■ #• LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. WM<^^i ''-r^y 'i^jf^ ,^.. ^- l^' oO SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA OTHER POEMS JOHN BRAYSHAW KAYE J.Q,i6.'i. . yt^'ci)^^ "-^r. NEW YORK G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 27 & 29 WEST 23D STREET 1882 Copyright by G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 1882 Press of G. F. PtUnam's Sons New York CONTENTS SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. PAGE Sweet Lake of Geneva . . . . . i Alone on the Lake-Shore .... 6 Shuneena, the Maid of the Lake . . . 17 In the Deep, Tangled Forest ... 24 The Old Lime Kiln on the Lake-Shore . . 27 Rowing . . . . . . . 35 Ciscoes ....... 38 John Barleycorn, the Highwayman . . 40 POEMS OF MEDITA TION, Musing . . . . . . .46 Thoughts in a Potter's Field ... 52 The Clock Strikes Twelve . . . .59 "The Young May Die, The Old Must Die" . 61 Farewell Old Year !..... 64 Living in the Past ..... 67 POEMS OF NATURE. Spring ....... 74 Summer . . . . . . . 78 Autumn ....... 81 IV CONTENTS, Winter After the Sleet The Humming-Bird Morning Glories Indian Summmer . Birds of Spring Beautiful Dew-Drops The Morning Walk . PAGE 84 88 90 92 94 96 9S lOI POEMS OF LOVE AND SENTIMENT. Nature's Teaching . At Sea — A Song . Moonlight My Destiny's Star The Soldier's Farewell Love .... Kitty .... Imogenia .... The Irish Emigrant's Farewell I Love Thee Still I Miss Them Much To-day 104 108 no 112 114 116 118 IJ9 120 122 124 POEMS OF SORROW. Zeneb-Hamoum In Mourning Eva . . . . The Black Exiles' Lament 125 134 136 140 CONTENTS. POEMS OF PATRIOTISM. The Centennial Arch . . . . The Nation's Rebuke .... A Poem, etc. . . . On the Closing of the Centennial Exposition Bedeck their Graves ! » . . . PAGE 144 154 161 164 MISCELLANEO US. "Down "Brakes !" . . i6g The Drummer-Boy's Fate 172 The Human Face . 174 Chicago in Ashes , ^ 178 The Artful Tramp . . 181 Old Winter's Relapse . 185 Blind Tom . 188 Westward 190 Storm at Sea . 193 Our Kate 194 Songs of Lake Geneva. SWEET LAKE OF GENEVA* 1871. WEET Lake of Geneva, Pure, lovely, and fair, Moore sung of Avoca, And Burns of " Auld Ayr." When valleys and rivers awaken the Muse She may not neglect to accord thee thy dues. I have known thee from childhood, I 've studied thy ways ; Thy fountains, thy inlets, thy headlands and bays, Thy shallows and depths are familiar to me As the beads to the maid, on her conned rosary. * Lake Geneva, Wis. 2 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. My happiest days, oh, I feel they are past ! ('T is sad that earth's happiness never can last,) They were spent on thy waters, and wandering o'er The hills that encompass and outline thy shore. Oft, as a young hunter, I 've wandered alone, With nothing to cheer me save thee and my gun ; And when weary I 've lain on the soft grassy steep. While the voice of thy waters has lulled me to sleep. Oh, such slumber as that ! when the soft sighing breeze Fills the soul with calm gladness, a sweet sense of ease Steals along every nerve, a true vision of rest. To sleep on forever were but to be blest. I have watched thee, dear Lake, when sore chafed by the storm ; When thy waters were writhing like serpents in form ; Thou hast seemed to me then like a caldron of wrath Boiling over with vengeance to aught in thy path. I have seen thee again, lulled to rest by the calm, When the sentinel hills were on guard 'gainst alarm ; SWEET LAKE OF GENEVA. Not a breath to disturb thee, as still thy pure breast As though Winter had chained thee in motionless rest. At such times as these I have sat in my boat, Like a moth on a mirror, an atom afloat ; As silent and motionless even as thee I have gazed in thy depths, full of wonders to me. Beneath me, inverted, lay heaven's blue dome, With its cirri reflected like ridges of foam ; And a spirit within me hath whispered : " Let go, And glide to the ethery concave below," I have started at this, and looked up to behold A rich, glowing sunset, in crimson and gold ; Sol slowly withdraws from a scene which he fills, And smiles his farewell from Fontana's green hills. Now the dim twilight shadows are gathering fast, — The pure spirits of those which the sunlight has cast, — Now they melt into darkness, or all fade away, As Night, the usurper, asserts his wide sway. 4 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. O, Lake of enchantment ! I 've stood on thy shore When the pale, mellow moonlight hath silvered thee o'er, And the fishermen's torches have shot a faint ray, Like the first early stars in the wake of the day. Far along thy still waters some young spearsman's call, Borne along in rich cadence, is echoed by all ; Then the loud, plaintive wail of the breeze-stirring loon, The whippoorwill's chant, and the owl's doleful tune. Such impressions as these, when imbued in our youth. While the heart is the home of affection and truth, Time dims not their lustre, nor weakens their sway, And nothing save death can e'er sweep them away. Still fondly I love thee ! to view thee once more Turns my memory back to the glad days of yore, For the long years since then, full of changes to me, But confirm the sweet sameness of beauty in thee. Yet in time not far hence, these fair green hills of thine Shall be famed as the cragg'd, castled banks of the Rhine; SWEET LAKE OF GENEVA. 5 And the seekers of pleasure shall traverse thee o'er, And the love song and war song resound 'long thy shore. Still again must I leave thee ! I turn to depart While the shadows of sadness fall thick o'er my heart ; Must it ever be thus ? to the end must I roam Far away from the scenes which my heart declares home ? If so it must be, oh, then still let me pray, That some last, faithful comrade bear here my poor clay ; That my dust may be mixed with the earth of thy shore. And my spirit float o'er thee till time is no more. ALONE ON THE LAKE SHORE. July, 1 87 1. f^^WEET Lake Geneva ! nursling of the hills ! i^sSI A rustic bard presumes to sing thy praise, Fair tribute of a myriad springs and rills ; To thee I dedicate these simple lays, For thee I string the long-neglected lyre ; Let Fancy's thrilling touch awake the strain, Let Truth dictate and Memory inspire : Time, slack thy scroll ! I am a boy again, A hopeful voyager upon life's main. 'T is early morn ; I wander 'long thy shore, I search for curious pebbles on the strand, Or watch the eagles o'er thy waters soar, Or dig for clam shells in the oozy sand. But hark ! what joyous sounds salute my ear, And echoing, roll along from hill to hill ? The boist'rous laugh, the long-continued cheer, 6 ALONE ON THE LAKE SHORE. J The wild " whoopah / " in mimic terrors shrill, To give the uninitiate' a chill. My cheery, wild companions ! merry pack ! In single file they haste along the trail ; " Helloh ! hurrah, boys ! bully ! here is Jack ? Now, fellows, won't we have a glorious sail " ; " Oh, no ! I guess not ! Tom, go bring a rail ; You get another, Bill, we shall want two ; Get nice, straight, flat ones, hearties, do not fail ; You '11 find some split, upon the hill, 't will do. Close by the coon-tree, where the grape-vine grew. " George, did you bring an auger and some nails ? " " Yes, here they are." " Good ! won't we have a craft t Jim, cut two bushy cedars for our sails ; These are the logs, we '11 soon have up our raft. Here are those other fellows with the rails ; Now, comrades, pin and bind her fore and aft ; Now launch her, boys ! the breeze delightful hails : We 've poles to steer, and willing winds to waft Our bark, not sharp of prow, but light of draft." 8 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. And now we move, and now for greater speed Is many a wish expressed ; to swell our sail Our scanty wardrobe must supply the need ; 'T is quickly doffed, and stretched to woo the gale. I '11 venture that since Noah built his ark For all his various cattle, two-and-two, That no man ever saw another bark So quaintly rigged ; I 'm sure a nuder crew Ne'er put to sea since first the breezes blew. We soon are borne out far away from shore ; Our craft would fly as soon as make a tack : 'T was strange we had not thought of this before. " A glorious sail," but now the getting back : " We 've got to swim it, boys, there 's no use talking ; A precious thing it is we all know how, As fly we can't and have not faith for walking ; So here goes, boys ! who takes the hindmost now ? But hold ! we must not leave our clothes, I vow." Each wardrobe 's gathered from the leafy mast And snugly rolled into a tidy pack, ALONE ON THE LAKE SHORiL. Behind the shoulders with a string made fast, All ready now to take the backward track. A cheer, a plunge, we 're urging through the waves, We 're facing to'ard our native beach once more, Our youthful limbs the bracing water laves ; We reach at length that happy goal, the shore, All tired, and faint, and glad the task is o'er. Would tears restore them, then I fain would weep ! My loved companions, oh, where are they all Who on that day climbed up the slipp'ry steep ? Methinks e'en now I hear their ringing call : " Look out below ! " With headlong furious dash The unearthed boulder plunges down the hill. Greeting the waters with a mighty splash ; They, startled, leap in many an arching rill, — A wild commotion where all late was still. Those on the summit marked the boulder's course, Its each revolving bound and fearful lunge, Till near the brink, when, Hke a frightened horse. Leapt high in air to take the madd'ning plungeo lO SO.VGS OF LAKE GENEVA. Then rang the long, loud, wild exulta::it shout, And rolled in echo 'long the timbered lec^ "Huzzah ! huzzah ! " Then some shrill voice called out '* It 's in the lake now, boys ; there let it be Till moved by earthquake or eternity." And then the battle en the wooded slope ; — Our missiles, mandrakes growing on the field ; — Twelve on each side, and each a " forlorn hope " Would fall if need be, but would never yield. But ere commencing 't would be only right — So we all thought — to fix upon some plan Of how we should conduct the coming fight. " It should be fierce and furious as it can, And yet, if possible, not lose a man." This was thought good ; we did not then divine That peace and war ne'er travel hand-in-hand ; That safety, fury, fierceness ne'er combine To make the sweeping charge; but thus 'twas planned. Our weapons should be mandrakes, as I said ; Of these we 'd only throw the very softest. ALONE ON THE LAKE SHORE. II Each should fire low, to save the other's head ; Those should be beaten who were hit the oft'est ; The short ones thought this partial to the loftiest. For further stipulations, they were these : — The thing should all be done in Indian style ; When hotly pressed we 'd dodge behind the trees, Use every sort of trickery and wile To lure the foe out on the open plain ; Then springing forward like a pack of hounds. Pour down our bolts swift as a shower of rain, Covering ourselves with glory or with wounds. " Good, good ! " all cried, and off each faction bounds. And now the fray commences with a cheer, Our humane stipulations are forgot ; As the contending factions draw more near, Excitement fans ; the flame of war grows hot. And each fought but to conquer, and to be A hero in embryo ; sweet to tell Would be the story of the victory. Now all ring forth the savage, piercing yell, Outvying that when great Tecumseh fell. 12 SOA'GS OF LAKE GEXEVA. The Taiying tide of battle ebbs and swells Charge and retreat, or countermarch, or fly. Till sore with brittle shot, and mellow shells ilTiich burst, in darkness veiling either eye, A youthful brave, with hands raised o'er his head, Fell prostrate with a cry as if of pain. All stood aghast ! we thought our comrade dead ; His body rolled lank down the sloping plain, — The fray vras o'er, the ruse was not in vain. Then each related what his part had been In the late action, what he saw and felt, How he was pummell'd, being in between Two storming parties ; then how he had dealt His swift-hurled missiles, how he had to beat (His ammunition gon«^ he sorely prest) A quick, but not inglorious retreat ** But, boys, who came off iirst=5 who second-best. Let blackened eyes and swollen cheeks attest-" These were our sports, our pastimes, and our joys : Wild, free, and thoughtless, few we had of cares. ALONE ON THE LAKE SHORE. 1 3 These find small favor in the eyes of boys, — But, Time, thy hand hath sown these noxious tares In rank profusion o'er the severed few That yet survive to ponder on the past ! The broken remnant of that merry crew, Thou hast dispersed them as the whirlwind's blast Scatters the autumn leaves at random cast. Where are they now ? My voice breaks from control, 'T is loud and plaintive, though I would speak low ; And sympathizing Echo, from the knoll, Bears back the import of my query, " now " ? Aye "" now "; why not ? I know of then 't was here : But many changeful years have passed since then ; And all that youthful band, to memory dear, Who now may live, are changed to scheming men That ne'er shall meet on these fair shores again. Bright Gem of Waters ! let me ask of thee! Thou wert the guardian of their happiest days, Where are they now whose wild shouts, glad and free, Oft made these green hills vocal with thy praise ? 14 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. No Moslem ever knelt at Mecca's shrine, When the long, weary pilgrimage was o'er, With purer thoughts than they have bowed to thine ; Thy Kaba, these wild hills, this curving shore — AVhere are they now who seemed almost t' adore ? Thy rippling wavelets glide toward the shore, They murmur playfully about my feet, They seem to whisper of my friends of yore A truthful tale, yet mournful to repeat : " Some fill the soldiers' grave in sunny climes, — They gave their lives that bondsmen might be free ; Some seek for riches in the distant mines ; Some died in youth ; some are beyond the sea : All have forsook our presence, all save thee." " Oh, for the power to build the lofty rhyme ! '' That ye might still associate in song, I would abridge my days, compound with Time, And sink to sleep among earth's vanquished throng Without a murmur, feeling I were blest, In that with thine, their names should still be known, ALONE ON THE LAKE SHORE. 1 5 When they and I were in eternal rest. It cannot be ! the past 's forever tlown, And I must wander on thy shores alone. Oh, the deep import of that word " alone " ! I never felt its meaning until now. Though I have wandered in strange lands where none Have borne me company, save only Thou, Spirit of Nature, yet I feit to be In fellowship with all thy various shapes ; But here, though all 's familiar to me. There is a silent emptiness which gapes The soulless solitude the hermit apes. There is a something wanting in the scene, (Faces and forms I shall behold no more.) And something in the seer too, I ween, (That youthful buoyancy nought can restore.) Thy waters are as clear, thy shores as fair As when I first beheld thee long ago ; The change is but in me, and those who were Then with me ; but throughout the world 't is so. Yet all men mourn it, why, I scarcely know. i6 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. 'T is only idle grief for what must be — The change and losses that must come to all ; But as I stand communing now with thee, Thy presence doth so vividly recall The happy past, that verily it seems Each playmate should stand forth with : " Here am I !' And that they come not, doth dispel all dreams, And solemnly recalls the reasons why, As I turn from thee with a deep-drawn sigh. SHUNEENA, THE MAID OF THE LAKE. 1875. ilN a great brown boulder, standing Like a pedestal commanding In the margin of the lake, Stood a youth of quiet seeming, Like a statue stood he dreaming, While the full-orbed moon its teeming Floods of light around him brake. On his arm a three-pronged lance was Resting, and anon his glance was Turned into the waters near, Watching if some finny rover In the shadows might not hover, Or might wantonly pass over In the death-range of his spear. 17 1 8 SO.VGS OF LAKE GENEVA. But though he could hear them splashing, Through the glassy surface crashing Just above him and below, Not a fish but, passing, bent on Out of range ; as though intent on Other shoals, they darting went on, Till he wondered why 't was so. Presently he fell to musing All unconsciously — not choosing — For the witchery around Made it seem a scene enchanted, And the very air seemed haunted With a mystery transplanted From some supernat'ral bound. On the shore the forest hoary Towered in primeval glory (This was many years ago), And the tree-frogs piped their chorus — Crooned their screeds in tones sonorous, AVhile a great sheet of phos///^rus Seemed the lake in moonlit glow. SHUNEENA, THE MAID OF THE LAKE. 1 9 Half entranced he mutely wondered — In the past, by ages sundered, While the savage reigned supreme — If some rude seer, or magician With the wand of superstition, Had not from this scene Elysian Conjured substance from a dream ; Or if some bright sylph-like creature, Beautiful in form and feature. Had not come to sudden ill On this mirrored plain of water, And if Manitou had taught her To return, a spirit daughter. And at times to haunt it still. Then, as thus he stood there gazing, Lo ! a white mist slowly raising, Like a thin transparent veil. Came toward the shore-line creeping — Came in silvery vapor heaping 'Mong the shadows, and lay sleeping 'Long the margin dim and pale. 20 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. • Suddenly he heard the dipping Of a paddle, then the dripping, Crystal trickling from the oar ; Then among the shadows gleaming. Through the misty border beaming, A canoe of wondrous seeming Gliding came along the shore. All the prow was decked with shining Shells and agates, and entwining Woven on the birchen side, Groups of figures many-tinted. Forms of birds and mammals hinted. In the moonlight softly glinted. Worked in quills of hedgehog dyed. Like a princess of Sumatra, Beautiful as Cleopatra .» Seated on Egypta's throne, Sat a radiant Indian maiden In that novel barque, arrayed in Skirt of fur and sash of braid, in Which the rarest wampum shone. SHUNEENA, THE MAID OF THE LAKE. 21 'Neath her sash a fawn-skin, dappled Waist, with fish-hawk talons grappled At the front, to hold it there, Clasped her form, and grains of copper, Strung, and knit in bracelets proper. Shone, as she would raise or drop her Dusky arms, which, else, were bare. 'Round her shapely neck extended, Beads of many hues were blended — Beads of tortoise, chert, and spar ; And from out their folds hung fastened A white leaf of pearl, and christened With the dews of night it glistened On her bosom like a star. Gathered back in dark profusion Was her hair, then in seclusion, Part was shaped into a crown Fastened with an eagle's feather And with bead-strings held in tether, I While the most hung altogether Far below her shoulders down. ' 22 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. Gliding slowly by she drifted In her barque, and just uplifted Gleamed her paddle's dripping blade, Then with graceful stroke descending Fell again, the light shaft bending In her hands as crept she wending Down the belt of mist and shade. On she passed thus slowly rowing. Her slight craft in splendor growing Dimmer in the farther night, But her flashing paddle glimmered In the distance still, then shimmered Fainter yet along the timbered Shore, and faded out of sight. In the west the moon was sinking To the hills, in glory linking With her orb the earth and sky, But the youth's enchanted gaze was Eastward fixed, and on his face was Awe and wonder, till all trace was Lost, when thus he spake : " Good-by ! SHUNEENA, THE MAID OF THE LAKE. 23 " O though beautiful Shuneena ! Spirit Maid of Lake Geneva, Shall I ne'er behold thee more ? Thou hast vanished ! Indecision Fills my soul ! Was 't but a vision ? " Then the tree frogs croaked derision All along the darkling shore. Then beyond a point appearing Once again, he saw her, nearing To an overhanging oak, Which, as she passing under, Lo ! its great trunk snapt asunder. And with crashing sound of thunder Whelmed her, and the spell was broke. IN THE DEEP, TANGLED FOREST. N the deep, tangled forest I roamed when a boy, Absorbed and enchanted by solitude's spell, Till I grew a young hermit, and found sweetest joy Where Nature, untrammelled, primeval did dwell. The shy, woodland denizens all seemed my friends, And with cautious timidity oft would draw near, Urged on by the power curiosity lends, In confidence partly, and partly in fear. The " coo " of the pigeon, the mourning dove's note, Were sounds that delighted my too pensive ear ; And the pheasant's wild tattoo, loud beaten by rote To the song of the thrush full of music and cheer. The whispering branches, when stirred by the breeze, Related a story addressed to my soul ; 24 IN THE DEEP, TANGLED FOREST. 25 And the autumn's sere leaves, as they fell from the trees, Awakened strange feelings I scarce could control. *T was a pleasure to climb up the steep, jutting cliff, And stray 'long the smooth, pebbly beach of the lake ; To launch on the waters the miniature skiff. Or thread the wild maze of the vine-tangled brake. To gaze from the bluff on the clear, placid bay, Where wild water-fowls swam, in such proud grace, along. For nought seemed so free and so happy as they. Whose flight was a poem, whose floating a song. 'T was a pastime to watch, solemn, perched on some limb, The kingfisher scanning the waters below. Till close to the surface some " shiner " should swim, Then see him shoot down like a shaft from a bow. The splash of his falling and lifting his prey Was followed by plunges of terrified frogs. While lake turtles drew in their heads in dismay. And dropped in the water from shore-clinging logs. 26 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. 'T was a study to note how the catfish would take Her great family with her, as if for a stroll, — A black cloud of young bull-heads, they followed her wake, Gliding close to the strand o'er the pebble-floored shoal. With what care would she guard them ! how oft turn about To see if her ebony darlings were there ! How playfully toss them upon her blunt snout ! How hurry them off when of danger aware ! 'T was a joy to behold, on their wide-arching wings, The white gulls careering about through the air; But the wheeling black eagles, the fierce forest kings, When afloat o'er the woods brought both joy and de- spair. Once I watched one of these, up away, proudly soar In the blue, cloudless heavens, a speck black as night ; While a craving came o'er me I ne'er felt before, And I envied the monarch his powers of flight. THE OLD LIME-KILN OX THE LAKE SHORE. JULY, 1 88 1. T the rounded point of a bold, high bank, Where the spray oft leapt to its circling rim, The old lime-kiln stood, like a great stone tank, With its front exposed, all smoky and grim ; And its rude stone arch, where the fireman stood, Like a wild, weird gnome, as on many a night He fed its red, fiery mouth with wood. While the ruddy gleam of its glowing light A giant shadow cast of him That reached far out on the placid lake. Like a fall'n Colossus darkly lain In a restless dream, or chained, awake, And tossing its limbs on the glassy plain. The clean white stones from along the shore, That the wavelets for ages "and ages had washed — That had thrilled in each ice-flaw's startling roar 27 28 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. For untold winters, and had bleached in the sun Through all the years since the world had begun, For aught I know, and had been dashed Against by the crested waves, till worn As smooth to the touch as polished horn ; These were gathered, and floated down to fill The hungry void in the quaint old kiln. Ah, what lime was that which these lake-shore stones In the pit of the old lime-kiln became ! They seemed like sections of mammoth's bones Bleached whiter than snow by the crucial flame, Each having the true metallic ring, And a heart of fire that would hum and sing, And burst into bloom like a milk-white rose. When water fell on its thirsty skin. And the opening seams would soon disclose The fairer whiteness still within ; 'T is remembered by some in the country still Is the famous yield of the old lime-kiln„ The old lime-kiln stood close at hand To the place where we boys were wont to swim, THE OLD LIME-KILN ON THE LAKE SHORE. 29 And it seemed to watch over lake and land, And to guard our« clothes when we had gone in, And to take some part in each acted whim By a gloomy frown or a smoky grin, And to mark our actions of every kind On the lake in front or the hills behind. When an old blind horse was swum far out, By a nude boy 'stride of his bony back, And was left in the waters, in darkness and doubt, To find by " instinct " the shoreward tack. And, instead, he circled around and around. As though groping for bottom his feet might touch, Till it seemed quite likely he would be drowned. Then the grim old kiln seemed to stand aloof (As though it would say, " That is too much ") And frown down on us a stern reproof. Till the boy and his mate swam out once more, And towed the blind equine back to shore. And so when we caught a saucy bull One day in the lake, out up to his knees, 30 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. Lashing his sides with his wet tail, cool, And chewing his cud at his surly ease, And we charged down on him fifteen strong, Pelting him out till he had to swim. Then followed after swimming along — Oh ! did n't we give him a " flawy breeze " And make navigation odious to him ? — With his tail for a rudder we steered him out And piled on his back till he disappeared In the clear warm drink, when with angry flout He shook us off, and upward reared In the water again, and again we turned And boarded him till at last he lowed — Admitting the lesson he had learned, — There 's a way to Jmrjible the stro7ig and the proud. 'T was a vigorous lesson well bestowed, For the brute was most completely cowed. And we let him struggle in to the strand. Panting and weary from being dipped, Where he braced himself on the good firm land, And stood for awhile until he dripped, Then staggered heavily up the hill By the grinning mouth of the old lime-kiln. THE OLD LIME-KILN ON THE LAKE SHORE. 3 1 When the flat-bottomed boat was overturned Far out for a stand from which to dive, And the water about it to bubbles churned By swimming boys, Hke bees round a hive. Some scrambling up on the slippery steep, Some plunging headlong into the deep And striking down thirty feet away Toward where the shining ransom lay — A silver dime, 't was an envied prize^ — And with humming ears and straining eyes At length one stretches forth his hand And clutches it from the bottom's sand. Then up again to the light of day Where the trophy 's held up for display, When the cheers that greeted, wild and shrill, Were echoed back from the old lime-kiln. Of dry red cedar, our gathered hoard Was brought to the place and finely split, And close by the lime-kiln snugly stored Till the time arrived when we needed it, — The warm, spring nights when the suckers ran 32 SOA^GS OF LAKE GENEVA. And the pike and bass came near to the shore, — When stowing it on the boat began, And the ''jack" was filled and stuck in the bow, The spears thrown in and the great torch lit ; Now we pull down the margin with muffled oar, And the spearsmen stand in the front of the scow For a sharp look-out, and the shadows flit As we glide 'neath the overhanging trees, And the bright sparks fly from the torch in showers And fall like golden snow on the lake ; Whirled out by the gently-stirring breeze It sinks adown till each burning flake Is quenched in the waters. To test their powers* Did the spearers launch out many a thrust, Till many a finny prize was ours ; While the old stone pen, still true to its trust Kept its watch fire glimmering far away. Till we paddled back gayly across the bay With oar-strokes timed by the whippoorwill That called from the oak near the old lime-kiln. But things have changed since the " long ago," For the ever-moving tide of years THE OLD LIME-KILN ON THE LAKE SHORE, 33 Has borne from thence in its ceaseless flow All those who rowed to that night bird's cheers, While sun and storm, growth and decay- Have all been busy in their way, And ruin is tenant now, at will, Of all that 's left of the old lime-kiln. Now the the circling walls are fallen in, And the grass grows green round the crumbling stone, And the brave old oak that so long had been The kiln's companion, is lying prone, — As though it could not bear to stay When its warm, old friend had passed away. It has stretched itself along the hill And died on the grave of the old lime-kiln. The rude stone arch, too, has disappeared, And in the front where the fireman stood, A white-barked birch has sprung and reared Its ghostly trunk, and two young oaks brood In mournful silence close at hand, And the three in full-leafed beauty stand, To shade and mark and memorize still The sunken tomb of the old lime-kiln. 34 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. A few more years and the well-known spot Will not retain e'en a single trace That it ever was, — it will be erased By the ever-busy hand of time. A few more years and the world will not, Of all who once sported about its base, Have kept for itself a single name Or preserved one memory uneffaced. But all will simply be forgot. Unspoiled by praise, untouched by blame, What lot could be truly more sublime ? But while they live, like a sweet, wild chime, The memories of the past shall thrill Their hearts when they muse of the old lime-kiln. ROWING. IGHTLY lift the dripping oars, Swing them back with graceful sweep ; Deftly plant the dipping oars, Pull ! Now see our light boat leap, Driven o'er the laughing deep With the dipping, dripping oars. Like the gull on arching wing Beating through the buoyant air, Make the ashen pinions swing, Rise and fall, each pliant pair, As we speed 'twixt emerald shores Flying on with flashing oars. Full of glory, swathed in gold, Just upon the evening's sea Sol is launching ; from his hold Lifts the light that is to-day's. On each side in spreading rays Poised toward to-morrow's shores Like gleaming banks of golden oars. 35 36 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA, Now the gloaming gently falls, Settling over lake and skies, While the cuckoo's madrigals And the nightingale's replies Softly echo from the shores As we gently ply our oars. Sweetly broods the evening calm, While the swell of distant song Fills the air like dulcet balm, As we smoothly glance along 'Twixt the distant shadowy shores Gliding on with muffled oars. Phosphor-sided, sickle-bowed. Riding up the sky's blue lee, Now the dainty crescent moon Pulls behind a cape of cloud, But again emerging soon, To'ard the far cerulean shores Paddles on with silver oars. RO WING. 37 In a dream of joy and peace Sleeping Nature seems to be, And our light strokes slowly cease Till in listless ecstasy, Floating on 'twixt slumbering shores, Muse we, resting on our oars. Hark ! how loudly calls the loon ! Ripples flutter o'er the lake. White clouds scud athwart the moon, Startled Nature is awake ; Trees are nodding from the shores, And we bend us to the oars. CISCOES. ILEEK finny beauties ! each o'erlapping scale Of silver in your shining coats of mail Proclaims you fitting denizens to bide In the one matchless lake where you reside, The angler's joy, the epicurean's pride. Long years ago, I recollect a day When idly floating in a skiff I lay Watching, communing with the sweet profound Pulsings of nature throbbing all around, In scene of beauty, and in shoreward sound. The evening came ; the breeze sank into sleep, The lake calmed down to one unwrinkled sweep Of glassy smoothness, and from either shore Myriads of long-winged flies came fluttering o'er The limpid plain, 'lighting to rise no more. ?8 ciscoEs. 39 Then from the placid waters everywhere The supple ciscoes, rising, flashed in air, With open muzzles seized the floating flies, Then somersaulted backward with their prize, Again on a like errand to arise. Far off and near, small circling ripples broke From upward thrust and down incisive stroke Of leaping fishes, rising still again To pluck winged manna from the liquid plain And spring white arches o'er the crystal main. It was as if contending armies strove Beneath the waters, and their bright blades clove Above the surface, — like the crescent sweep Of polished cimeters, the upward leap Of silver sabres flashing from the deep. JOHN BARLEYCORN, THE HIGHWAYMAN. 1872. j|H, how time speeds away ! Why, it seems but a day Since that onslaught, so fearfully tragic I can't make it appear That almost a year Has vanished ; it seems so like magic. Since dread three-fingered Jack With Joaquin and his pack Gathered toll in our Western possessions ; Or since gallant Duval, Turpin, Sheppard, and all Those old trumps of the '' genteel professions,' There 's been naught to compare With the pad we have here ; And when I relate you '11 believe me, 40 JOHN BARLEYCORN, THE HIGHWAYMAN. 4 1 The great prince of them all, Whether burly or tall, Is the roadster of famed Lake Geneva. 'T was a dark silent night, Not a star was in sight, When a horseman came up on a canter : He had been into town. And was done rather ''^ brown,'' Bold and fearless as great Tam O'Shanter. On the lone sandy beach There 's a desolate stretch Where the trees have all left on a " bender " — All save one grim old scrub, A bleached, weather-worn stub, Weird and scrawny as she of old Endor. He was nearing this spot. All his cares were forgot, He was happy, gay, merry, and cheerful. When there slipt from a niche In this old wooden witch A sofnethmgj which made him feel fearful. 42 SONGS OF LAKE GENEVA. A dread, ominous shape, With its face veiled in crape, It roared out " Halt ! pungle ! no whining ! If you speak, I '11 be sworn You shall ne'er see the morn, And the sun of your life shall cease shining.' Fitz Quinn, wishing for speed, Put the spurs to his steed. The threat of the robber not heeding, When an arm like a rail Cleft the air like a flail, And our hero lay senseless and bleeding. Stepping up cool and calm To the still prostrate form. He quietly searched ev'ry pocket ; Taking ev'ry thing out He arranged them about And thus entered all down in his docket : " I old cork-screw, 3 quills, 2 small fractional bills. JOHN BARLEYCORN, THE HIGHWAYMAN. 43 I jack-knife, and five-cent nickel ; 1 stub five-cent cigar, 2 checks ' good at the bar,' Some hair dye, i vinegar pickle." Having made up his mind 'T was no very great find, He hid in his roost near the waters, Saying, '' The poor devil 's slack So I put it all back ; And the cash, I '11 get that at headquarters. MORAL. All ye good men of Linn, When perchance you have been To the flourishing town of Geneva, Have an eye to the coast. Shun the dread " robber's roost " Lest the terrible inmate relieve ye. In advice I would say 'T is the much safer way To come home in the light of the day, man ; 44 SOA'GS OF LAKE GENEVA. Staying late you may fall 'Neath the slung-shot or maul Of John Barleycorn, the highwayman. I have seen in my time Men of every clime Crawling round on all-fours like a cayman. Why ? The reason was plain ; They had met, not in vain, With John Barleycorn, the highwaymaa When at eve you begin, That is, when you start in To end up a glorious day, man, Have a care, lest ere morn You be gored By the ''horrid' Or be floored By the ''horn;' And your pockets completely explored By the " horn;' And your cash from thence borne You be left all forlorn, JOHN BARLEYCORN, THE HIGHWAYMAN. 45 All the rights of your manhood ignored By the '' hornr With your face scratched and torn, And your eyes left to mourn, By the magical, Tragical, Wonderful '' hortr Of this strange unicorn, Famed, And surnamed John Barleycorn, the highwayman. MUSING. 1870. TANDING one day upon the mountain side, Musing with folded arms on nature's plan, My vision swept the landscape far and wide In quest of something to compare with man, — Some natural object, that I might compare In some one attribute to man's estate. That seemed some common good or ill to share. Or was made kindred by some common fate. Far to the left there stretched a sterile plain Bounded by barren mountains grim and gray, — A scene where desolation seemed to reign. And solitude chase ev'ry joy away. 'T was like the heart whose ev'ry hope is dead, To which a moment's gladness is unknown. The weary soul whence joy and peace have fled, Sinking in death uncared for and alone. 46 MUSING. 47 Still to the right, far up from where I stood, The terraced hills rose o'er each other high Till, crowning all, the antipode of flood, Was one vast peak whose summit pierced the sky. Like some proud autocrat this mountain seemed, Whom straggling chance had placed beyond the rest, To keep aloof 't a glorious charter deemed, Frowning on all below with haughty crest. Before me lay a hilly, wooded tract, — A mighty forest, stretching far away. Of fir and cedar, pine and tamarack, A goodly host of trees in strange array : Some stood in clumps, compact communities, With still a few among them that did vie In rivalry ; while overtopped by these Were the great masses doomed to be less high. Some stood apart and grew in solitude. And these were deeply rooted in the soil, With twisted trunks, and branches gnarled and rude From many jostlings in the savage coil 48 POEMS OF MEDITATION. Of chafing storms, which often and again Rock the whole forest in their surging wrath, Sweep down the slopes, and scour the level plain, To spread destruction in their luckless path. The most were of a lively verdant hue ; A few were withered by the lightning's stroke ; And some were slowly dying as they grew ; Some were bare poles from which the tops were broke • Still more were dead and leafless at the top ; Some leaned upon their neighbors for support ; While others still seemed hunting for a prop ; Some near the middle had been broken short ; Some had been stript of bark and branch and leaf, And stood like tow'ring spectres bleached and white ; Some, once environed in a flaming sheath. Were left grim columns, blacker than the night. Hale and diseased, the dying and the dead, For which each passing breeze sends forth a call Which part obey : before its unseen tread Some yield their place and totter to their fall. MUSING. 49 Prone stretched in all the stages of decay, Laid low by time and tempest, now repose The prostrate giants of a by-gone day That one time waved their verdant boughs like those That now o'ershadow them ; but now they lie And crumble back to earth which gave them growth, Epitome of mutability ! Nature is change ! mortality is both ! ******* How like this mighty forest is mankind ! — Dwelling unmoved among the countless graves Of fellows, fallen in all the time gone by, Thousands are gone where one is left behind, Till all this rounded earth beneath the sky Is one vast sepulchre. The living tread Among a mazy wilderness of tombs. And the rank soil which all the fair world paves Is mellow with the ashes of the dead : Yet out of death, life cometh ! Vigor blooms Anew from dissolution ! All life's forms. Fallen and faded out, yield back again Life's essences in them released by death ; 50 POEMS OF MEDITATION. Their garnered sunlight can defy the storms, And in the gold cones of the mountain pine, And on the warm glow of the skylark's plumes, And in a thousand ways, may mount and shine All radiant amid clouds. The very breath Of all that ever lived, still is ; and still, So is the beauty, so the grief and pain, The hope and triumph. All, 't is true, have been Lived o'er and o'er again — inherited By all the living, and bequeathed in turn By all the dying, since the world began. What dies with one, another lives to learn ; Nothing is lost in Nature's rounded plan ! True what is^ may be varied day by day. But nothing more ; it still exists alway. No dainty coloring on the meadow flower, Nor blush-tint upon fair, coy maiden's cheek. Nor good resolve of any living will Perisheth ! Their frail abodes decay, And lose their mission of reflecting power ; No more than this. Voices rise up and speak Anew .the thoughts borne down the centuries MUSING. 51 From their first utterance ; unchronlcled, And yet immortal. Silent symphonies — The music of the universe is held In Nature's vast embrace, and slumbering Till wakened to expression by deft hands Leading it forth from pipe and reed and string, And launching it in one harmonious thrill Upon the ages. All the boundless love Lavished by kindly hearts on humankind In East or West through all the various lands Since hearts first beat, is strong and active still. Bearing our race in its encircling arms Beyond the reach of malice, and above The touch of cruelty, it leaves behind. THOUGHTS IN A POTTERS' FIELD. O vacant spaces left between For coming friends ! No tenement Unoccupied ! No " rooms to rent " ! This city of the pauper dead, How equally inhabited ! Whene'er a corpse comes to the town. The sordid sexton plants it down In the next pit upon the street, And so on, till the square 's complete. Above each grassy oblong mound Is placed a small white wooden cross, To mark the grave of each whose loss Was the world's gain. But where abound These symbols, that is holy ground. Shades of the lowly dead ! You sleep As peaceful in these humble graves, As could the haughtiest prince whose slaves 52 THOUGHTS IN A POTTERS ' FIELD. 53 E'er mounted guard about his dust Confined in grand sarcophagus ! Historic page or sculptured bust Speak not of you who He below These simple crucifixes ! No ! Man has no word of praise for those Whose labors have not reaped success, However hard they 've toiled ; much less For such as you, whose wretchedness 'Tis said v/as self-induced. Your woes Were not a theme of much concern. If aught you did deserved to earn You sympathy, God only knows. Yet, how many lie sleeping here,* Indebted even for a grave, Had once high hopes, and loves as dear, And prospects bright, and hearts as brave As many whom the world to-day Calls great, and honors ? And to say | " Some trifling chance, some sudden doubt * Paupers' burying-ground at San Francisco, 1866. 54 POEMS OF MEDITATION. Their circumstances changed about," Might be but true. The poorest knave Of all who sleep beneath this sod Had of the attributes of God ! Perhaps the exercise of these E'en brought about his worthlessness ! That pity which relieves distress Wherever found, he may have shown. Till from his slender store was flown The wherewithal to stay his own ; And turning, mayhap, in his need. To whom his charity once freed From pressing want, he has been turned Away with taunts, aye, even spurned ; Until, in bitterness, his pride And self-respect were laid aside. And every manly trait has died And left him the poor wretch he was. Perhaps 't was love's seductive pow'r O'ertook him in a luckless hour, And when too late to be retraced THOUGHTS IN A POTTERS' FIELD. 55 He found, alas ! it was misplaced, His peace destroyed, his name disgraced, And having not the strength of will To rise and struggle onward still, Hung loitering by the way, and fell A victim to despondency. And idleness and vagrancy Closed on a life begun so well. And some lie here, upon whose cheek The bloom and smiles of beauty played ; Fair maidens once, whose lives displayed The loveliness of innocence And modesty and virtue meek. Aye ! more than one poor nameless waif, Who, once the light of some fair home, The darling of a mother's heart, A sister's stay, a brother's pride, The gem of a fond father's care, The one-time seeming counterpart Of all that 's good and true and rare And beautiful, lies sleeping here ; 56 POEMS OF MEDITATION. She loved, perhaps, and was betrayed, And in her grief and shame intense She lost all saving faith, and trod The path that leads away from God, Until in squalid want she died, And took that last sad earthly ride. In rags, upon the pauper's bier. Yes, truly, this is holy ground ! Christ's precious blood has purchased this ! Iscariot, repenting, found No respite from a crime like his. The " thirty pieces," treason's hire, He cast upon the temple's floor, Then threw his wretched life away. The high-priests were abashed, and they The scattered coinage counted o'er, And said (whatever their desire) : " 'T is price of blood, and cannot be By law placed in the treasury." And so to bury strangers in They bought with it the potters' field. THOUGHTS IN A POTTERS' FIELD. ^7 Some small atonement for their sin, For He who loved the poor, and healed The halt, the palsied, and the blind, Compassion had on all mankind, Especially for those in need. The homeless stranger, the unfed, The widowed and the orphaned, Who often, e'en in death, indeed, " Had not whereon to lay their head." God's acres these, where'er they be ! In lonely, sad Jerusalem Or by this far-off western sea. The Master's blood has paid for them ; He holds the undisputed fee. Those stranded on Time's shifting shoals. The weary, worn, and jaded souls Whose lives go out in poverty ; Those wrecked on Crime's hard rocky lee, And those who die in noisome gaols, The friendless and unfortunate, The fallen unregenerate, The frail and erring Magdalene, — 58 POEMS OF MEDITATION, All, whom no mortal mourns or cares, Whose bodies no one claims as theirs To give them decent burial. For such the Humble Nazarene Has here a welcome, one and ail. Let no man harshly judge of those Here gathered in the sepulchre. For they are Christ's ; He will dispose In Mercy's name of all who err. The light they had, what they withstood, Their acts of evil, and of good, Their ev'ry thought to him is known ; And He who would condemn not her Who was accused of heinous sin Be He their judge ; He will not fail To make their every good avail. If men should judge, who would begin, Who take it on himself alone And sinless hurl at these a stone .? THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE. JAN. I, 1872. HE clock strikes twelve ! The passing year Silent recedes from off time's stage ! Thou grave of hope ! Thou ghost of fear ! Thou vehicle of many a tear ! Thou, too, art lain upon the bier And borne away ! What changes have thy seasons brought ? What lessons unto youth and age Has thy administration taught? What havoc, what destruction wrought ? What bloody battles have been fought Whilst thou held sway ? What windings in the path of fate Thy brief career hath brought to view? What homes were rendered desolate ? What rulers sank beneath the weight 59 6o POEMS OF MEDITATION. Of an abused, misgoverned state ? / What need to tell. Sure, some have watched thee out to-night. And seen thy place filled by the new, Whate'er befall, whate'er betide, Whate'er may in the future bide. Will scarcely wish thee aught beside A long farewell. "THE YOUNG MAY DIE; THE OLD MUST DIE." " |^"^|^E young may die." The prattling little babe (t^^ l Whose velvet-fingered touch has often thrilled Our heartstrings with a nameless melody, Whose sweet-lipped lispings often have beguiled Us from our cares, whose eyes ope' wide to see Them in our own ; its antics may be stilled By the Relentless One, but this we know— '' The old must die." "The young may die." When all the world seems fair, And life seems full of joyousness, and Hope Paints rounds of triumph upon fields untried, Still do we learn we are within the scope Of the Grim Arbiter ; and from his chair, To such his sentence comes intensified. Because fair youth is stricken. Yet 't is so, — "The old must die." 6i 62 POEMS OF MEDITA TION. " The young may die." And so the middle-aged, The man of iron frame and giant mind, In noonday strength and vigor may be called To quit the task on which he is engaged, Or leave the love and plaudits of mankind To meet the King of Terrors unappalled ; But Nature writes upon her every page — "The old must^x^r " The young 7nay die." The many maladies To which mankind are all unwilling heirs Still reap their greatest harvest 'mid the young. But though the aged may escape all these, Yet is their end near by, for unawares Time steals upon them till they stand among Life's evening shadows. As the sun goes down " The old must die." " The young may die," but with the hoary-haired The doubt is changed unto a certainty ; True, they may yet a little while be spared. Yet scarce we look about u^b^ut we see Some venerable friend quit at the call ' * THE YO UNG MA Y DIE j THE OLD M US T DIE:' 63 Which soon must be obeyed by each and all ; While others, silvering, fill the vacant stage. " The old must die." " The young may die^'' we very aptly say. But, of the old, who 've given life the test Of long experience, they rather /^^i" away, As one when wearied falls asleep to rest ; They would not care to run the race again ; They quit the course without remorse or pain, Seeing a blessing in the phrase well known — "The old must die." FAREWELL, OLD YEAR! JAN. I, 1877. |*gAREWELL, Old Year ! Forever fare thee well, Ig'Sail Thou latest past of time's unnumbered dead ! Now hast thou joined the interminable line Of ghostly harbingers gone still before, Who, joining shadowy hands, extend across The gulf of countless ages and connect (Like an invisible chain composed of links Forged from the annual flights of dead duration) Creation's morning with the present hour. Adieu, Old Year ! although so lately here Still art thou gone as irrevocably Beyond recall, as though the mouldering pall Of centuries obscured thee from the present ; Yet shall the chroniclers and bards transcribe The story of thy being, — what took place Here on our little globe in thy brief stay : 64 FAREWELL, OLD YEAR! 65 f The growing mastery of viind o'er ^natter, The march of Science and the course of Empire, The progress of the principles of freedom, The desperate resistance of the powers Of Bigotry, Unreason, and Misrule ; The auspicious and triumphant rounding off Of the first century of our Great Republic, The cloud of agitation and distrust Which afterward arose unwelcomely, The strength, the weakness, the wisdom, and the folly Of human kind exposed in thy career ; The good and evil wrought by human will, Nature's convulsions and tempestuous storms, Shall be portrayed on the historic page And on the deathless folio of song. Blended together with thy own fair name. And be a theme with men while time shall last. And so thy memory shall jiever die. So 't is the Years enact Earth's 'lotted part In the grand drama of the Universe ; On this small stage of time we call the Present — 66 POEMS OF MEDITATION. This neutral space dividing the dead Past From the conjectural and unborn Future, — They come in turn to play their part in being Come filing on in a continuous train From out the closely-curtained Yet-to-Be, And singly tread the lighted floor of Is, Then pass beyond, even as thou hast done, Into the still solemnity of Was. LIVING IN THE PAST. (written in reply to some verses of a friend. JRIEND and companion of my early years, Your " Lines " call up a host of memories That lie close to my heart as do the tears To a fond mother's eyes ; and as the breeze Wakes from their rest the fallen autumn leaves And winnows them to drifts among the trees, So 't is the wafted breath of by-gone days Collects the threads of memory's web and weaves Their perfect semblance in the tinted maze. Men are but boys with beards, and care, and thought Forgetting these, they might live o'er again The simple pleasures which their boyhood brought. And happy be, and joyous, now as then. " But to forget," you '11 say, " it cannot be ! Forget our toils and cares and troubles when They meet and cling to us on every side ? When wide awake can we forget to see ? Or on the flying train forget to ride ?" 67 68 POEMS OF MEDITATION. No, true ; but there are times when we may rest \ And then, oblivious to all beside, Live o'er again the olden times with zest By contrast doubled ; that was theti denied. And we again in fancy may call o'er The roll of our companions who have died, •And see them as they looked so long ago, And play the same old games again once more, And listen to the old brook's gurgling flow. I find myself at times in the old yard Before the school-house, early in the day, Surveying lines across the level sward. Then hear the famous, '' pom-pom-pull-away ! " Then scamper off to reach the further line, Some nimble dodger pressing on me hard, His hand outstretched to seize my wampus skirt, His quick, hard breathing imitating mine ; He gains and trips, we fall, but, " no one hurt." We next produce our implements of play, The stitched yarn ball and rudely fashioned bat ; Then gather round in circular array, LIVING IN THE PAST. 69 The game proposed, the favorite " three old cat "; The bat is tossed and fisted for the *'ins," " Whole hand or nothing ! closed own ! " and all that ; "One out, all out! choose sides!" and, "My first choice ! And I '11 take Abe ! " cries he who hap'ly wins, With much parade, and highly piping voice. And then the game goes on ; we catch and throw. And bat, and shout, and watch our chance to run. And, in the terms of twenty years ago, I almost scream out " Golly, aint it fun ! " Our little sweethearts, too, are standing there — For you and I at least had always one. (I used to wish I had a floating eye To gaze upon my charmer everywhere And scout around, a sort of optic spy.) Abe was my bosom friend in those old days, My allied force in trouble and distress ; He took m.y part in many various ways, And acted Damon to my Pythias, In all save this — he was American, 70 FOEMS OF MEDITATION. And used to say to me at times, " I guess The Yankees are the bravest men afloat." I was a stubborn little Englishman, And this assertion tickled in my throat. For I had read of valiant " Hearts of Oak," And heard my father sing the Duke of York, Rob. Hood, and Little John, old Bolingbroke, Young Hotspur, and some other human stork Whose name now slips my mind, and so I said, " He either was mistook, or in the dark." I named my heroes over once again, And mentioned, '* One or two of them were dead, But England always raised the bravest men." He spoke of Bunker Hill, and Washington, And how the Yankees down at Tip' canoe Had drove the British under May-ion. '* He guessed he knew a little history too ! " He rather beat me on authority. And then he whispered, " Tell you what let *s do ! Who do you think 's the braver, you or I ? " I told him, " Rather guessed that I must be, But anyhow at recess we would try." LIVING IN THE PAST. 7 1 When recess came, we slipt out unobserved Behind the school-house, where none else could see, And by the glory of two nations nerved We kicked and cuffed each other lustily. At length the teacher rapped a sash ; we quit The rough discussion as to bravery ; We had to go, but on some other day We 'd try and meet again to settle it, Unless we found it out some other way. This was no vulgar brawl which I relate, No vent to personal antipathy ; Each battled for the glory of a State, — The State's, not ours, defeat or victory : 'T was fin'ly settled on another plan, That is, it was agreed that each should be Called peers in courage, causes being same, Whene'er the Yankees or the British ran ; Such was the circumstance, they bore no blame. In thinking o'er these scenes of former times I find much pleasure, and some cause for grief ; Such feelings call to life these simple rhymes 72 POEMS OF MEDITA TIOiW On my young friend, whose fair life was so brief For 1 did often mourn the gallant boy, Reproaching Death, that like a skulking thief Came, as a dread marauder in the night, And robbed a household of its dearest joy, And with his icy digits snuffed my light. Yes, thus he died ; and Ab. and Jim laid down Their hopeful lives that others might be free ; And like two severed barges drifting roun', Wreck of the fleet, are only you and me ; But let us grasp the helm, and strong and firm Direct our crafts o'er life's tempestuous sea, Running Death's channel under safe escort, Make a fair showing for our lengthened term, And bring a goodly cargo into port. They left us and we struggle on alone ; Still hope, and toil, and trust in the "To Be." And now the airy dreams of youth are flown ' We grapple with the grim reality ; We labor on from need and labor's sake, LIVING IN THE FAST. 73 And feel that all mankind are same as we, Serving some end, in high or low estate. Giving their might to that they undertake, And if disabled, calmly " stand and wait." m THE SEASONS. SPRING. RIGHT, joyous Spring ! season of life and growth ! Before thy sunny glance the icy chains With which grim Winter bound this mighty zone Are all dissolved to rills of trickling tears ; And these absorbed to feed the swelling germs That patient lie in the broad lap of Earth, To quicken into life at thy approach. The springing grass puts forth in tender shoots Its countless bristling blades of living green, Which length 'ning droop, and with the early flowers (Bright-figured filling for the verdant warp), Weave the sweet carpet that adorns the fields. And now a change ! The branches of the trees That all the Winter long were bleak and bare, Or clad in ice, and creaking in the gale 74 THE SEASONS. 75 A weird, mysterious soliloquy — Clanking their crystal fetters in complaint — Now bud to leafy wands, that nod and sway In meek obeisance to the passing breeze. All Nature's tiny workers are astir, And, waking from that slumber, almost death, Gaze 'round awhile in silent wonderment. Then earnestly address themselves to toil. The dormant ant, roused from his lethargy, Crawls upward from his subterranean cell. And from the summit of his convex mound Drinks the inspiring vigor of the sun ; Then calls a council of his sleepy mates To view the ruin which the storms have wrought While all unconscious they have slept below, And means devise to blot that ruin out, (The winds have razed the outer battlements And scattered debris through the avenues ; The pelting rains have harrowed up the paths And choked the entrance to the upper vaults ; While the dread frost, in cold malignity. 'j6 POEMS OF NATURE. Has heaved the deep foundations of their home, And cracked the superstructure from its base ; ) And, swarming forth, the little artisans Commence their labors on the vast repairs. The feathered choristers have all returned, And when the morning light first streaks the dawn The modest robin pipes his cheery notes, Nor quits his tuneful task until the sun Swings his full circle o'er the eastern bar. The lark, with merry twitter, skims the sward ; And the trim, dainty thrush, from lofty perch, Straining his speckled throat from very joy, Pours out upon the breeze a flood of song. Dense clouds of blackbirds swarm from tree to tree, And hold their noisy concerts as they list, Sparring and cooing in their changeful moods. And wooing partners for the perfect life ; While on some sunny morn the sleeping swain Dreams of clear streamlets rippling o'er the rocks, And wakes to hear, what oft he 's heard before — THE SEASONS. 77 The gladsome babble of the martins sleek, From the old cot 'neath the projecting eaves. Yonder in lovely pastures violets bloom Among the springing grass, and dandelions, Like golden brooches, gleam on verdant knolls — The gently rounded breasts of Mother Earth, — Jewelling the day-fields sweet, though transiently. To match blue, vaulted areas of night In their star-studded splendors. Frisking lambs. Whose young limbs seem to twinkle with delight, Staid rams, and solemn tauruses are here To give day's constellations fitting forms. All hail thee. Spring ! thou great replenisher. That clothes the tattered earth in virgin robes. And fills the air with sweet, harmonious sounds f That decks the hillsides with fair living gems, And scatters beauty broadcast o'er the land ! That fills the soul of youth with lofty hopes And makes him conscious of progressive power ! That whispers manhood : " Still the world moves on. And wherefore should'st thou linger by the way ! " 78 POEMS OF NATURE. SUMMER. Fair Summer, like a prince in flowing robes, Sits now in state upon the throne of time ; While Peace and Plenty, twin prime-ministers, Exert for lasting good their heaven-sent powers, And shower their blessings with a willing hand. Contentment, too, in calm serenity, Dwells on the landscape like a quiet smile, And the world moves toward perpetual day. All Nature is prolific loveliness ! The full-leafed trees have hid from sight their boughs, And on their naked trunks poise in the air Green shapely stacks of loosely pendent leaves, Beneath whose grateful shade birds build their nests, Carol their songs, and rear in peace their young. Upon the fields the season's crop still stands ! As yet no gap of sickle or of scythe Has marred the full completeness of the scene. The grassy meads flash brightly in the sun. And o'er the fields the thrifty, rustling corn THE SEASONS. 79 Flaunts its green ribbons in the gentle breeze ; While the great seas of verdant cereals Roll into chasing swells beneath its touch. Grand, perfect Summer ! fulness of the year ! Time's brightest picture of productiveness ! Earth's crowning glory and complete reward ! Profusion's radiant mantle undefiled Thrown o'er the bosom of a fruitful world ! Frost nor maturity have come as yet, And still awhile the harvest is delayed. The cock's shrill call proclaims the faintest dawn. Then twilight's mellow margin follows on, Then a red rim along the eastern sky. Melting in turn, as now the rising sun Ushers full-blown the glorious summer's morn. Bird-songs and tinkling bells delight the ear. And Nature's freshness after night's repose Is grateful to the eye : each several sense Discovers each a charm, and these all blend To form a pleasing and harmonious whole. 80 POEMS OF NATURE. Early to feed, the eager, greedy herds Crop the sweet grass, now succulent with dew, Till hunger is appeased, then roam at large Searching the pastures for a dainty bite. Until oppressed with day's increasing heat They seek the shadows of the leafy groves And lie them down, with sighs of deep content. Upon the glowing earth the blazing sun In rank profusion pours his steady rays Till all the air with heat is tremulous And radiating upward to the skies. The birds have sought the shade and quit their songs And folded for a time their wings in rest,— All save the prowling kite ; with pinions spread And downcast eyes, he grandly soars aloft In the blue ether of the cloudless sky. Extending still the circle of his flight, Scanning with eager gaze the earth beneath, Until he sights the victim of his search, Then partly folds his wings, and, like a bolt, Swoops down upon his unsuspecting prey, And bears it to the eyrie of his young. THE SEASONS. 8 1 The growing shadows eastward slowly creep, As sinks the sun upon the western sky, And setting out of sight, throws back his beams, Marking far up the arch his crimson wake, Which, spreading, slowly fades, and twilight ebbs Far out into the open sea of night. Where darkness, spread upon the rising tide, Steals o'er the earth on its returning flow, And brings to end our typic Summer's day. AUTUMN. Rich, dreamy, mellow Autumn ! Nature droops ! Her glory is attained ! and Sadness now Floats like a spirit in the hazy air. The birds have flown, or silent hang their heads As though in sorrow. From the orchard twigs The glowing fruit hangs pendent, or is moved To oscillation by the sluggish wind. Now and anon, at little intervals — Incapable the longer to resist Earth's universal and unchanging law, — 82 POEMS OF NATURE. Some yielding pippin severs from its stem And falls submissive to the withered sward ; Suggesting the effect of a like cause Which plunged the mighty Newton into thought. On the far, sloping hills, in courtly robes Of variegated hue — crimson, and gold. Purple, and all the shades that tint the bow, — Serenely proud the forest beauties stand, Tall tapering cones of fading foliage Glowing resplendent 'neath the blushing sun ; While yet beneath, of various dyes and grades, The smaller trees and shrubs fill up a scene Of sweet harmonious contrast. Yet 't is sad, And sadness clings to ev'ry tinted leaf And murmurs softly in the passing breeze. 'T is but the passing beauty of a day ! The flush of dissolution on the cheek Of the declining year ! and even now By ev'ry idle puff of wanton wind Some leaflet is detached, and wavering sinks Reluctant, zigzag, to receiving earth. THE SEASONS. 83 And still, not lonely long ! the first rude blast Shall shower their fellows like the falling snow ; And leave the boughs and branches stark and bare To scourge the moaning winds that left them so. Earth gave the infant Year his Spring-time grace, Clothed him in green, and decked his brow with flowers ; He throve in beauty, and the Summer came, And wich it strength, and vigor, and a charm Of thoughtful and expressive tenderness Rested on all beneath the deep blue sky. Now golden Autumn holds his dreamy sway. And ripe maturity is on the wane ; While Earth calls on the Year to render back His worn and faded garb. Thus piece by piece The whole is given back. Old and bereft (While desolating Winter comes apace), The beggared Year sinks into apathy. And the fierce frost shall lock his feeble pulse, The virgin snow shall be his winding-sheet ; The bleak, chill winds shall chant his funeral dirge And Father Time entomb him in the past. 84 POEMS OF NATURE. WINTER. Winter has come ! The boist'rous winds proclaim His stormy rule o'er forest, field, and glen, And bear his chilling mandates on their wings. The earth is naked, and the leafless twigs Hint at the desolation after death ; While the great forest, swaying in the blast. And tossing wild its branches to the clouds, Sings a sad requiem to the passing gale. The crested clouds, urged by the chasing winds, In ragged troops career along the sky Like ghostly coursers rushing on to charge The sombre phalanx near the horizon ; While the retiring sun, far to the south, Marks the diminished arch which spans the day, And throws his slanting beams along the earth In scanty numbers, and devoid of warmth. The brook is dumb beneath its icy shroud, Or only murmurs in an undertone Plaintive remonstrance 'gainst the cruel power THE SEASONS. 85 Which veils it thus in solitude and gloom To grope in darkness on its winding course. Upon the tranquil surface of the lake, While yet it slept in peaceful quietude, The frost-king smote with his congealing wand, And lo ! a polished plain, where school-boys glide And wheel in wild gyrations to and fro, Scrolling the glassy surface of the deep. Firm shod on furrowed plates of polished steel. And now a change ! the sky is overcast, x\nd from its leaden vault, each chasing each. Descend the filmy particles of snow. Faster and thicker still they tumble down, Veering in spiral course, and eddying, Till all the air is white with gauzy flakes. Whirling, commingling, smking to the earth. The clouds dispel ! the sun glints forth again To greet the world arrayed in spotless white. The winds are muffled, and a peaceful calm Has settled over all ; while here and there, 86 POEMS OF NATURE. Rising unbroken far into the sky, Blue shafts of smoke, in graceful symmetry, Point the location of the homes beneath. The frolic-loving young folk are astir Mittened and muffled, waiting for the sleigh ; And soon the air vibrates from tuneful bells. As mettled coursers dash along the way. Responsive to the driver's word of cheer. Forth launching in the downy element. With mincing step, and ankle-scraping gait. The sturdy urchin plows his way from school, Stopping anon, perhaps to trace his name In monstrous capitals beside his path, To shake the white coat from some bending bush. Or cast himself full length upon his face To take his impress in the yielding drift. The chill and silent night steals on apace. And from the cold blue sky the myriad stars Look calmly down upon the shrouded earth. And tip with light the crystallated snow. THE SEASONS, 87 Along the northern border of the night Flash up the footlights of the Arctic stage ; While just beyond, extended from the spheres, With centre looped into the Galaxy, Aurora's ruffled curtain hangs in view. AFTER THE SLEET. FTER the sleet, and the sun is beaming, And winter is wearing a brilliant smile ; While the trees in their icy armor gleaming Are steel-clad knights in their martial seeming ; And like silvery plumes from their helmets streaming, Are the drooping boughs meanwhile. While the graceful shrubs in fringe arrayed, And bugles and lace of the finest grade. Stand motionless, their charms displayed, Like youthful maidens dreaming. Icicles now from the eaves are pending. And the fences are grated with crystal bars. While the flashing grove in the maze seems blending Of silver, and gold, and light contending With glittering shafts, their rays outsending Like a myriad fallen stars ; And the loud, harsh note of the saucy jay In his shrill, discordant roundelay AFTER THE SLEET. 89 Is the only sound that comes to-day From the grove's still bowers wending. Out in the barn-yard kine are lowing And locking horns in half-playful mood, And the champion barn-fowl loudly crowing, With pompous vanity o'erflowing, Struts back and forth advice bestowing On all the barn-yard brood ; And in the door-yard now there sing Meek little snow-birds twittering In whispers soft of the far-off spring And the seeds in the wild flowers growing. From a great-trunked oak, all branchless standing — Standing dead where it sprung and grew, — Like a wooden Memnon, a knoll commanding. Or a watch-tower reared near an unsafe landing To warn of shoals or the chance of stranding, Comes the idol's voice in a long tattoo ; 'T is a woodpecker tapping the sounding wood ! In his cutaway coat and crimson hood Drumming for meat, and a home so good In the old oak's heart demanding. THE HUMMING-BIRD. A.RE little bird of the bower ! Bird of the musical wing, While hiding thy head in some flower Softly thy green pinions sing — Sing like the harp of ^olus, Hum out each murmuring note With a charm having power to control us As we watch thee suspended afloat. Sweet little cloud of vibration ! Bright little feathery fay ! Wee rainbow-hued animation, Humming the long hours away ! Sipping the dew from the blue-bells, Culling the sweets from the rose, Whose heart, pearly-pink, like the sea-shell's, Yields purest ambrosia that grows, go THE HUMMING-BIRD. 9 1 Hid from the dull sight of mortals, Out of the reach of the bee, Down through the lily's white portals Nectar 's distilling for thee. Now at the thistle's red tassel Probing with needle-like bill, Drinking a sweet dreamy wassail, Humming thy melody still. In the bright region of blossoms Where the gay butterfly flaunts, Where Nature her beauty unbosoms, These are thy favorite haunts. Where the wild honey-bee hovers In the perfume-laden air, Whither stray light-hearted lovers. Often they meet with thee there. Always thou dwellest 'mid beauty. Bird of melodious wing. To seek it 's thy life's only duty, And bask in perpetual spring. MORNING-GLORIES. REETING the morning, Many-tinted, fairy bells, Upturning now to catch the sparkling dew, From cool air distilling, Descending quite willing, Fair flow'rs to add fresh beauty unto you. Frailly-moulded blossom bells, Greeting day's dawning. Pure is the pleasure. Sweet and voiceless elfin bells, Which you must aye inspire while you remain. So fair is the greeting Of day with you meeting That we would have each morning come again. Silent chime of matin bells. Fair floral treasure. 92 MORNING GLORIES, 93 Fleeting your beauty^ Pink and purple flower bells, While clinging to your parent stem of green, A few hours of morning Conclude your adorning, When you fold yourselves more, never to be seen. O rare, rainbow-tinted bells. Thus ends your duty ! INDIAN SUMMER. VER the wide-rolling prairie, Reaching horizon's lee, Rests the thick haze-mist so airy, And yet so dense as to be Like to a far-stretching sea. Sweeping the blue smoky billows, Far, far away roams the eye, Resting where poplars and willows Golden-robed tower on high, Round island homes in the sky, — Homes that afar seem surrounded On the high swells where they stand. By an uncertain, unsounded Flood that has crept o'er the land Leaving no well-defined strand ; 94 INDIAN SUMMER. 95 But filling up glens and valleys, Resting on all the low grounds, Flowing away the haze rallies. Islanding hill-tops and mounds, Marking their marginal bounds. Here and there unsubmerged ridges, Arched o'er the dim surface, sweep, Isle to isle linking, like bridges Spanning the straits of the deep, Where the light tides onward creep. Out of the hazy flood, lifting Billowy sails to the breeze. In stately majesty drifting. Cloud-ships come floating o er these Dim, dreamy, isle-dotted seas, — Ships of no kingdom or nation, Claiming no country or clime, Part of the fleet of creation Built in the morning of time For Nature's packet air line- BIRDS OF SPRING. |g^^|ING on, ye warblers ! sweetly sing l^^gjl I love to hear your joyous notes, And see you flit on gladsome wing As lightly as the perfume floats From off the scented rose. Ye seem forever glad and gay, And happy always and content ; From blushing morn till close of day Your tide of joy is never spent, But ever blithesome flows. Ye merry songsters, tell me this — 'T is all a weary heart might ask, — Whence is the source of all your bliss ? The.power that bids you ever bask In joyous, tuneful mood ? 96 BIRDS OF SPRING. 9/ Or is it only lack of care, Or the sweet task, all self-imposed, Of ev'ry chirping, twit'ring pair. To build their nests by twigs inclosed. And rear their darling brood ? The answer comes — a thrilling stram : — " Our very nature is to sing And warble for the vernal train , We are the choristers of Spring ! " BEAUTIFUL DEW-DROPS. EAUTIFUL dew-drops ! Ye cling to the grass-tops As clear and bright As beads of light. Witching bewilderment of sight ! O sweet enchanting scene ! Beneath the pale reflecting moon The meadows seem with diamonds strewn, Refulgent 'neath night's dreamy noon Ye cast your glittering sheen. The earth seems wrapped in silent sleep, Her myriad viewless elfins weep, And these their tears that downward creep Along the drooping grass ; 98 BEAUTIFUL DEW-DROPS. 99 A sea of little crystal lens ! Like fireflies glimmering o'er the fens The shimmering moonbeam backward bends From drops of liquid glass. Pure priceless jewels of the night ! Whether pale Luna's silvery light, Like tiny meteors in flight, Flash from your beaming face ; Or whether lingering into day, The sun's first glancing golden ray Flies off your cheeks like gilded spray And adds a richer grace, — Ye are the loveliest gems of earth ; For beauty, purity, and worth All contribute to give you birth ; And charming while you stay. All nature greets you as a friend. While blooming flowers their leaves extend, And meeting thus your beauties blend As fair as rosy May. 100 POEMS OF NATURE. The morning-glory, opening wide Her bell-shaped petal, woos inside Your glistening pearls, that you may hide Screened from the heat of day ; There, folded fondly to her breast, Abode of purity and rest. Absorbed in beauty and caressed, Ye sweetly pass away. THE MORNING WALK. Y heart feels glad ! my soul expands With joyful thoughts all sorrow scorning, Then farewell, Care ! here let us part ; I '11 turn thee homeless from my heart This bright May morning. The balmy air is fresh and sweet ; The dew-drops to the grass are clinging ; The rosy morn is bright and clear. Her lord, the King of Day, is near ; The birds are singing. The bonnie Thrush, perched on a twig, His blithest, sweetest notes carolling ; Now low his song, and now elate. As though to cheer his silent mate. Her heart consoling. 102 POEMS OF NATURE. The modest Robin greets the dawn, His breast the purple east outvying ; He may not peer the Thrush in song, The breezes bear his strain along — " There 's naught like trying." Down by the brooklet's willowy brink The babbling Bob-o'-link is flinging His crazy, joyous notes along, Borne on a fluttering flood of song, Still madly singing. The silly Redwing, in his zeal To guard his nest hid 'mong the grasses, Starts up and scolds, and darts about. And thinks he puts each thing to rout That near it passes. On rolling swells, in distant fields, The strutting prairie cocks are " booming ; " The leaves are opening on the trees, And 'mong the grass, as fresh as these, Violets are blooming. THE MORNING WALK. IO3 Who could feel lonely, sad, or drear, While in his ear sweet sounds are chiming, While Nature wears a look of cheer, And Sol's broad disk just 'gins 'pear, Slow upward climbing ? NATURE'S TEACHING. AN AUTUMN IDYL. jEATH a shady weeping-willow, Side-by-side Sat a young man and a maiden, And the golden Autumn laden With its fruitage ripe and mellow Glowed in tints of red and yellow, Far and wide. Waving o'er them pendent, swinging From above, Hung the willow's boughs, like streaming Whipcords fringed with gold, and gleaming ; While an oriole, perched clinging To the topmost twig, was singing Notes of love. 104 NATURE'S TEACHING. I05 Forest trees all crimson-tinted, Here and there Stood aloft in purpling glory ; Each one's gorgeous upper story In the soft, warm sunlight glinted, And bright colors seemed imprinted Everywhere. Just in front, a clear rill, dancing, Moved along ; And upon its waters riding, Gently sailing, forward gliding, Fallen leaves came onward glancing, Onward, onward, one advancing Endless throng. And they watched the rill and noted It was true, As the leaves passed by them ever Hastening on toward the river, Nearly all in couples floated — Side-by-side as though devoted, — Two and two. I06 POEMS OF LOVE AND SENTIMENT, Then there came down past them sailing On a chip, Two bright butterflies, with glowing Velvet wings, for jib-sails flowing, While a sprig of moss hung, trailing, For a rudder thus availing Their quaint ship. Pretty couple ! bound together Down the stream ! And no matter whither leading. Still they kept its course unheeding. Till, perhaps, some stress of weather Cut their voyage off forever Like a dream. Still the oriole kept singing. Though sedate, Till at length a lone one, flying. Heard the music of his sighing And came near ; when upward springing Off he sped to southward winging With his mate. NATURE'S TEACHING. lO/ Though the lovers scarce had spoken, They had grown Much intent on Nature's teaching ; 'T was the most impressive preaching, Showing by full many a token How in pairs the world goes yoken — Not alone. Then, while still they lingered seated, Once again, While the evening shades were falling. And the whippoorwills were calling That old question was repeated, And an owl the answer greeted With "Amen I" AT SEA— A SONG. 'g^lOCKED on the bosom of ocean, Fondled and gently caressed By the sea, in its heaving emotion, Like a babe on its mother's pure breast. Softly the twilight steals o'er us, Stars dimly twinkle above, And quiet has come to restore us To thoughts of the dear ones we love. Over the bow of our bark now, Just rising, the silvery Moon Marks a mystical track through the dark now, Where the waters with spangles are strewn. O'er this bright pathway far roaming, My thoughts go in search after thee, My Love, and thy spirit seems coming To greet me to-night on the sea. io8 AT SEA— A SONG. IO9 Out from the calm and the stillness Whispers seem wafted from thee ; Like the blessing of health after illness, They soothe me to-night on the sea. Loved and lost, never more shall I meet you. Till wrecked on old Time's stormy lee ; Yet bide near me still, I entreat you. Till my voyage is done on life's sea. MOONLIGHT. 1870. WITCHING moonlight \ chosen light of Love I 'T is thy sweet smile that lures the maiden forth To wander with her lover, arm-in-arm, Through shad'wy grove, or by the lonely rock, Or murmuring stream. Thy filmy veil, enveloping the earth, Hides all its sterner features from the view ; Peoples each nook and glen with shadowy shapes • Curtains each tree and shrub with silvery gauze ; Forming a thousand wild, enchanting bowers ; Transforming earth into a land of dreams. Thy halo gifts all nature with a voice ! The sighing, whispering trees, each dew-gemmed leaf, Each waving blade of grass, e'en silent stones Seem eloquent ; and in their varied tongues In mutest whisperings speak of love. MOONLIGHT. 1 1 1 Thy fav'ring ray, seen glim'ring from afar, Calls Cupid from the hazy realms of space, And hies him to the earth in Love's campaign Armed and equipped : his bow, a tempered moonbeam ; His arrows, love-tipt shafts of quiv'ring light. Sweet woe and blissful torture seize all hearts That brave his power or tempt his matchless skill. Thy light is all for Love, and Love alone ; Hatred and Vice shrink from thy gaze abashed, While weazen-faced Cupidity forgets himself, And Avarice is bartered off for Love. Thou wert not present when the Evil One Crept, like a serpent, into Paradise, To lure our parents forth in sin and shame, And heap calamity on all their kin. But thou art leaving us ; farewell, farewell ! Thy author sinks below the western hills, The length'ning shadows chase thee o'er the lea, The frown of darkness clouds the brow of earth. And all again is stern reality. MY DESTINY'S STAR. 1871. ARK and drear is the night, But my heart is as Hght As the ruffles of Aurora's bar ; For my steed knows the road Oft before he has trode, And a light in the window 's my star. Across meadow and field, Now bereft of their yield, I can see it now gleaming afar. For it cleaves the dark night Like a meteor bright, And I feel 't is my destiny's star. The wrecked mariner tost, When his compass is lost And his vessel is straining each spar. MV DESTINY'S STAR. II3 Turns his keen, anxious eye To'ard the cloud-covered sky ; He is looking in vain for his star. But this beacon of mine Ne'er refuses to shine However the elements war ; The fair keeper is there, And her unceasing care Still keeps fed the bright flame of my star. Be 't for better or worse, Prove 't a blessing or curse, To my happiness make or to mar, Yet still on to the end My course never shall bend, I will follow my destiny's star. THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL. IS fate we must part, my sweet Mary, good-by ! Let us hope we shall soon meet again ; 'T is the stern voice of duty commands me to hie Once more to the tent-dotted plain. For my comrades are waiting my coming, to march And join in the battle array ; Where the death-storm is raging and fevered lips parch I must mingle my might in the fray. Then sadly, fondly farewell, dear Mary : Let us hope, only hope for the best ; Should I fall, all I crave is a tear, Mary, For him who has gone to his rest. Thou art weeping, my Mary, forbear, dear, as yet. Though tears are becoming to thee ; And how can I chide thee ? I should not forget Those love-dews are falling for me. 114 THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL. II5 Believe me, dear Mary, should mine be the death Which is borne in the battle's fierce flame, Should the death-shot but leave me one lingering breath, I will shape it to whisper thy name. Then sadly, fondly farewelL, dear Mary ! Let us hope, only hope for the best ; Should I fall, all I crave is a tear, Mary, For him who has gone to his rest. LOVE. LOVE ! thou only joy of life ! Sweet haven of time's troubled sea ! What balm in all this world of strife, Save only thee ? Without thee Hope had naught to give, And Memory naught on which to dwell ; Without thee who would care to live And say farewell ? — Farewell to every kindly glow That warms or cheers the troubled heart ; Farewell to happiness below And peace, depart ! Farewell to all of good, indeed ! With nothing left but cares and pain, And wretchedness and hungry greed And lust of gain. ii6 LOVE. - 117 I would noL longer care to stay, E'en were Potosi's glittering store Heaped at my feet, should Mammon say " Love thou no more ! '' Of all the scenes my life has known But few would I live o'er again, And these are they that Love alone May truly ke7i. KITTY. 1871. |AIR daughter of our kindly host, My fondest wish shall ever be That he on earth who loves thee most Shall dearest be to thee. For beauty dwells upon thy cheek, And looks out from thy beaming eyes ; Sure, he who wins thee still may speak Of earthly Paradise. Bright hopes be thine, and be fulfilled, And happiness from love distilled ; And aught beside thou couldst have willed Be thine thy latest day ; — Then lying sweetly down to rest, Thy crowning hope of all be blest. And Heaven receive thee as a guest, Thine truly, John B. Kaye. 118 IMOGENI A. A SONNET. LOWERS fade and green leaves wither Beauty vanishes away, Friendships die, and Hope leads whither If I follow 't will betray. Only thou art faithful ever. Only thou wilt leave me never, Thou my Sweet ! But death can sever Thy fair presence from my own. Though by failure each endeavor Of my life were only known. Thou wouldst leave me not alone ; And thy dark eyes on me shining. And thy fair arms round me twining Keep me ever from repining. "9 THE IRISH EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL. 'HE ship in the offing is ready for sailing O'er the stormy Atlantic, to bear me away From the home of my fathers ; my own beloved Erin, Farewell ! I shall see thee no more from to-day. Farewell to the little thatched cot I was born in, The cot where my father and mother both died, And I, a poor orphan, was left sad to mourn in, With no one of kin in the wide world beside. Oh, a silent farewell to the graves of my kindred ! Green mounds with the beautiful shamrock grown o'er ; My poor darling mother, how sadly 't would grieve her. Could she know I was leaving Old Erin's green shore ! Farewell, my sweet Nora ! I 'm sure old Kildoree A fairer or truer maid never has known ; Unless fortune deceive me, I' m sure you '11 believe me, I soon will send for you, to make you my own. 1 20 THE IRISH EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL. 121 Oh ! what is the curse that has fallen on Erin ? For her soil is a home for her children no more ; Like exiles they wander the wide world all over, And yet the Green Isle is the land they adore. It is Anarchy's reign that has driven them from her, And made them feel strange in the land of their birth : The tide of misrule has arisen upon her, And sent them adrift o'er the face of the earth. I LOVE THEE STILL. |WEET reminiscence of the past Those by-gone days shall ever be ; For wheresoe'er my lot be cast My thoughts still fondly turn to thee. There, crowned on Memory's airy throne, Serenely sweet and purely fair, Reign till the grave hath claimed its own, And sleeps my day in silence there. I can not, will not say " farewell ! " Though parted, we shall meet again Where all may love, where all may dwell In peace, and Love shall say "Amen." Oh, think not that my heart is cold ! Oh, do not think I shall forget Those pleasant scenes, those days of old ! No, no ! they sweetly haunt me yet. / LOVE THEE STILL. 12 7, If I have ever done thee wrong, Or ever caused thee one regret, Forgive, forgive ! shall be my song, But oh, I cannot say forget ! Forget ! no, no ! my heart rebels. My tongue shall not belie my will ; Within my heart thy image dwells, And, Darling, oh, I love thee still ! I MISS THEM MUCH TO-DAY. (march 27, 1881.) ROM home to-day ! And how my heart does miss The fond companionship that greets me there, — The dear wife's smile, the ever-ready kiss That welcomes " Papa," as around my chair My little maidens gather, and my boy, Or form two facing couples on my knees. And then indulge in childish argument As t* which loves " Papa " most. I am content To hold there is no purer, deeper joy — . No sweeter gifts in all the world than these, — To have my little, loving darlings twine Their arms about my neck, and unto mine Press their soft, witching lips, then archly say, "My Papa !" Oh, I miss them much to-day ! 124 ZENEB-HAMOUM. AUGUST, 1875. ROM Alexandria's domes and spires, Emblazoned in the evening sun, There flashed a hundred lambent fires. But sad and saintly, there was one Who drew no pleasure from the scene, But seemed unconscious, nor surveyed The city, all aglow, between. For constant seemed her gaze to scan The blue Mediterranean. The daughter of the Viceroy, A husband's pride, a brother's joy, Zeneb-Hamoum, for it was she. From Ramleh's palace balustrade, Thus westv/ard looked out on the sea, 125 126 POEMS OF SORROW AND BEREAVEMENT. And watched a fast-receding sail Long leagues beyond her beck or hail, And slowly sinking 'neath the dim Blue outline of the ocean's rim. A form the ideal of grace And beautiful beyond compare, And houri in this world's disguise But half disguised ; for in her face, As warm and clear as Egypt's skies, There seemed transfigured such a fond Sweet vision of the world beyond As most it seemed her sphere was there. Yet in her large and lustrous eyes Was mirrored forth an aching heart ; Still from their depths no tear drops start, But oh ! they looked such sad surprise, Such yearning almost to despair. As though her soul lay prisoned there And longed for freedom to depart From loneliness too deep to bear. ZENEB-HAMOUM. 12/ Her honored husband Ibrahim Had gone to Europe's western shore, And now there followed after him Her much-loved brother, whom before Had never from her been away- Scarce even from her natal day. For they were almost of an age, And in the self-same harem born, And had from life's bright early morn Been close companions at their play ; And often side-by-side had they Their lessons conned from the same page ; Together roamed the groves and dells. And frolicked with their pet gazelles Beneath the olive's peaceful shade ; Together had they oft surveyed The wonders of their native land, And heard the murmurings of Nile, And played upon the sea-washed strand. Thus had it been their wont to while The happy, careless hours away. 128 POEMS OF SORROW AND BEREAVEMENT. But now 't was past ; and as she gazed And marked the white sail disappear That wafted from her that most dear Companion that her life had known ; It seemed all use of life had flown ; And as the sun in glory blazed, Reclining on his crimson throne Low in the west, it seemed as though He was a beacon bright, whose glow Her brother's ship was luring on, Like to a white-winged pelican. To where far, grim Gibraltar waits, With sentries at her rocky gates To challenge all who pass the straits Into the vasty deep beyond. But soon the white sail sank from view, And then the princess bowed her head In silent grief. Her mother drew Near to her side, and, words of cheer Directing to the daughter's ear, Besought her to be comforted ; ZENEB-HAMOUM. 1 29 Then called her fav'rite slaves to sing Their sweetest songs, and bade them bring The soothing harp and tuneful lute, And call with cunning fingering The soul of each vibrating string Forth in such heavenly murmuring Of melting music as might suit Their mistress in her drooping mood. So did they, but 't was all in vain ; The princess looked not up again, But motionless remained and mute, Till died away the latest strain, When to a fair-haired slave she said : " Conduct me, Mira, to my bed, Then leave me, for I fain would rest." Next morning, when the rising sun Glanced o'er the mouths of Nile, away From eastern hills, and, golden-spun. His slanting beams refracting brake On placid Mareotis Lake, The mother bade fair Mira run 130 POEMS OF SORROW AND BEREAVEMENT. Awake the princess ; so she sped To where the beauteous sleeper lay, And put aside the snowy folds Of silken curtains circling hung About the soft and downy bed, And looking, saw (as one beholds In admiration mixed with awe Some strange phenomenon whose law Is mystery unfathomed) The youthful princess lying there, Her white hands clasped upon her breast ; Her sweet face wreathed with glossy hair Was beautiful, but oh ! so pale That Mira doubted if 't were best Disturb the sleeper ; but she flung The lattice back and, stooping, said : " Wake, mistress, wake ! arise and hail The new-born day ! Your mother sends Her dearest greeting and commends Her to your love." But no reply ; And Mira, fearing, wondered why She slept so well ; then touched her cheek ZENEB-HA MO UM. 1 3 1 And found it cold ; then sudden dread Stole o'er her, for full well she knew The sleeper never more would speak. Zeneb-Hamoum, the good, the true, The young, the beautiful, was dead. * -,> -;v * * The palace of Kasr el-Nil Is thronged about by those who wait To join the pageant from the gate ; For in the palace, beauteous still, Bedecked with flowers and lain in state. The body of the princess is ; And chiefs and nobles gathering From various parts of Egypt bring Each one some gift or offering To the Khedive, in their good-will And sympathy for him and his. At length the grand procession moves : And first the plumed hearse with the corse By palfreys drawn ; then, as behooves, The priests came closely following ; 132 POEMS OF SORROW AND BEREAVEMENT. Then numerous societies, Then civic bands of learned and great, And dignitaries of the State In two and two came after these ; Then came there troops of foot and horse, Mustached, erect, and uniformed. All epauletted, plumed, and armed ; In golden trappings after these Came four-and- twenty buffaloes, With lowered heads and shaggy mane Advancing with the gorgeous train. In meek submission carrying Rich store of luscious fruits, and food ; Then close upon this multitude Came stately camels twenty-four. Richly caparisoned and tall. With heads erect, and laden all With nuts, and spices, precious oils, Spikenard and frankincense and myrrh, All in the memory of her Who then was but a clod of clay, To be distributed that day ZENEB-HAMOUM. 1 33 Among the poor, whose cares and toils She oft had sought to cheer away. Arrived at Cairo on the Nile The cortege halts, the journey's done ; And in the grand mosque of Rifai They lay the fair departed one To rest, and gathered thousands weep, And some in stress of feeling deep Sob out aloud, and some do pray, While many, hungering, are fed. For charity was made to smile E'en in the presence of the dead, The beautiful, the saintly dead. IN MOURNING. SEPT., 1881. EAD ! and Columbia dons her weeds ; Dead ! and a nation bows with grief ; Dead ! and a mighty people speeds With tribute to its noble chief. Dead ! at that cabalistic word Fell sable drapings, loop and fold, Sustained by myriad walls, and stirred By breezes warm with autumn's gold. A nation mourns for one who filled The highest place in man's estate, By merit, as her people willed, — One whom the millions voted great. Columbia, be comforted ! From sorrow's dust and sable weeds Time's lustre round thy son shall shed The halo of his noble deeds. 13-1 IN MOURNING. 1 35 For coming men his course shall scan, And mark the steps that made him great, When lost is sorrow at his fate In admiration of the man. Born in a cabin in the wood, He faced the future strong and grand, And struggled upward till he stood The foremost figure in the land. Dead ! what is death to such as he ? — A streamlet leading from a pond Into the all-encircling sea — The nobler, broader life beyond. Like Lincoln, kind and free from blame, By vile assassin hands shot down, The two shall share the martyr's crown— An immortality of fame. EVA. IITHIN that mystic realm she stood, Where girlhood all was just behind ; On either side young womanhood, And, just ahead, that undefined Life which doth picture all things good. And builds large faith on humankind. The sweets from childhood's joyous days Were garnered in her happy heart ; Youth's sunshine like a song of praise Unto her being did impart The gladness of its warm caress. While womanhood's young loveliness Crowned all with her maturer ways. But pain, and death, and sorrow came, And naught is left us but her name, — Her name and hallowed memory Of such a life, so pure and free. So full of love, so clear of blame. 136 EVA. 137 Eva ! the circlet that did clasp Thy finger as a pledge of love Death hath ignored ; and the White Dove Of wedlock hovering above Thee, bearing orange blossoms rare To wreathe about thy shining hair, Saw the grim spectre and took fright, Forgot her errand, and in flight Dropped the sweet blossoms from her grasp, Then fluttered back to where she dwells ; And flowers, brought to crown thy head. Fell on thy coffin-lid instead, Changed to a wreath of immortelles. Instead of fragrant marriage-bell From flowers wrought, in bud and bloom. And swung from arch of evergreen Honeysuckle and eglantine. And tongued for only bride and groom, An iron-lipped orator of gloom — A grim muezzin — tolled thy knell From steeple height, in throbbing swell. To summon mourners to thy tomb. 138 POEMS OF SORROW AND BEREAVEMENT. Eve, Eva, Life ! and art thou gone ? Gone from our midst beyond recall ? Hast thou forever left us all Who loved thee here, with naught but grief To fill the space void by thy death ? Thy fair young life did seem so brief, Thy death so sad to think upon, That sorrow seeking for relief Would fain believe thou art not gone. Oh ! is existence but a breath Exhaled upon the sea of air Which eddies round us everywhere, And when 't is cold, an endless pause ? Or shall that breath, freed from control Throughout the eons of all time, Still own the disembodied soul Which in the flesh did give it force And action, and in many a clime Still bear allegiance to its cause ; In all its ceaseless wandering course. That life's own music and its rhyme, And loyal always to its laws ? EVA. T39 And even now thou mayest stand Upon that mystic, further shore, And beckon us with wave of hand To quit our grief and hasten o'er The stream which flows forevermore 'Twixt this poor life and perfect bliss. And most we hear thy pleading : " Come ! The touch of angel lips — the kiss Of pure and perfect welcome — waits Your entrance at the jasper gates." And then the low and mighty hum Of countless mingling voices sing Approval, and on fancy's wing We speed away before our time To join our voices with the chime„ THE BLACK EXILES' LAMENT MAY, 1879. SUNNY South, our eyes rain tears ! Our hearts are bleeding as we go Out from this only land we know. What though for twice a hundred years Our race was doomed to chains and woe Beneath thy skies ! We blame not thee ! Our fellow-mortals made it so. And called it our poor "destiny," We love thee with a sorrowing love ! Our kindred with their tears and toil Have sanctified, to us, thy soil. T was here they suffered, prayed, and strove ; Here are their countless grassy graves, 140 THE BLACK EXILES' LAMENT. I4] More cherished in our smitten hearts, In that they are the beds where slaves Have laid them down in freedom's sleep. Now that we go, the tear drop starts ': O pitying heaven ! we can but weep ! Our chains were stricken to the ground, Our shackles were unlocked, and we Stepped forth rejoicing, all unbound ; The law proclaimed our liberty. We greeted with extended hand Our masters of the other day ; We only sought to learn the way To do our new-born duties well. We pledged our toil to make this land To smile and blossom as the rose. We thought in freedom here to dwell, — To live in friendship and repose : But no ; they would not have it thus ! Our one-time masters, now our foes, Concede not freedom's rights to us ; They spurn us with a cruel hate. 142 POEMS OF SORROW AND BEREAVEMENT. Mock at our wrongs, and raise their hand Against us in this summer land. Oh, this is too unkind a fate ! Fear exiles us ! We rise and flee, O sunny South, away from thee ! Our fathers came not here from choice ! Torn by the arbitrary hand Of force from kin and fatherland, And doomed to servitude ; no voice Consulted them ; no ray of light Pierced the impenetrable night Of bondage which enclosed them round. They and their seed have tilled this ground As they were bid, in pain and tears. After the flight of all these years Of darkness, and they called us ' free," We thought our toil had earned us place, And that our brothers of the race We long had served at last would be Content to let us humbly share, All undisturbed, the liberty THE BLACK EXILES' LAMENT, 1 43 Born to us of a long despair, O sunny South, and bide witn thee ! 'T is persecution spurs us on To this our westward pilgrimage ; Hope for us here seems dead and gone, And with our only heritage — Our grief, and wrongs, and poverty — We rise, O sunny South, and flee From deep injustice, not from thee ! ^^% CET^TENNTAZ. ^i^Cfi-. JULY 4. 1776. 1876. 0-DAY fair freedom's arch perfects a span, The grandest ever granted unto man ; The most substantial since the world began, The pride of every true American. A hundred years ago its curve ascended ! To-day 't is finished, and the first arch bended Of a grand bridge we hope to see extended Till all wrong is righted, and all error mended. To-day it lifts up for a second bow, More glorious ev'n in peace's triumphal glow 144 THE CENTENNIAL ARCH. I45 Than that which 'gan a hundred years ago, And shook the rugged tnrones of despots so. A century since old independence Bell With iron tongue proclaimed the joyful news, With startling clangor and vibrating knell, For anarchy had made the country choose. And it had chosen ; and the stentor voice Of that old throbbing bell made known the choice. Aye, truly ! and the people did rejoice, — Although they knew the bloody scourge of war, With poisoned fangs, on desolation's car Must run a rabid amuck through the land, Applying torch and wielding deadly brand ; For Freedom was their watchword, and afar Through smoke of strife they saw Columbia's star Arise, slow soaring through infinity. And flashing forth the light of liberty. Till Peace came, ushered in by Victory. ******* Benignant Peace ! sweet tranquil Peace ! All hail the day when war shall cease 146 POEMS OF PATRIOTISM, And thou shalt reign alone ! God speed the time when Reason's word Shall wholly supersede the sword And armies be unknown ! A century *s past ; dissensions have been curbed, And Wrong has yielded ; Might has been with Right, Throughout the world has Slavery been disturbed. And from Columbia's shore has taken flight Forevermore. Fair Liberty *s enthroned 'Mid countless hosts, in joyful triumph now ! Not like the Christ through dastard fear disowned, Nor like the martyred Stephen, scorned and stoned By perjured bigots whom he still condoned ; But with immortal laurel round her brow, And upright seated, while before her bow The nations of the earth in reverence ; And that old shattered, bell-shaped relic, whence Her voice rang forth a hundred years ago, Is silent now ; indeed it seemed as though. THE CENTENNIAL ARCH. 1 47 At that grand time its lip-like metal rim Gave such loud tones to liberty's sweet hymn It strained its voice ; and afterward a flaw Slowly developed which near made it mute. And now 't is tabled a dumb pensioner — A relic which the people all salute With signs of recognition and respect. Well may imagination recollect — Hark ! On the whispering winds that deftly stir The forest leaves, even now we may detect Its echoes rumbling o'er a hundred years. And hark again ! — the wild tumultuous cheers Which then went up from that old Quaker town Back from a century come rolling down Like the vibrations of a monster drum ; We hear them, feel them, almost see them come. And the old starry flag, then first unfurled O'er the new nation in the same staid town, To-day floats over the assembled world Who come to share Columbia's renown In view of where her liberty had birth. 148 POEMS OF PATRIOTISM. There gathered from the nations of the earth, True cosmopolitans, strange peoples meet In peace and friendship, harboring good-will. Men of the Orient in kindness greet Their Western welcomers. Kf rater thrill Throbs fellow-feeling at the clasp of hands 'Twixt those whose sires were foes at Bunker Hill. • The Frenchman feels at home ! — we '11 not forget The fighting friendship of his La Fayette. Russe bows to Turk, and Turk salaams to Greek ; Men men salute from many distant lands. And nod the meaning which they cannot speak Intel'gibly to unaccustomed ears. The tawny native of the Eastern Ind. Meets his red namesake of the Western wild, And sees his wigwam on the cultured sod. Near where proud architectural Science rears Her splendid temples towering in the air ; And the poor savage notes the marvels there Where once, all undisturbed, his fathers trod. And Nature in her simple beauty smiled. THE CENTENNIAL ARCH. 1 49 Where fluttered but the scalp-lock oriflamb, Ten thousand flags now flutter in the wind ; And chief, — the kerchief of our Uncle Sam ; The same with which he wiped his throbbing brow At Trenton near a hundred years ago, (He got warm bagging Hessians there, you know,) Save that he 's got more stag's upon it now. Our Uncle loves the stars, and takes delight In adding new ones to the constellation Which he has cornered on his bright bandanna. May each one added make the rest more bright, Till altogether they light up the nation Till fraud shall find no nook wherein to hide, And bribery no shadows where to 'bide, Wherever floats the grand, old starry banner ! THE NATION'S REBUKE. At the Democratic National Convention held in Baltimore, August, 1872, at which Horace Greeley received the nomination for Presi- dent, — indorsing the action of the Cincinnati Convention, — much dis- satisfaction was expressed by a certain class of the Democracy, and a bolt was dt once inaugurated. In this side issue it was decided to hold another convention at Louisville, Kentucky. A Mr. Jackson, of Massachusetts, then arose and recommended that they introduce several new "planks" into the Louisville platform, among which were the following : " Resolved, That the pension laws be so amended as to include the soldiers of the late Southern Confederacy. " Resolved, That the National Flag be so changed as to be accept- able to all sections of our country.'' 1872. rraiHAT ! change the Flag ? the Stars and Stripes That floated o'er our freedom's birth, And placed us 'mong the Powers of Earth One of the mightiest States that be ? 150 THE NATION'S REBUKE. 151 No ! curse the thought ! and curst be he Who would obscure a single star, Or introduce a foreign " bar " Into the flag that made us free ! Thousands have spent their latest breath And struggled manfully with Death, To keep unsoiled the Nation's trust ! To let it tarnish in the dust Were treason in the first degree. O, ye who fell at Bunker Hill ! And_y