THE 
 
 MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 ,-* J* ^* ^* 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD U. CLARK 
 
 Author of "Cattivello's Quartetto." 
 
THE 
 
 MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 e^ «^ •^ 
 
 RICHARD U. CLARK, 
 
 Author of "Cattivello's QuARTErro. 
 
^^' 
 
 
 ThL LlLK;A(,'Y OF 1 
 CCHGREiS. I 
 
 Tac C,opies 
 
 fieceived 
 
 MY 4 
 
 1903 
 
 Copyright 
 
 tr.uy 
 
 CUSS' Pi. 
 
 XXe, Nc 
 
 COPY 
 
 
 Copyright 1903. by Richard U. Clark, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 We flit across life's ocean as 
 
 A phantom — seen, then lost to yiew. 
 
 Our "airy nothingness" still has 
 
 A power for good or ill to do, 
 
 In the brief interval that knew 
 
 Our passing through. 
 
 It is a trifling legacy, 
 
 To picture in our rhymes what we 
 
 Have dreamt while here. 
 
 The preface to eternity is brief — 
 
 So this shall be— we pray you, turn the leaf. 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS. 
 
 FIRST INTERVAL. 
 
 I. 
 
 On a mountain farm in Tennessee 
 
 At sunset, midst gorgeous scenery, 
 
 On a rustic fence leaned wearily 
 
 A youtli who seemed lost in revery. 
 
 The old barn was built on a plateau, 
 
 From which a ravine descended low 
 
 Between high ridges, whose peaks, ag'low 
 
 In the gold and purple sunset, show 
 
 Like headlands in a sapphu'e ocean. 
 
 And fleecy clouds with rapid motion 
 
 Sailed swiftly by, the 'boy's thought freighting 
 
 O'er seas aeriaJl, undulatin'g, 
 
 To castles in Spain and the poet's domain. 
 
 II. 
 
 The bars were down and the tin milk pail 
 Carelessly swung from the rustic pale, 
 As slowly the cows came up the vale 
 In single file on the well worn trail. 
 Forests primeval line the hillsides, 
 Adown which many a brooklet glides. 
 To lose its flow in the lake below. 
 About whose marge some tillable fields 
 Supply all the crops the homestead yields. 
 A hiandsoime youth is the dreaaner there, 
 As the breeze toys with his raven hair; 
 Tall, strong and ruddy, fitted to hear 
 His part in life's hattle anjrwhere. 
 Then why standeth he there listlessly? 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 III. 
 Mon ami, look back in your career; 
 Can you reoall tliroug^h many a year 
 When in early life you felt a tear 
 On your cheek? "Must I live and die here?" 
 Was the pressure forced it from your heart 
 That intense longing for broader part 
 Than seemed to you was possible there? 
 If so, you may share in the despair 
 Apparent in him who standeth there; 
 As, back to earth from castles in air, 
 He condescended to milk the cows, 
 Then drove them out, all the night to browse; 
 Put up the bars and took his way home — 
 That's a dismal pass in life, let us own. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet one that to youth comes frequently. 
 
 Buried as he is in obscurity, 
 
 And who shall decide if wiser he 
 
 Who rushes forth or who patiently 
 
 Awaiteth the hour of destiny, 
 
 For ancient proverbs in this agree, 
 
 "To him who sleepeth arrive in time 
 
 The fortunes, the fates to him assign." 
 
 Sauntering slowly, with pail in hand. 
 
 He came to the cottage where now stand, 
 
 Hand in hand, his brother, with bride 
 
 Of a month, young, fresh, fair and mild eyed. 
 
 Who takes the pail and, with housewife's care. 
 
 Proceeds to arrange their evening fare. 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 Oh! youth of ambitions for renown 
 
 Try not, oh! fledgling, the wings of down. 
 
 The way is long, there multitudes throng, 
 
 Hot fevered and "battling their way on 
 
 To a goal that is but rarely won. 
 
 With strength and courage and truth, youth may 
 
 Die in despair on that long highway, 
 
 For youth forgets the need to prepare 
 
 For the cruel tests of forces there, 
 
 And goes for'tb trusting to hope alone. 
 
 What wonder thousands bewail and moan 
 
 The day that ever they left their home. 
 
 Go cool thiat fever and wait for time; 
 
 Study and toil, with patience sublime. 
 
 To temper thy steel till chilled and keen, 
 
 Thy muscles hardened with strength unseen. 
 
 Then in after years go out and test 
 
 Thy forces and merit with the best. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Alas! that the siren hope should sing 
 So luringly in the ear of youth, 
 And none be near, like Ithaca's King, 
 That ear to seal with the wax of truth. 
 Oh! the rocks, the whirlpools that beset 
 The isles whereon the sirens display 
 Thedr charms and conceal the bones still wet 
 Of victims that round about them lay. 
 Oh! golden hours of untempted youth, 
 When the heart deems life all simple tnath 
 And all that glistens is purest gold. 
 For you may the future surely hold 
 A providence, your mentor to be. 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 VII. 
 
 We reach a point where we may explain 
 Whence evoluted and from what strain 
 These brothers came; midst the hills of ]Ma,ine 
 Their mother taught siehool in early life, 
 Laiter became a. lumberman's wife. 
 A giant in strength, he loved her well, 
 Could happier lot to her have fell? 
 She longed for a home 'neath milder skies. 
 And in Tennessee sought paradise; 
 There to build a nest midst mountain peaks 
 Where to simple folk great nature speaks. 
 The axe of the lumlberman from Ma'ine 
 Soon reared a cot, on its hearth a flame, 
 And an earthly home sprang into birth. 
 Oh, what a theme in "the homes of earth!" 
 Therein she reared her loved eaglets two. 
 Whom we introduce this eve to you. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The young wife's eyes rest oft inquiringly 
 
 Upon the youth sitting so pensively, 
 
 As though within him lay some novelty 
 
 Of manner or expression she could see. 
 
 He, when the meal was o'er, said suddenly: — 
 
 "Our last joint meal for years, pei'Qiaps forever; 
 
 Here's not enough for all of us together. 
 
 And I am going out alone to-night 
 
 To seek my fortunes, be they dark or bright. 
 
 Here, Kitty, is a deed to all I own 
 
 On, of or in this quiet mountain home. 
 
 And if I never more again should come, 
 
 Know that I loved you both." Then he went forth alone, 
 
 And to his mother's grave he made his way, 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 And o'er her, sleeping in the clay, did pray 
 That she would pray for him there as he prayed. 
 Behind him crept his dog, and his head laid 
 Upon his knee, ihegging that he 
 Might bear him eoimpany 
 And his protector be. 
 
 That mute appeal of love unlocked the tears, 
 The last that he should shed for many years. 
 'Twas fitting that all weakness be left there; 
 Ring down the curtain on him wrapt in prayer. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The wheel of time, like Ixion's, rolls on. 
 
 And man thereon is bound and cannot stay 
 
 Its flight toward events that wait upon 
 
 His course. Well, the old poets in their day 
 
 Saw each life chiselled out of human clay 
 
 By the gi'eat Sculptor in w*hose hand thy breath 
 
 Is held until withdrawn, and tliat is death; 
 
 No two alike, all creatures of a day. 
 
 That's all too brief when longest here we stay 
 
 And play the role assigned us on life's stage. 
 
 How few will leave a name on history's page — 
 
 The mass of men Scripture hath thus described :- 
 
 "He lived, he begot children, and he died." 
 
10 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 And so it was upon that mountain side 
 
 As fled the years, fair children multiplied. 
 
 And if they brought with them a fond delight 
 
 To the parental heart, and made more bright 
 
 Their home — they also broug'ht anxieties 
 
 That on the parents' hearts and on the brow 
 
 Grave furrows, like the deep wounds of the plough 
 
 On Mother Earth's fair breast, and toanish ease. 
 
 With every child come new capacities 
 
 To suffer or enjoy, uneaually — 
 
 Alas, too often son-ow turns the scale 
 
 And in too many homes tiie clouds- prevail. 
 
 What wonder then if faded from their view 
 
 Their absent brother, who bade them adieu 
 
 Just twenty years ago, of whom no word 
 
 Have they in all those weary long years heard. 
 
 Let us look in upon that home to-night 
 
 And paint the picture opens to our sight. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The farmer's toil, the housewife's drudgery 
 Have bent their forms and aged perceptibly. 
 The rounded cheeks of Kitty we once saw- 
 Are flattened now, the muscles tightly draw 
 About her mouth, and all her features tell 
 Of an heroic effort performed well 
 Her house to keep, her little ones to rear 
 And then to educate, cost struggle dear; 
 Such wondrous effort must to all be clear. 
 She sits there sewing by a tallow dip, 
 Few idle moments e'er her fingers know. 
 The father opposite with ipipe at lip 
 In silence gazes at the log whose glow 
 Some reinforcement to the light affords. 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 The children's silent game well with the scene accords. 
 
 Two shaggy hounds are stretched before the fire; 
 
 A silent SiCene, the lights must flame still higher. 
 
 A knocking at the door the dogs awake 
 
 And growling, at the threshold their stand make. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Dogs are intelligent to a degree 
 
 That seems incredible, and more than we. 
 
 They know the motive that impels a knock, 
 
 And this knock seemed to them of hostile stock. 
 
 "Charge, Prince! Down, Bruno!" cried the farmer, when 
 
 He slid the bolts and held the door open. 
 
 "Good evening," said a TOice, and from the nigiht 
 
 Entered a man who seemed not o'er polite, 
 
 For as he took the farmer's raoant chair 
 
 He said, "Your light is something dim." Despair 
 
 Seized on the farmer, for this surly dun 
 
 He knew had come his debt to preach upon. 
 
 The children, like the flowers w'hen comes a frost, 
 
 Wilted, withdrew, and Kitty quickly tossed 
 
 Her sewing in a basket and retired; 
 
 She knew precisely what that call inspired. 
 
TEE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XIII. 
 The farmer brought out pipes, tobiacco, too, 
 And from the cask a jug of cifler drew. 
 Bidding his guest to make himself at home. 
 "Thank yon," the man replied; "I came, I o\\n, 
 Upon a cruel errand — yet we may 
 Make ourselves easy wlhile I have my say. 
 "Have you that interest?" "No, not quite all yet, 
 But when I sell my com I sihali it get." 
 "Your corn? Dear me! You're good at an excuse 
 When money is to pay, but are profuse 
 In hospitalities; you waste your means. 
 'Twere better pay your debts, to me it seems." 
 "I owe you nothing save this last half year, 
 And interest upon interest always pay 
 For such extensions, as in' this case here, 
 "Wlhen I have made you wait beyond the day." 
 "I don't like be made wait — will wait no more." 
 Just tftien another knock upon the door. 
 Entered a man. whom, when the farmer spied, 
 "My brother Dick!" and his arms opened wide. 
 "Dear boy, thank God you come again to me! 
 Come, boys; come, girls," he shouted; "Come, Kitty; 
 "fere's Dick come back; my thanks, O God, to thee!' 
 And higih he piled the logs that into flame 
 Soon burst, a warmer welcome to proclaim. 
 
THE ilOVNTAINEERS 13 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then all save one came running to eml)race 
 
 A handsome man, well dressed, of ease and grace, 
 
 Like and unlike their father, save the face, 
 
 UnwTinkled and untanned, was fair and smooth. 
 
 Him sight of Kitty deeply seemed to move. 
 
 He clasped her in his arms all tenderly 
 
 And kissed her brow, wthile floods of memory 
 
 Swept o'er his heart, recalled his childhood's days. 
 
 In Kitty he could see his mother's ways. 
 
 She then presented her three sturdy iDoys — 
 
 Paul, George and Arthur — and S'he gently toys 
 
 With the small hand of Iher young daughter, Lois. 
 
 She next presents her daughter Bella, dear, 
 
 When a sad face among them did appear — 
 
 A tall, frail maiden, with great, lusti^ous eyes 
 
 And white, thin cheeks. "And who is this?" he cries; 
 
 "This lily that seems pining for the sun? 
 
 Ne'er saw I face more fair to look upon." 
 
 "Tbii'S is our Edith; she hath drooped of late — 
 
 Dear child, we soon witlh bloom those cheeks will freight.' 
 
 She tried to smile, but ended with a sigh; 
 
 As she withdrew they heard a smothered cry. 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XV. 
 
 "And this man, who is he, my brother, say. 
 Who sits and gazes in no pleasant way 
 On this my glad return — who seems to own 
 Some power to mar your comfort in your home? 
 I overheard some words e'er I came in 
 That made my blood to boil. Let me begin. 
 It seems, sir, that my brother's in your debt; 
 How vast the sum can cause you to forget 
 That deep respect dv.e man in Ms own home 
 And would affront him before all his own? 
 That would begrudge his evening hours of rest. 
 And with unwelcomed presence would infest 
 His vei-y fireside, like a deadly pest. 
 Name, sir, the sum my brother owes to you!" 
 And from his coat a well filled wallet drew. 
 "Write a receipt — ^now go, sir; get you home. 
 And never venture here again to come." 
 The old man took his bat and stick, then turned 
 And menacingly shook it. "You have spurned 
 Me from this door; it sliall be his no more. 
 To-morrow a foreclosure shall begin — 
 I will eject both you and all your kin." 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS IS 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Adown the monnlaiu road in darkness ho. 
 
 With rage and disappointment in his toeast, 
 
 Betook his way cursing the fates' decree 
 
 Tha,t rescued from his pui-pose this distressed 
 
 Yet well deseiTing modest family. 
 
 He liad wrecked Edith's happiness in vain 
 
 And lost her just when he seemed sure to gadn. 
 
 This wizened miser with a lustful eye 
 
 Had coveted fair Edith for his own. 
 
 He hoped the father's influence to buy 
 
 When he that victim should have prostrate thrown, 
 
 And Edith's sacrifice sihould save their home. 
 
 This very pretty plot he had devised; 
 
 It had miscaiTied, he had lost the prized. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 It was his work, her face was white and thin 
 
 And that her lips now only spoke in sighs. 
 
 Almost to murder had he pushed his sin. 
 
 Her lover he had stolen by base lies, 
 
 And she, too proud to live and bear chagrin. 
 
 Like a frail flower touched by an icy breath, 
 
 Pining for love, resigned herself to death. 
 
 Her sad pale face now lia.unted Mm, and fear 
 
 Lent voices to the trees and shrubs thereby, 
 
 And darkness elotlied them till they did appear 
 
 Grotesque marauders, waiting him to spy. 
 
 Xow as he quickened pace thi-ee men drew near 
 
 And threw their arms about him, in his ear 
 
 "Your money or your life" — and then did disappear, 
 
 Leaving him prostrate in the roadway, dead. 
 
16 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 He won't be greatly missed in Tennessee, 
 
 Nor prove an acquisition elsewhere, we 
 
 May still here moralize quite properly. 
 
 The lawyers and the heirs will eagerly 
 
 Divide the contents of his treasuiy; 
 
 God grant they use it better than did he. 
 
 Good friend, pray kinidly to decide rightly 
 
 Whether in this world is the wiser, he 
 
 Who never loses opportunity 
 
 Or who forgoes advantage purposely? 
 
 Had he forbom to push advantage, then 
 
 An opportunity had come again, 
 
 Pray, think it out at any moment when 
 
 You feel inclined — good counsel you may find. 
 
 And let his taking off impress the thought, 
 
 Pushing advantage disadvantage brouglht. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And now the silent flakes began to fall, 
 The victim to enshroud in spotless white, 
 As though "the Eighter of all wrongs" did call 
 His noiseless messenger to act this night. 
 His double purpose, first to veil the dead 
 And then to show the tracks at morning's light, 
 And wihither the assassins thence had fled. 
 His purpose and performance never fail, 
 And with the hanging of these men in jail. 
 We shift the scenes of this dramatic tale. 
 
TEE MOUNTAINEERS JT 
 
 SECOND INTERVAL. 
 
 I. 
 
 At mom the brothers stood hy the old hara, 
 
 That showed the ravages the yeare had wrought; 
 
 Then Dick's eyes rested on' the silent tarn, 
 
 And soon his glance a new expression caught. 
 
 Where, William, where the woods that used to climib 
 
 Up to the summits of those towering peaks? 
 
 With conscious pride be said: — "These arms of mine 
 
 They felled them, and their 'a'bsence surely speaks 
 
 Of my life's work. Wbat record cam you show 
 
 To match this monument of industry?" 
 
 Laughing Dick answered, "Really, I don't know 
 
 If in some iron safe there still may be 
 
 Jlonuments of my old Caligrapliy, 
 
 Books of account, cheques, drafts or letters, for 
 
 I over such for many a year did pore. 
 
 Affairs commercial all end finally 
 
 In liquidations or in bankruptcy, 
 
 And the receiver or the assignee 
 
 Sells the old books to realize his fee; 
 
 So the life records of the clerks there wrought 
 
 Are ground to pulp by those the books have bought. 
 
 Like ocean's vapors that return as rain, 
 
 The pulp returns to paper yet again. 
 
 If naught sui^ives my labors to attest 
 
 In their results, I have indeed been blest." 
 
18 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 II. 
 
 Just then the sun shone forth from the white mist 
 Upon the whiter snow the hillsides wore; 
 That, being by ;has warm breath softly kissed, 
 Exchanged for rainbow tears its crystals hoai'. 
 And fair green pastures now appeared to view 
 Full to the summits of those lofty peaks; 
 In lovely oontrast to the sky's deep blue, 
 All nature smiled as thus the wanderer speaks: — 
 
 III. 
 
 "Let the white blanket that ihas disappeared 
 
 Fittingly typify the years since we 
 
 Last parted — and this green, to us endeared. 
 
 Be the bright future we shaU joy to see. 
 
 Yet think not, brother, that through all these years 
 
 I left you unobserved; I monthly knew 
 
 Of wthat was passing Ihere. It now appears 
 
 That my informant most observant grew. 
 
 And summoned me to you, I trust in time 
 
 To save your daughter Edith from decline. 
 
 'The blights that press the life from out young hearts' 
 
 Weigh heavy upon her; you must resign 
 
 Her to my care. Perchance in foreign parts 
 
 The rose on those white Oheeks may bloom again." 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 19 
 
 IV. 
 
 Kitty, with Edith, now came on the scene, 
 The latter pale, with languid pace, clung tight 
 To mother's arm, shrinking from being seen; 
 Emotionless, as if she no delight 
 Took in the wanderer's return, nor shared 
 Her parent's joy. He took her thin white hand 
 Within his own and TDOth their palms compared, 
 Awhile in silence he minutely scanned 
 The line of life, its crossings and their size, 
 And then he gently said, "Show me your eyes." 
 So she, thus taken by this quack surprise. 
 Lifted the lids whose long black lashes veiled 
 Those glorious orbs, and with a glance regaled 
 His own, and then again the ebon fringes fell 
 And left their Shadow on the sunken dheek. 
 
 V. 
 
 "It is as I supposed, my child; your eyes 
 Are introverted and see naught beside 
 Internal fancies. Oft delusions rise 
 From introverted eyes^ — introspection, 
 Too prolonged, full oft begets dejection. 
 It's somewhat tedious treating and we may 
 Begin at once — your hand again, I pray." 
 
20 THE MOVNTAINEERIS 
 
 VI. 
 
 Fairly bewildered, she promptly complied. 
 
 "Now, shut your eyes — there's a great world outside 
 
 Tliat you must see," amd from his poeket drew 
 
 A diamond ring, sparkling with every hue — 
 
 Blue, green and purple, red and yellow fused — 
 
 And placed it on her finger. All confused 
 
 She ope'd Iher eyes, and at the dazzling sight 
 
 With girlish frankness uttered her delight. 
 
 "How beautiful! See, father, mother, see 
 
 This sparkling gem uncle has brought to me. 
 
 Upon this hand never was ring before, 
 
 Save once when mother's wedding ring I wore." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then, as if she had slyly been betrayed 
 
 To wander from her grief, stood quite dismayed; 
 
 Yet the gem's bfrighitness and its purity 
 
 So greatly vexed her curiosity 
 
 That, though she closed her eyes her grief to woo, 
 
 They still must open for another view; 
 
 For, like the fair Fastrada's ring, therein 
 
 A. spell as irresistible did dwell. 
 
 She wondered if he laug^bed within to see 
 
 The vacillation she perceived obtained; 
 
 And he, rejoicing at his strategy. 
 
 Felt that some progress was already gained. 
 
 Oh, fateful turning of the tides of life! 
 
 What saint in beav'n interpellation made? 
 
 What soul on eatth in love for us hath prayed? 
 
 Wliat wondrous spell to save us been displayed? 
 
 That the mysterious force that urged repels. 
 
 And the black fiat for our death cancels. 
 
 And silently subside the dreaded swells 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 21 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Perthaps, good reader, you incline to doubt 
 
 That such a pOiWer within the 'diamond dwells. 
 
 By just one trial you may find it out. 
 
 Try how the wiidow's, orphan's gi'ief it quells, 
 
 Its metaiyhysic forces will appe'ar. 
 
 Still further to impress you we will add 
 
 Some brief reflection on its waters clear, 
 
 And w'hy its fires should make the sad heart glad. 
 
 All diamonds are tears solidified, 
 
 And all the tears the Mim'an race has shed 
 
 Entombed within earth's diamonds survived 
 
 To purify us as they did the dead. 
 
 Who once them stied and whom they comforted. 
 
 Let me here qxiote an old authority 
 
 That tills conceit sustains undoubtedly: — 
 
 ''Within a bottle He has put my tears: 
 
 He counts and treasures them throughout the years." 
 
 Behold, witlhin this flashing tearful gem 
 
 Survive those treasured tears. Oh. looli on them! 
 
 These resurrected tears thiat flash with liglht 
 
 Rejoice man's beart— appealing through his sight 
 
22 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 IX. 
 
 The uncle, having put his scheme in play, 
 Pursued his programme without more delay. 
 Turning to Kitty, here, my dear, for you, 
 Is much the same preseri]>tion, and he drew 
 Two lovely solitaires from a jewel case; 
 Let me with these those coral rings replace. 
 And let me hang this cross upon your hreast- 
 Not purer than the virtues there find rest 
 And having fastened round her neck the chain, 
 He handed her a mirror — not in vain 
 This reinforcement of his subtlety. 
 
 Had Paust omitted from his jewel case 
 The mirror wherein Marguerite's sweet face 
 First saw its loveliness increased by theirs, 
 She had not fallen in the tempter's snares. 
 And Gounod's jewel song had ne'er been sung; 
 So on this mirror many hopes he hung. 
 
TEE MOVNTAnfEEBS 23 
 
 XI. 
 
 liike Marguerite, until the mirror true 
 Showed her irradiate with gems that grew 
 Bright and more brilliant every way she turned, 
 Kitty had not their value fully learned; 
 But when she saw how wondrous is the grace 
 Their fires impart to any woman's face, 
 Around her husband's neck she threw her arms, 
 Upraised her face to his, to test their charms. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And he to hex: — ^My dear, I greatly fear 
 These for our simiple home are much too fine; 
 Then if you like them not, I will decline 
 Our brother's gift; perhaps they ill accord 
 With simple me, and woman's tears outpoured; 
 While Edith would have broken down complete 
 Had not the sound Of wheels and horses' feet 
 Drawn their attention to the country road. 
 Some one has lost his way the farmer said; 
 Not so my brother, as the team on sped. 
 That is a gift for you. We yesterday 
 Had come so many miles upon our way, 
 I left them at the town and came ahead. 
 By my impatience being surely led, 
 To reach your door just at a happy time. 
 
24 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XIII. 
 
 He who hath crossed the seas and watched the wave 
 Uplift his bark, then rush it wildly on, 
 Hath fancied that an equine phalanx gave 
 Its mighty force thus, thus to bear Mm on, 
 'Tis said, that Neptune gave the horse to man; 
 And rushing waves with horses well compare, 
 And no comparison we know of can 
 Like them attest the kinship that they share. 
 All silently the farmer watched their stride. 
 As moving onward at a rapid pace, 
 Their long tails on the breeze, o'utspreading wide, 
 Their forms of symmetry and matchless grace, 
 Their shining harnesses, and silver mountings 
 And the luxurious carriage that they drew 
 Were all expressive of vast cost — accountings, 
 ^Ijat in his mind to thousands quickly grew. 
 Few ohjects draw a farmer's admiration 
 liike handsome horses spirited and kind; 
 He, now indulging in an exclamatiou 
 Of his admik'ation, thus freed his mind: — 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Too grand, too great, too beautiful appear 
 
 Your gifts upon or for a mountaineer. 
 
 Do you own gold mines, brother, that you shower 
 
 In sueh profusion these so costly gifts. 
 
 Where did you pluck this magic \^'and of power 
 
 That you so far aibove us all uplifts? 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 25 
 
 XV. 
 
 Say not uplifted o'er us, iDut before us, 
 ¥ov I am come again to share with you. 
 A youth like David unarmed, unattended, 
 I wfent forth to the battle as did he; 
 And the same God hath also me befriended, 
 And given the great spoil I bring with me. 
 It is His gift, not mine; you can't refuse it, 
 And for your happiness He bid's you use it. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 •Oh, what is life but an enforced performance? 
 
 An obbligato — to the supreme will, 
 
 That appoints smdles or tears, and our conformance 
 
 Must meet the measure be it good or ill. 
 
 How pleasant 'tis to meet with such surprises 
 
 After long years of strict economies. 
 
 As on the farmer shone through these devices. 
 
 Showing him glimpses of a life of ease. — 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The carriage now arrived well filled with packs, 
 Wiiich soon were carried to the farmer's door; 
 And then ensued a scene would gi-eatly tax 
 A male imagination well to draw, 
 And being drawn, to some might seem a bore; 
 
26 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 That there were lingerie and gloyes and hats, 
 
 Shoes, ho'Siery and several new dresses, 
 
 "Will briefly outline to you, all the facts 
 
 And several stanzas into lines compresses. 
 
 Now, when the ladies' Ohs! and Ahs! were ended, 
 
 Each garment been examined o'er and o'er, 
 
 The donor said if aught must be amended 
 
 'T were well it were found out to-day before 
 
 We leave this eveniing on oui* little journey. 
 
 I pray you, therefore, have a dress rehearsal. 
 
 Give me the pleasure to be first to see 
 
 If your good doctor may have made reversal 
 
 In measurements of either sent to me. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 'T was just as they descended so apparelled, 
 The farmer entering saw them on the stair; 
 And at the vision of this double barrelled 
 Toilette surprise — it took him unaware; 
 And catching Kitty in his arms he kissed her 
 And said. Dear love, you are grown wondrous fair. 
 She, greatly pleased that so her face could stir 
 Emotions of such depth — where they were rare — 
 Returned his warm caress, and stepped aside 
 That Edith might descend, whom, when he spied. 
 He caught her in his arms and fairly wept: — 
 Oh, my dear child, how like a star at night 
 Blazing with light thou fiUest with delight 
 Thy father's heart. 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XIX, 
 
 Two kneeling "wiomen in a sleeping car 
 Addressed their nightly prayer to Deity, 
 As, rushing on, the train bore them afar 
 From those for whom they prayed so fervently. 
 Bewildered with the day's excitements, they. 
 Locked in each other's arms on that strange hed. 
 Lived o'er the grapihic scenes of that long day 
 And wooed for slumbers that would not be wed. 
 Edith In thought essayed to steal away. 
 Back to her fatal thirst for tears and sighs. 
 The ring — the new aipparel — now held sway 
 And stopped the introvertion of her eyes — 
 Then k'leidoscopic dreams enveloped her. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The uncle elsewhere thus soliloquized: — 
 A heavy dose no doubt for the first day, 
 Yet each ingredient was well devised, 
 And each is surely working in its way. 
 The morro-w's journey on the train wiU calm 
 The mind, perchance, too highly fed to-day; 
 And music with gay scenes will lend a charm 
 This feverish excitement to allay, 
 And afterward the unreposing ocean 
 Will waken in her soul some new emotion. 
 
28 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Soothing through piny woods it is to glide, 
 
 With foilded hands in idleness to bide, 
 
 And let the eye drink in the wealth of green 
 
 That in profusion marks the sylvan scene 
 
 Which lines the route to fair St. Augustine. 
 
 There, all undaunted by the sombre shade 
 
 The interwoven pine tree tops have made. 
 
 Palms, ferns and lilies have 'themselves arrayed, 
 
 Each in its own peculiar vestment dressed. 
 
 To serve within this temple as may best 
 
 Reflect the glory of its architect. 
 
 What choirs of spectral vestals here may pass, 
 
 With Druid prophets nightly there to view. 
 
 If ancient pTophecies they in the mass 
 
 Ages agone foretold, have yet come true. 
 
 In these dim aisles how fast our fancies flit. 
 
 Herein tlve fierce red Seminoles have lit 
 
 Their altar fires, whose smoke they thougfht would freight 
 
 Their prayers to the Great Spirit and placate 
 
 The ]Miighity Power they knew controls all men. 
 
 Beyond these dark woods verdant everglades 
 
 Refresh the eyes o'erwearied of the shades. 
 
 As the bright sun dances upon the waves, 
 
 And warmth and color all the scene pervades. 
 
 The rustling rushes, waving to the ibreeze. 
 
 Whisper King Midas' secret — ^pleasantries 
 
 Of sprites, and water nymphs, and fairy dells 
 
 And Tritons with their trumpets made of shells; 
 
 And then again miles upon miles of pdnes, 
 
 Where one to slumber soon himself resigns. 
 
 Our mountaineers thus all that day reposed, 
 
 UntU, as evening shades about them closed, 
 
 Like a celestial city on their sight 
 
 Burst towers and minarets — electric light 
 
 Proclaimed their journey ended — Flagler's dream. 
 
 Thev saw in all its radiance extreme. 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 29 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Never before upon our mountaineers 
 
 Had sudh a beauteous vision east its spell — 
 
 A Moorish palace its high towers uproars, 
 
 Built from the ocean's gray eoquina sihell, 
 
 With baloonies, verandas and arcades 
 
 Ablaze with light, while over all the moon, 
 
 With its enchantment, every nook invades, 
 
 Gilding the scene with its fair golden bloom. 
 
 The sparkling fountains g'listened in its ligiht. 
 
 And flowers bloomed on, as though it were not night. 
 
 O'h, dreaim of interwoven harmonies. 
 
 Wherein one sees De Leon crossing seias 
 
 To reach the spot, where he conceived did play 
 
 The fountain of eternal youth, where they — 
 
 The heavy hearted and the old or sad — 
 
 Might plunge and be new made, and so be glad. 
 
 Crossing the portal, on their ears there fell 
 
 The strains of imusic irresistible; 
 
 Fair dames and radiant maidens, richly dressed. 
 
 And merry children's laugihter did invest 
 
 The scene with youth's bright charm and happiness. 
 
 Here all was joy and gladness, mirth, content. 
 
 And Edith yielded to its Mandishment. 
 
 Leaning upon her uncle's aim, slhe went 
 
 From room to room throughout the w'hole extent 
 
 Of gayety and pleasure there prevailed 
 
 And showed him that she was by them regaled. 
 
30 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 Edith had spoken little hitherto, 
 But these bright scenes of joy and animation 
 Through her young blood soon their infection threw. 
 And with her uncle now her conversation 
 Became quite animated, and sihe drew 
 Such pictures from ter new and first impressions 
 He could not doubt his plan was proving true 
 And would yet free her from her long dejections. 
 At length she said: — "Let us go out again 
 Into the court and watch the fountains play. 
 Their falling waters soothe me as dices rain. 
 How weird the moonlight on that feathery spray! 
 This is a night for dreams — a night as fair as day." 
 
 xxni. 
 
 Mete for a land of dreams, her uncle said, 
 
 De Leon to it came, by a dream led. 
 
 And died bequeiathing unto men his dream 
 
 Of such pure light and radiance extreme. 
 
 And Flagler's dream perhaps as strange will seem. 
 
 Entwined in these gray walls, will dreams and names 
 
 Ages survive — commingled be their fames. 
 
 Biarbarie splendor and romance of Spain, 
 
 His wealth, like magic, on this sandy plain 
 
 Hath bidden rise again and us to enter'tain. 
 
 All men come hither, led by force of dreams 
 
 Of health, of rest, of sunshine — ^all catch gleams 
 
 Of happiness and pleasures that seem sweet, 
 
 And all depart with dreams still incomplete. 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 31 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "Uncle, is this your home — do you live here 
 
 And see these joyous scenes throughout the year?" 
 
 "This is my home,- dear child, -svlhile I am here; 
 
 Another on the morrow may aippear. 
 
 Home is a place that to the normal man 
 
 Speaks with an emphasis none other can. 
 
 He finds his pleasure in its limitation, 
 
 And there indullges all his inclination; 
 
 But for the begigar and the milllonnaire 
 
 Home is not local — ^home is everjTvhere; 
 
 They with the normal man im little sihare^ — 
 
 In their extremes from him they equal are. 
 
 The heights of wealth, the depths of poverty 
 
 Are equidistant from normality 
 
 As tallest mountain and the deepest sea 
 
 From the sea's level measure equally; 
 
 The two extreimes meet in their liberty. 
 
 Imagine, please, that we have taken flight 
 
 Within an airship — iwhere'er we alight 
 
 My homes will offer you siome new delight." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The mlllionnaire, when he had said good night, 
 
 Lit a cigar and paced the corridor, 
 
 Where the weird moonbeams still played on the floor, 
 
 Though now deserted by the throngs so bright 
 
 Which there had circled ibut an hour before, 
 
 And thus his musings ran their airy flight: — 
 
 "So far all's well; to-miorrow by the sea 
 
 Will further test my plan's efficiency. 
 
 •Twill be high water on the bar at three, 
 
 When my good yacht is certain there to "be, 
 
 And I will time our visit for that hour, 
 
 Trusting in ocean to exert its power; 
 
 And if I know the human 'heart at all 
 
 •She will not fail to answer to its call." 
 
32 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The day was warm, the sky a glorious blue; 
 The sun, now past the noon, its full glare threw 
 Upon the tall white tower, sits by the sea. 
 With broad Mack belt encircled spirally. 
 On Anastasia Island, where the sand 
 In dunes of many forms, the winters' storms 
 Invading far the beach on giant waves, 
 Left there to mark how far the sea invades 
 The shelving ibeaclh, whereon is bnilt the tower; 
 And hither Edith came at such an hiour. 
 Turning the tower, before her suddenly 
 She saw the ocean — in its majesty. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 An "Oh!" as if of ten'or, crossed her lips; 
 Those lustrous eyes were riA^eted afar. 
 Where the blue sky into the ocean dips, 
 And both alike are dyed — ^save on tliat bar 
 Where "carded wool" forever crests the wave 
 With that white mass of foam — *hat never dies, 
 But signals danger, mariners to save. 
 
TEE MOUNTAINEERS 3S 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 In nature's solemn spectacle a scene 
 
 That agitates the soul — ^as those grand billows roll; 
 
 A solitude complete, where we no actors greet, 
 
 While ceaselessly is sounding night and dayi 
 
 By ocean's solemn surges, sung alway, 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God. Almigthty, 
 
 An inteiTuezzo — 'twixt God's two act play, 
 
 Creation and translation, "No more sea," 
 
 Must first have sounded ere thalt harmony 
 
 Shall thenceforth be re-echoed ceaselessly 
 
 In its Gregorian solemnity 
 
 Above a sea of glass and by another class 
 
 Of God^s creation in eternity, 
 
 As the beloved Disciple well hath sung. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 There Edith, wrapt in thought, gazed mutely on 
 
 The rolling billows, with their haughty crests. 
 
 As rank on rank they hurled themselves upon 
 
 The thirsty sands and, vanquished, find their rests. 
 
 Then thus to her emotion she gave voice: — 
 
 "How like the mountains seems the sea to me! 
 
 Its solitude is like our lofty peaks; 
 
 And, like a friend's voice known from infancy, 
 
 In its deep roar a welcome to me speaks. 
 
 Uncle, I dreamed last night that we two strayed 
 
 In a dark wood's impenetrable shade. 
 
 And that I lost my wiay; then, all dismayed, 
 
 For guidance safely home I knelt and prayed. 
 
34 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 And w-'heu I rose the small indenture made 
 
 By kneeling there held water, pm-e and clear, 
 
 That soon began to bulbble, then to rear 
 
 A fount of water. Then a geyser grew 
 
 That all about me its vast torrents threw. 
 
 Hot and sulphurous as it rose from hell, 
 
 Then icy cold as it returning fell — 
 
 Parboiled my flesh an instant, and then chilled, 
 
 With alternating pain and pleasm-e thrilled. 
 
 And then a thirst possessed me till it seemed 
 
 That I must drink or die — when suddenly 
 
 A great white TCil descended over me — 
 
 A filmy gossamer impeiTious — 
 
 Held by some mighty power mysterious; 
 
 Andl then on this a radiant rainbow threw 
 
 In rapid alternation every hue — 
 
 Blue, green and yellow, red and purple rays — 
 
 While all around me still the water plays. 
 
 And then a voice, like music to my ear, 
 
 Would'est thou drink the waters, pure and clear, 
 
 From out the fountain of eternal life? 
 
 Go, listen to the voices of the sea, 
 
 And heed the message that they bear to thee; 
 
 And now these surges woo me to depart, 
 
 As if their surging would allay my pain. 
 
 Rocked on those billows I might know again 
 
 My childhood's peace and pleasure in my heart. 
 
 Would that to other lands I migbt now pass, 
 
 With every mile attenuate the chain 
 
 That binds me to the past, till it would break at last 
 
 And I forevermore be free from pain." 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 35 
 
 XXX. 
 
 She ceased, and ocean echoed the refrain, 
 
 "And I forevermore "be free from pain." 
 
 Alas! how through the Chain of Centuries 
 
 Ocean has edhoed such soliloquies, 
 
 The penalties of Love's idolatries, 
 
 Calypso on Ogygia's rock'bound shores, 
 
 In vain Ulysses to detain implores — 
 
 Temptingly offers immortality, 
 
 And with her love to share her sovereignty. 
 
 And there, lamenting that she is immortal, 
 
 Is left abandoned by this beloved mortal. 
 
 She would have welcomed death's release from pain 
 
 Bather than without him, unloved, remain. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 See Queenly Dido in her loveliness 
 
 Upon the sands bewailing her distress. 
 
 As her heart's idol leaves her desolate 
 
 And sails away to found a greater State. 
 
 ^^neas, thou hast left me to my fate. 
 
 Upon thine altar I will immolate 
 
 Myself, my country and my dynasty. 
 
 And Carthage in her ashes shall entomb 
 
 Queen Dido, Who through thee came to her doom. 
 
 Mounting the pyre, she consecrates in flame 
 
 Her deathless love and her undying name. 
 
36 THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And Sapplio's sad song soundeth sweetly still, 
 As sunset's softest tints o'erspread tlie sea, 
 Laving the base of that steep, t)eetling hill 
 From whence she sprang to end her misery: — 
 "Farewell, O Phaon! Here I end my pain 
 And thy neglect! Oh, thou I idolized, 
 Perchance my songs the greater fame will gain. 
 And thou too late shalt learn the worth despised! 
 Behold, this fleecy veil I fling away 
 Floats downward like a cloud on the soft air! 
 Lo! all my wealth of tresses I display; 
 The hraids unweave that bind my golden hair 
 And these rich sandals that did shield my feet, 
 I need them not life's journey to complete. 
 See this white tunic my gemmed girdle binds. 
 And this soft drapery that it confines! 
 All — ^all — I cast them from me on the winds 
 And part with all save my humanity. 
 As Aphrodite issued from the sea. 
 Therein I plunge and veil my nudity; 
 Perchance on ocean's floor some pearly shell 
 May be my resting place. Phaon, farewell!" 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Yet, sadder far tlian all of these appears 
 Sweet Ariadnes's bittei* flood of tears, 
 When, wakening from 'her dreams o'er the blue sea, 
 She sees her lover and coimpanions flee, 
 Leaving her there alone to grieve and die. 
 No wonder that ^her agonizing cry- 
 Reached the keen ears of Jupiter on high, 
 Who in compassion unto Venus said: — 
 "Descend to earth; let her be comforted. 
 With crown of gold and immortality 
 Will I repay this present misery." 
 So Edith's uncle, with his pitying heart, 
 Essayed to play the Providential part. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Our fair young mountaineer, whom we have iposed 
 
 Thus in a classical juxtaposition 
 
 To the great persons whose careers so closed, 
 
 Like them had reached a critical condition, 
 
 And whether life or death would now prevail 
 
 Seemed equally a matter of conjecture. 
 
 True, she was younger far, yet far more frail, 
 
 And youth gains daily some new strength of texture. 
 
 Then, too, she had a loving scientist. 
 
 Backed by his millions and determination. 
 
 Who, in his line of treatment, would persist 
 
 Until he could x>erceive amelioration. 
 
 Well had he counted on the heaving sea 
 
 To work upheaval of complete stagnation, 
 
38 TEE MOUNTAINEERS 
 
 And well repaid was be thus suddenly 
 
 To catcli a glimpse of dawning inclination. 
 
 This one expression tliat her pain might cease 
 
 Seemed to imply a hope for pain's surcease. 
 
 If in his school of practice they relied on prayer, 
 
 No doubt lie prayed for her while they were standing there; 
 
 For certes in the universe no place 
 
 More fitting to address tlie Throne of Grace. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 He did not answer her imimediately. 
 His eyes and thoughts seemed all engrossed upom 
 Some undecipheraiMe entity 
 There floating vaguely on the horizon, 
 For which he Taad been waiting eagerly. 
 At length he said: — "Pray, let me test your eyes. 
 Can you see aught there where the sea and sky 
 Seem interfused — out of the ocean rise?" 
 And she, long gazing, questioned for reply, 
 "Something that like a shadow comes and dies?" 
 "Yes, deaa-; that shadow comes from puffs of smoke 
 Seen as some vessel rises on a wave. 
 Lost as it sinks behind the wave that broke. 
 Edith, a moment since you longed to go 
 Far o'er the sea and find relief from ipain; 
 And some good Genii, having heard your woe. 
 Sends you his barque to Taear you o'er the main." 
 
THE MOUNTAINEERS 39 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Up from the underworld on ocean's bine 
 
 A fairy boat came rapidly to view; 
 
 White as the billows' foaim, it rose and fell, 
 
 A seeming plaything on the ocean's swell. 
 
 Across the intervening waves they saw 
 
 Each mast its dress of bi-illiaut bunting wore; 
 
 Along its smooth white sides a golden band 
 
 Emblemed a ring, the gift of loving hand. 
 
 Swift toward the bar its course, both straight and true, 
 
 It like a sea gull did its flight pursue. 
 
 Lo! now it stops, and la hoarse blast is blown, 
 
 A isignal to the pilot's ears well knovsoi; 
 
 He climbs the side, assumes tlie wheel to steer; 
 
 Slowly they move, and now 't)he bar they clear. 
 
 The bright Matanzas River they ascend, 
 
 And, dropping anchor there, orders attend. 
 
 So Edith passeth seawai-'d from our view, 
 
 And with fond prayers we whisper our adieu. 
 
 May time and change of scene and loving care 
 
 Heal the deep wounds of love that she doth bear. 
 
SIR WALTER AND FELICIA, 
 
 I loug to tiaug upon the walls of time 
 
 A picture painted in a poet's rhyme, 
 
 Of two loved poets whom the world reveres, 
 
 And whom the picture yet the more endears. 
 
 They stood befcre the outer gate 
 
 To Abbotsford's high walls; 
 
 There silently they contemplate 
 
 The hills, dales, waterfalls, 
 
 The vast domain of Huntly-burn, 
 
 Where cattle grazed and heather bloomed. 
 
 To which she would no more return, 
 
 But which her presence had perfumed. 
 
 He holding there her soft white hand. 
 
 Thus spolie at length to her: — 
 
 An impulse I cannot withstand 
 
 Prompts me this to aver. 
 
 Never with such reluctance I 
 
 Said farewell to a guest. 
 
 Thy presence here delights my eye; 
 
 Thy voice with charm is blesit, 
 
 Whose witchery will faithfully 
 
 Be treasured in my breast. 
 
 Would thou hadst been one of my kin 
 
 That we might never part. 
 
 That we new poems might begin. 
 
 To cheer the human heart. 
 
42 SIR WALTER AND FELICIA. 
 
 Her depth of soul shone in her glance, 
 And o'er that lovely countenance 
 Flitted angelic smile awhile 
 That thrilled him with its radiance 
 As her reply found utterance. 
 
 Only with blessings, can I e'er repay 
 
 The hospitalities and sympathies, 
 
 And the kind words I hear to-day 
 
 Shall live as holy memories 
 
 Of these delightful scenes and halcyon days. 
 
 It is a joy that we two should have met. 
 
 Though like a stream we part in separate ways; 
 
 Yet this bright meeeting can we ne'er forget 
 
 Where we have intertwined our wreaths of hays. 
 
8IR WALTER AND FELICIA. 43 
 
 "While the world lasts 'twill treasure and enjoy 
 The wealth of lays and romance here created, 
 And for its happtiness by thee donated 
 Each generation will more hours employ 
 In all that thou hast with such charm related. 
 Only from out these fascinating scenes 
 That nature with such lavish hand here spreads, 
 All capped by thee with such artistic means. 
 Could issue such array of crowned heads, 
 Of lords and ladies, and such Yaliant knights 
 As thou hast pictured in their tourney fights, 
 With lance in rest spurring 'neath helm and plume 
 Onward to win renown or meet their doom. 
 Their noble steeds and their devoted hounds 
 Course o'er these hills, their echo here resounds. 
 All here have fitting home — yet chivalry 
 Produced no flower, Sir Walter, lilie to thee. 
 
SIR WALTER AND FELICIA. 
 
 Indeed, fair friend, take thine own words from n 
 
 "While the world lasts 'twill treasure equally 
 
 The peai'ls that thou hast strung; 
 
 Those flowers of thought, perfumed with melody, 
 
 Each one ex'haling saintlike purity 
 
 And woman's love and faith in Deity; 
 
 Her heroism and her constancy. 
 
 All that is noblest in tliy poetry 
 
 Speaks to the soul and reinforces faith; 
 
 And wheresoe'er her flag England shall plant, 
 
 There every home to thee a place will graut. 
 
 When the vast forests of the rocking pines 
 
 In far America give place to shrines 
 
 And happy homes, mothers shall read thy lines 
 
 To their young children, of that wintry day 
 
 The Pilgi-im Fathers landed from whom they 
 
 Have grown a mighty tree that fills the land. 
 
 Lowly he bent him o'er that trembling hand 
 
 And with his lips paid reverential kiss. 
 
SIR WALTER AND FELICIA. 45 
 
 And she departed — never from that hour 
 
 Knew he the fulness of his fonner power. 
 
 His old light heartedness with her had flown; 
 
 Thiis plant so sensitive wa;S left alone. 
 
 The occult flames of vital energy 
 
 Had reached the limit of their t)riUiancy 
 
 And daily paled in their intensity 
 
 J" or three sad years when death removed the light. 
 
ABOU MIDJAN. 
 
 Abou Midjau was a noted man, 
 
 A chief in tlie trilDe of Iralian, 
 
 Who, if at home or on Caravan, 
 
 Light hearted would laugh and often sang; 
 
 Which was an offence in a Mussulman: 
 
 And although none was braver there than he, 
 
 Or could manage Ms steed so dexti'ously, 
 
 Thi'y scorned him as lacking that dignity, 
 
 In the Prophet's followers one should see. 
 
 One eve having di"ank of the fruit of the vine, 
 He loudly sang this song to the wine: — 
 
 The dew, the mist, and the drenching rain 
 Kissed thee, oh, vine, on the sandy plain; 
 The moon, the stars and the sun's hot rays 
 Wooed thee in turn through the summer's days; 
 Then autumn's crystals of frost embraced 
 The luscious grapes, and the wine I taste 
 Gushed foith to gladden the hearts of m,en. 
 Good wine, of thee will I drink again, 
 And the glow of thy presence while coursing slow 
 To the smallest pulse in my being shall flow. 
 
48 ABOV MIDJAN. 
 
 Now it chanced grim Saad was riding by 
 With his staff, their sentry's watch to try. 
 When to his ears came the singer's strain, 
 And his wrath he scarcely could contain 
 As the singer went on with his song again. 
 
 The vine — the vine — when I am dead. 
 
 Oh plant it surely o'er my head. 
 
 I know its roots will pierce the gloom 
 
 And reach me lying in the tomb. 
 
 And with its life I shall resume 
 
 Enjoyment in its sweet perfume; 
 
 Through its green leaves and branches I 
 
 Shall know the sun still shines on higli, 
 
 For the root, the branch and the vine are one; 
 
 There at peace I shall rest till death's winter is done. 
 
 Into the tent burst Saad and said, 
 
 The curse of the ProDhet be on thy head, 
 
 Who with songs of wine on the battle's eve 
 
 Thy drunken fancies thus relieve. 
 
 Here — bind the dog and let him be laid 
 
 In the stocks that are at my tent, said Saad. 
 
ABOV MID J AN. 49 
 
 In the stocks at Saad's all night sat he 
 
 With his happy thoughts for company. 
 
 He could see the stars as they slowly passed 
 
 On their nightly march in the universe vast, 
 
 And as they twinkled he thought that they 
 
 Were chanting some grand symphony alway. 
 
 He thought of the woman far away 
 
 In her father's tent with his baby boy. 
 
 And he gave his fancies rein to play 
 
 At will in verse — -as all poets enjoy. 
 
 My son will be tiained by her white haired sire 
 
 To guide the camel, to break the steed; 
 
 Her songs will Ms youthful thought inspire 
 
 With love of fame and heroic deed. 
 
 She will Sling him my songs, and his childish !brain 
 
 Like wax will receive and like marble retain, 
 
 To sing them to others when I 'neath the plain 
 
 With my sword and my shield in glory remain. 
 
 At dawn the Muzzins called Tecbir, 
 Which when the Mussulmans did hear 
 They prostrate toward the gilded East, 
 Their prayers recite, and beat their breast 
 For every sin that they confessed. 
 
so ABOU MID J AN. 
 
 Then for a little all was calm, 
 
 When came the sentries' lotid alarm; 
 
 Then on hoth sides were trumipets blown, 
 
 And loud, hoarse cries and shouts made known 
 
 The battl.^ was begun; 
 
 And then long weary hours ran on. 
 
 Saad's wife, '^\-ith infant at her breast. 
 Paced back and forth sadly distressed; 
 When came a soldier fi'om the field, 
 Who thought ere night that they must yield; 
 Which hearing, Midjan thus broke forth: — 
 
 Oh, God of the universe 
 Lay not upon me this curse, 
 Here idly to sit while the foe 
 Of my people is laying them low; 
 Oh, woman release me I pray. 
 And this right arm will well repay 
 In thy husband's succor this day 
 The kindness thou showest to me. 
 
ABOU MIDJAN. 51 
 
 By Allah I swear unto thoe, 
 
 If not in the battle slain, 
 
 I will return here agadn 
 
 To resume my place in the stocks. 
 
 Then quickly the lock she unlocks. 
 
 Gave him horse, sword and armor of Saad's; 
 
 He while mounting with thanks her repaid, 
 
 And rode off to the battle alone. 
 
 At the door of her tent sat the woman 
 
 As the shades of evening fell; 
 
 When back from the field came Abou Midjan 
 
 Nigh spent, for he had foug-ht well. 
 
 His horse and his arms smeared with blood and foam 
 
 Betokened a fearful strife. 
 
 Sick at heart she asked if Saad would come home, 
 
 Or if he had lost his life. 
 
 He is safe, unharmed and will soon be here, 
 
 Lock again the stocks ere he reappear. 
 
 It was late when g-rim Saad returned to his tent, 
 
 He was weary and sore and his strength was all spent; 
 
 Yet he kissed her and said it had been a hard day, 
 
 And when he had eaten he pictured the fray. 
 
32 ABOU MIDJAN. 
 
 Cardesias (battle will ever be kno\\'n 
 
 As the day wlien doom fell on tlie old Persian throne; 
 
 The Persians outnumbered us four to our one, 
 
 Yet Allah be thanked for the fight we haA'e won; 
 
 The battle was lost and I ready to yield 
 
 Until a bright angel appeared on the field ; 
 
 Him, I saw on my horse with m^ arms and my sword, 
 
 Like a whirlwind he came as if sent t)y ^'he Lord; 
 
 Before him^ both horses and riders went down; 
 
 If moftal, immortal would be his renown. 
 
 The horse seemed bedemoned and bit to destroy, 
 
 While the angel's bright sword was in rapid employ, 
 
 So it flashed back the sun like a mirror at play, 
 
 Till the eyes of the elephants blinked until they 
 
 Took fright and in panic wheeled, fled fast away. 
 
 Tramping thousands as rearward they made their mad way; 
 
 And the standard of Persia was trampled and torn, 
 
 And that nation forever is of its power shorn. 
 
 Then the woman arose and laid before Saad 
 
 The sword and the ai^mor; red, i*ed was the Tblade, 
 
 And the shield was all dented by many a blow 
 
 That the vanquished had dealt there ere they were laid low. 
 
 Then she led forth the horse all stiffened and sore. 
 
 Showed his back badly galled and his wounds all before; 
 
 And pointing to AIdou said, there is the man. 
 
 Your angel from heaven who foug-ht in the van 
 
 Of your army and saved it — was Abou Midjan. 
 
METASTASIO. 
 
 Upon a glorious afternoon in Rome, 
 
 The warm sun slione, batliing- the marvellous dome 
 
 Of San Pietro and the narrow streets, 
 
 Thronged with the varied costumes one there meets. 
 
 While blue Italian skies dazzled the eyes 
 
 With their perfection of cerulean dyes. 
 
 All in the joy of living children played 
 
 Their merry games; their parents in the shade 
 
 Rehearsed the doings of their youthful days. 
 
 Young men and maidens in love's glance expressed 
 
 The dawn of passion not as yet confessed, 
 
 But whose mysterious fires were lit within the breast 
 
 Un grand signcre with his stately pace, 
 Came from the court, where he bad won a case. 
 Passing II Borgo Vecchio on his way. 
 Amidst the crowds we picture you to-day, 
 Pleased with his musings, when upon his ear 
 Fell a child's voice as music sweet and clear; 
 And turning he beheld a group entranced, 
 To whom a beautiful bright boy romanced 
 In verses improvised, whose melody 
 Was wonderful for one so young as he. 
 The scenes were pictured in dramatic way, 
 And with new measures eacli he did portray. 
 
54 BIETASTASTO. 
 
 The lawyer stopped to- listen and enjoy 
 
 The wondrous talent of the handsome boy, 
 
 Who, heeding not his presence, rolled along 
 
 To the conclusion of his tale in song. 
 
 Signor Gravina of an urchin there 
 
 Inquired who was the gifted lad, and where 
 
 He lived? To him the little child replied, 
 
 "His name's Pietro, in that shop reside 
 
 His parents, named Trapassi," who are old. 
 
 And now the children cheered, the tale was told. 
 
 They like the butterflies soon flew away 
 
 To taste new pleasures in their games of play. 
 
 Gravina called Pietro saying, "Son 
 
 Truly thou hast a gift, a wondrous one, 
 
 And a great pleasure hast thou given me 
 
 In listening to thy cliildish melody. 
 
 Let me reward thee wiith this little fee. 
 
 The boy looked at him with his grand black eyes, 
 
 Then answered to his infinite surprise, 
 
 And in his rhyme to him at once replied: — 
 
 "€he Ella scusi mi, mio onor 
 
 Non mi permette accettar favor." 
 
METASTASIO. 55 
 
 It was a Roman's answer, and the more 
 Impressed Gravina than the song before. 
 "Oh! child of many graces, thou wouldst grace 
 The highest station with that lovely face; 
 Would'est not like to go to school and be 
 Fittingly trained to higher minstrelsy?" 
 "Oh yes, if that my parents will consent." 
 "Then let us ask it," and for that they went. 
 
 The parents watched the twain as they drew near, 
 And wondered what the query they AA'ould hear. 
 The velvet mantle and the silken hose, 
 And chain of gold with heavy golden seals, 
 The snow white hair and gravity of pose. 
 A man of substance to them clear I'eveals. 
 
56 METASTASIO. 
 
 "Your son, I find, is a most gifted lad, 
 
 And if some years of schooling he but had 
 
 He would attain such promiinence that he 
 
 Gould then maintain you amidst luxury, 
 
 For he would fill the world with melody. 
 
 I have no child to gladden me at home; 
 
 Will you not share with me, and let Mm come 
 
 To live where lie shall have great masters' care. 
 
 And soon reward Ihem with his talents rare?" 
 
 They were impressed with manner and demeanor. 
 
 What answer should they give Signer Gravina? 
 
 The old man to his wife, "Dite, Carina," 
 
 And she replied, "E volonta divina, 
 
 Che sia anche la mia." 
 
 The world to good Gravina owes its thanks, 
 
 For his good deed that day. Pietro's pranks, 
 
 Gravina's home made bright. 
 
 And in his progress he took gi-eat delight. 
 
 One day he said, "Pietro change thy name, 
 
 As Metastasio be known to fame." 
 
META8TASI0. 57 
 
 Oh child of sunny fortunes, upon thee 
 
 The Muses and the Graces lavishly 
 
 Have heaped their gifts, and fortune gifts thee, too; 
 
 Just as Gravina loved thee, all shall do. 
 
 Gravina dead and buried, it was found. 
 Had left Pietro all his fortune round; 
 Who quickly spent it with companions gay 
 In a mad whirl of pleasure night and day. 
 "Well knew Gravina that when it was gone 
 iSecessity would spur him back to song, 
 And Ids experience would last him long; 
 For, in his culture and ability. 
 He owned a fund could not expended be; 
 But would grow with the using constantly. 
 So when the day of wakening came at last 
 Pietro shivered in the cruel blast. 
 Blighted all friendships with companions gay, 
 Who from his company now drew away. 
 That drove him to exile himself from Rome, 
 And he at Napoli sought a new home. 
 
58 ABOU M IDG AN. 
 
 At Napoli he found Gravina's friend, 
 
 Who heard his story, to its bitter end; 
 
 He would employ him in his studio, 
 
 Would he but vow all verses to forego. 
 
 "Verses don't pay." Mankind from age to age 
 
 Like parrots quote this senseless false adage. 
 
 It was a batter ipill no doubit to swallow; 
 
 He swallowed it, for he was very hollow; 
 
 And siinee it was a precedent for more, 
 
 He did as other poets had before. 
 
 So destiny decrees and we obey 
 
 Throughout life's dream much in the mole's blind way. 
 
 To gain a pittance he each day poi*ed o'er 
 
 Huge musty volumes of their ancient law. 
 
 And wrote off dreary contracts by the score. 
 
 Among their clients was the high viceroy. 
 He one day filled Pietro's heart with joy; 
 He was the messenger whom destiny 
 Sent to unlock the poet's treasury. 
 And give his talents the long golden reign 
 Gravina had foreseen they would attain. 
 
METASTASIO. 59 
 
 The viceroy, liaving sent for him one day, 
 
 Received liim in a very courtly way, 
 
 And plunged "in medias res" without delay: — 
 
 "I purpose here next month to celebrate 
 
 Her gracious majesty's, the queen's, birthday, 
 
 By a great fete, and Avould then dedicate 
 
 To her some stirring ode or classic play; 
 
 I have been told your talent can produce 
 
 A work fitting to grace her fame and name. 
 
 I forthwith bid you let your genius loose. 
 
 And you shall have reward and gain gi-eat fame.' 
 
 Pietro pleaded — feebly, it is true — 
 His pi-omise to the lawyer verse to shun. 
 A king's command all promises undo 
 If coxmter to his pleasure they may run; 
 "So get you gone, sir poet, and obey 
 The royal mandate given you to-day." 
 
60 METASTASIO. 
 
 Pietro turned not ta his work again, 
 
 Tumultuous were the workings of his hrain; 
 
 He wandered far along by the glad sea 
 
 That dances to the sun at Napoli. 
 
 He looked up at that world famed glorious sky, 
 
 And saw the white clouds o'er Vesuvio fly; 
 
 He saw Inarime's soft hloom afar, 
 
 Where widowed lived the saintly Colonna. 
 
 There dreamed he till the golden sun went down 
 
 Beneath the waters of that glorious sea. 
 
 Then from his brow was gone that long day's frown, 
 
 For golden apples of Esperidi 
 
 Fell down before ham for his first great theme. 
 
 Each day on "La Spiaggia" he lay, 
 Bathed in the golden sunshine, drinking in 
 The glorious tints and colors of that bay; 
 And in the night from his day dreams would spin 
 The meshes of his most delightful play. 
 
METAt^TASIO. 61 
 
 The eyening came, the curtain rose upon 
 
 Fair orchard lawns of the Esperidi; 
 
 There on the trees the golden apples hung, 
 
 While midst the liranches feathered songsters sung, 
 
 And sparkling fountains lent their witchery. 
 
 The air was laden with a sweet perfume 
 
 From fragrant spice vines heavy with their bloom, 
 
 While bowers of flowers at intervals were seen, 
 
 Adding their colors to the charming scene. 
 
 Italian colors had been well employed 
 
 To grace this picture which the court enjoyed. 
 
 Now, while they gazed, an unseen choir began 
 
 A vestal choral — soft, adagio. 
 
 Through which one voice in syncopations ran 
 
 Midst trills and cadences, as if to show 
 
 Its wondrous power and flexibility. 
 
 Now, sostenuto, while tlie vestals sang, 
 
 Higher and sweeter that one note long rang — 
 
 Then through the octaves ran its birdlike flight. 
 
 T^'ith plaudits long the queen showed her delight. 
 
 Then a procession filed across the stage. 
 
 Still chanting their sweet hymn of love and praise. 
 
 And last the wondrous singer, with a page 
 
 On either side, who peacock fans upraised 
 
 To shield her fi-om the sun's too glaring rays. 
 
62 METASTASIO. 
 
 Our Metastasio was standing tliere, 
 
 Watching tlie interest that his worli inspired. 
 
 And when he saw this woman, wondrous fair, 
 
 Matchless in grace, so classic'ly attired 
 
 In simple Grecian robe and flowing veil, 
 
 He felt his work from her new grace acquired, 
 
 And all the critics would in Tain assail. 
 
 Of a bystander, he inquired lier name. 
 
 "Signora Bulgarelli; but to fame 
 
 La Romanina is her preferred name." 
 
 That night they met; Romans, both young, both fair, 
 
 Truly a gifted and ideal pair. 
 
 If ever music, poeti-y and song, 
 
 Drew two enraptured mortals on to bliss, 
 
 These two upon love's tide were borne along; 
 
 They cared not whither, while 'twas sweet like this. 
 
 It was an enervating atmosphere, 
 
 A mad delirium of sensual joy. 
 
 Poet and artist therein disaippear, 
 
 Later to reappear, e'en love will cloy. 
 
 An episode to him; she it consumed. 
 
 "The Mud that would be mated by the lion, 
 
 Must die for love," so sang the Bard of Avon. 
 
META8TASI0. 63 
 
 Through these three years he insph'ation drew 
 From sweet conapaBionship with her, and he 
 Each month emitted some production new 
 That the world welcomed witli avidity. 
 Her mellow tones, as tlhey intoned his rhyme, 
 Gave added sweetness to his honeyed words. 
 His fame flew over Eiu'ope in brief time 
 Upon the wings of merit like the birds. 
 
 One morn he came to her holding a letter 
 
 A messenger had brought him from Vienna, 
 
 Conferring honors and what he thought better, 
 
 An annual pension, yet with this dilemma — 
 
 To be the Poet Laureate of Austria, 
 
 Was a distinction not to be resisted. 
 
 "Ma come lasciarti, Marianna mia?" 
 
 "Vada, belidol mio," she insisted. 
 
 And so they parted; he to higher honors. 
 
 And she to wither and descend in fame. 
 
 He met warm welcome from imperial donors. 
 
 While she, till now called ''Diva," lost the name. 
 
64 META8TASI0. 
 
 The pleasure loving people of Vienna 
 
 Courted and feted Mm; he gave them pleasure. 
 
 They loaded him with gifts beyond all measure, 
 
 And a fair countess made of him her treasure. 
 
 She took him to her palace. There he dwelt with her 
 
 In luxury, while each new month producing 
 
 Other new works, to honors new conducing. 
 
 Kings, queens, grand dukes rich jewels to him sent 
 
 And there to four score years he lived content. 
 
 He was the father of our opera. 
 
 What higher honors could one hope to wear? 
 
 Much like Gravina's was to be his end. 
 He left a vaster fortune to a friend. 
 
 How often in his years of triumph he 
 Must have remembered him of Napoli, 
 And at remembrance smiled sarcastic'ly, 
 "Verses don't pay" — Don't they? 
 
MAY 4 1903