon, low sinking in the West Through hazy skies; And the great trees like sentinels stand So black against the fading light, While from the cottage windows bright Gleams out a light along the little lane — The brook singeth itself to sleep with its refrain, And echoing and re-echoing once again The village chimes ring out into the night. Shere Sept, 6y ig2i Shadowy woods at noon tide, with the golden gleam Of the dales beyond them, through great tree trunks seen. And their arching branches, interlaced I ween Through the centuries, sleeping, while the bracken green Comes each Spring to wake them into leafage sheen, Nestling round their great boles for their shade, I deem. 123 SEVEN YEARS AFTER Beech trunks white and silvery, stretching darkening arms. O'er shade last year's leafage, crumbling russet brown. Flecked with violet shadows as the sun glints down. Scotch firs tall and stately, with their branches red. Reach up toward the heavens from their leafy bed, Where the sun shines brightly on each dark crowned head. Gnarled oaks and chestnuts in great avenues. Hollies bright and glistening, mixed with hoary yew. Wait all day till eventide for the falling dew. Dreaming here I wandered, till the sun grew red. Till the shadows lengthened, and the moon instead Made the paths a dreamland where the fairies tread. Shere Sept. 7, ig2i a Jfatetoell Like a gleam of light I see you. Shores of England from afar. Where the water black and curling. Ever swirling. Sinks and rises. 124 SEVEN YEARS AFTER As the coast grows faint and dim, And the white chalk cliffs of Dover, Crossing over Gleam, and fade, and gleam again. Thus a vision will I see thee, Land of England, As my eyes grow dim With the haze of years departing — Village lanes and bubbling fountains. Mossy walls, pastures and mountains, As the place I left my heart in — Gleam — and fade — and gleam again. Crossing to Calais Sept. 12, 1^21 ILt Comlier bu ^oleil en Pretagne Down sinks the Sun — And the sea grows pale As the land grows red: And the little lane wanders far down to the sea Twixt its hedges of hawthorne in sweet Brit- tany While the little birds twitter a farewell to me — And the moon overhead. Down drops the Sun — And the sea is all pearl. And its shores tinted red: 125 SEVEN YEARS AFTER And its beaches like sickles of gold seem to me, And St. Malo is gleaming afar o'er the sea, While its windows are flashing a farewell to me — And the moon overhead. Down goes the Sun — And the sea has grown grey. And the land no more red: But the bells from the village come softly to me. As the sound of the vespers floats over the sea, For they ring for the service in sweet Brittany With the moon overhead. St. Cast Sept,y 1^21 A sweep of sand like a golden sickle. And the crested waves on the shore. And the azure pools where the water lingers As the tide sweeps out once more. A narrow lane with the hedges meeting. With but a peep of the blue. Tumbling tussocks of gorse and bracken, Aspen, hawthorne and yew. Rocky cliffs where the waves are breaking Stretching far to the sea — 126 SEVEN YEARS AFTER Inland — orchards with apples laden — Voila! La Brittanie. St, Casty Bretagne Sept,y IQ2I ^Qonttbe at ^t €dLsA Down drops the little lane twixt hedges high To meet the sea, *Mid ripening fruit of orchards fair In Brittany. The little waves beat softly on the shore, The air blows sweet; And stretching far, the yellow sands run round The cliffs to meet: And hark! amid the stillness of the noon Calling to us. The bells across the water sweetly sound — The Angelus! Bretagne Sept, JO, 1921 Cbentibe— a Tiafibape be g>t* STacut Liquid fire, and pearl, and opal, Glimmering, shimmering, reaching far To the shores across the water Where the purple shadows are; And the flaming sky above them. Stretching wings of gold and grey Into heights of pearly azure — Far away — ah, far away — 127 SEVEN YEARS AFTER While the Convent bells are ringing, And the little waves are singing Round the bay — all round the bay. Bretagne Sept. JO, ig2i hyxnsizt anil imomins ®ibe— iHont Ribbons of gold and silver Winding far to the sea, Curving, retreating, advancing, Purling over the sand, Running to meet the tide-wave Rising to flood the land — Land that is fretted like bird's wings With the retreating sand. Just as the sun is sinking Setting the West aflame. Look! how the tide comes sweeping Onward and onward again Like to some monster creeping Over a sandy plain. Backward the golden rivers Running to meet the sea Sweep with the ruby deluge Back to the far countrie; Backward, and backward, and backward, The rivers are pressed to their source; 128 SEVEN YEARS AFTER Onward, and onward, and onward, The tide sweeps on in its course — Till the Mount is an island Rising out of the sea. Marvel of marvels of man*s hand Out of God's marvelous sea — Marvel of marvels of man's art — Triumph of masonry. The river Couesron as it runs to meet the sea divides up into many little stream^s which cut their channels in circling curves over the waste of sand. The tide sweeps in over seven miles of this in two hours — sometimes faster than a horse can run. Or/., ig2i ^unrtee at iMont ^t- iHitfjel The morning star still trembled Before the coming day In skies of pearly amber Above the clouds, all grey Save for the tinted lining That told the sun was shining In regions far away. The sands were black in shadow The gulls, all pearly white, Flapped joyously and circled Before the coming light 129 SEVEN YEARS AFTER Waiting the tides returning Throughout the darksome night. Now clamorous with delight. And twisted circling rivers Of amber and of pearl Shone softly through the shadows That darkened half the world. Then as the sky grew lighter, And ruby clouds shone brighter. The waters softly curled — And the great sea swept inland — Afar round "Tumbelaine," Then swiftly, swiftly coming Fell at my feet again Below the grand old Bastion The massive "Tour du Nord," Th§ highest of the ramparts That guard Mont St. Michel. Mont St, Michel Oct.y ig2i ij^nlp fte (Suite— anb iHe The stars put out their lamps an hour ago. And still the Abbey waits to greet the sun — But look! across the sands his fiery chariot wheels Do swiftly run, And flaming wings from out the dawn Do speed him on. 130 SEVEN YEARS AFTER I stand upon the **Tour du Nord*' — the gulls below — Both waiting till the tide comes in Across the sea; Afar, the waters creep round "Tumbelaine*' — Only the gulls — and me! The gulls are clamorous below, A blessed stillness reigns above " Ke-o— ke-o— ke-o— ke-o!" The stillness and the sound I love — I stand with listening ear Their cry to hear, Their clamorous wild cry — Only the gulls — and 1 1 And as the waters come stealing. New beauty ever revealing. Cloud-wings are hastening the Dawn, Speeding her, speeding her on; And where the waters uncurl Necklaces — ruby and pearl — Rest on the sands dull and grey. Gifts from the sea far away, "Ke-oT* I heard a gull say Down in the shadows so grey As the tide came with the sea — "Look! what the sea gives to me." Mont St, Michel Oct,, Ip2I 131 SEVEN YEARS AFTER With one set purpose — never retreating — In sweeps the tide from the sea: With one set purpose — all else defeating — Up comes the sun o'er the lea: Cloud-wings are hovering O'er him uncovering His golden head, as we see Little pools glowing, Red rivers flowing Out from the far countrie. O'er them so massive, Steadfast and passive, St. Michel's Mont rises free. Mont St. Michel Oct,^ ig2i Smmigration in 1492 Columbus went out on a little sea trip — Do you hear? He thought he would go on the "Saxonia" — Never fear! She's as steady a boat as any afloat, And when near To the Quarantine Station the doctor is sure To appear. Said the doctor to him, "You can't land here this Spring, Do you hear? 132 SEVEN YEARS AFTER YouVe a hole in your stocking, it simply Is shocking! Go back cross the water, Me dear.'* "Besides this, perhaps you're aware That who lands here will have to declare What he*s eaten this year. For it all must appear On his card in the Custom House here." Said Columbus to him, "By your life and your limb, I must land here this Spring. Is that clear? For I'm 'booked' ninety- two, So you must let me through, Or the histories will think it is queer; "And the time's nearly up — For the water was rough. And the 'Saxonia' — it is so slow!" Said the doctor to him, " I will let you pass then — The 'Saxonia' never could go!" The "Saxonia^' Oa., ip2i ^33 LBO \