Class Book. r^S3 67/- CopyiiglitTSl^,. COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. See page 46 Ballads of The Western Mines and Others BY ANTHONY FITCH Cochrane Publishing Company Tribune Building- New York 1910 Copyright, 1910, by Cochrane Publishing Co. ©CIA261319 "^ To the Four Miners and their Two Helpers, this Book is Dedicated. here's to the miner, The miner for me ! Be he self-made manager, Or with his degree, He's the first in the land. With his silver and gold. Iron, copper and lead, Young, middle or old. He gives to the world The best that there is; He 's the source of the progress — Broadness is his. For through him the markets Have their rise and their fall. The future is his — He's the cream of them all. So here's to the miner, Be he Saxon or Celt, He's the man that does things And gets the result. THE FIND OF A TENDERFOOT What is it makes the Tenderfoot a power in the West? What is it makes the Westerner aghast and fearful lest His standards low be brought to light, his wiliness undone ? Where honesty comes running in the race is always won, A Tenderfoot came in and viewed this grassless land one day, And saw a godless heap of things — a mining camp, they say. One mine for years had yielded naught but disappoint- ment keen; They'd searched for ore and dug for ore but still it lay unseen; But the Tenderfoot came afar into this Western land, Mid sage-brush and the wild winds and the mountains took his stand. And he flung old ways to right and left, and made the dead things leap, And thousands then came tumbling out of ore, from its hidden deep. He'd found it, yes he had found it, from those who ne'er could find, And it became the chief of all of any of its kind. And he loved it as it grew, and thought of those it ought to give Returns for faith, as strong as the desire we have to live. And the mystery of the mountain standing there through timeless age Has been the Father of it all written on Earth's first page ; And sentinel through time he's stood to guard his secret fast. Until the coming of the one he's waited for at last. CONTENTS Page Tommy Knockers 15 Man Has a Soul of Beauty Yearning 16 Side Hill Lancers 17 The South Swansea Claim 19 Only a Beggar 22 Life 23 A Dream 24 A Soul's Lament 25 Truth 26 Music 27 Jeanne D 'Arc 31 The World is Millions of Worlds 33 Santa Maria Novella 34 St. Cecelia 36 The Dedication of a Cathedral 38 Supremacy 40 The Wait of the West 42 The Joy of Life 45 I Was Not of Their Kind 46 The Atlantic Isle ' 47 The Birth of the Rose 48 Imperfection 50 Regret 52 Let No Man Put Asunder 54 The Dream of The Prospector 56 A Mood 59 The Man Who Wants It All 60 Illusions 62 Working His Way 64 The Call of the West 67 Faith and Hope 68 Ballads of Western Mines and Others TOMMY KNOCKERS. 'Av you 'eard of the Tommy Knockers In the deep dark mines of the West, Which the Cornish miners 'ear? An' 'tis no laughin' jest. For I am a Cornish miner. An' I'll tell you of it today. The knock-knock-knock of a tiny pick As we work in the rocks an' clay. We go down in the skips with our huckets, With 'earts which nothing fazes, Each with a candle to light the way Through the tunnels, winzes an' raises. And the stale air smells of powder, An' the mine is full of sound, But 'tis only the noise of the Tommy Knockers Which make our 'earts rebound. Pick, pick, pick. 'As some one be'ind us knocked, Pick, pick, pick — No. *tis souls of dead miners locked. For they're locked in the earthen wall. Those that found death down there, And 'tis the knock-knock-knock of their pick W'ich makes on end stand our 'air. 15 BALLADS OF WESTERN An* we leave the 'aunted place, For we won't work w'ere they be, An' we'erever we 'ear them knockin' We sure will always flee. ' For it means w'o ever 'ears it Will be the next in line, For the pick-pick of the Tommy Knockers Is the last an' awful sign. MAN HAS A SOUL OF BEAUTY YEARNING. Man has a soul of beauty yearning, That which longs for the best, But does that soul in its earnest striving Do what is right in the quest? As long as the mountains have soared from the valleys, As long as the stars have shone, The most exquisite that Nature has given Have woe and discord sown. Is it that the desire is so strong in man That he tramples the means in the soil, That he sees naught but the shining end Until he has gained his spoil? 'Tis the struggle of the immortal self, With its deadly mortal foe; Oh, the blindness of the creature, And the trailing path of woe! 16 MINES AND OTHERS SIDE-HILL LANCERS. Do you know a side- 'ill lancer? 'Tis between a beast and a bird, Lives on the side of mountains in the West, With two legs short and two legs long. 'E only can do any wrong To those w'o live on 'ill sides in the West, An' it 'appens to the miners in the countree to the West, O'er the mountains w'en 'er shadows 'gin to grow, W'en the day is most adone. And 'e's out for all 'is fun, Then it 'appens in this countree to the West. 'E wonders w'ere 'e's goin' as 'e climbs into the 'ill An' stumbles over sagebrush an' the 'oles, But 'e's off 'gin on 'is spree — r 'Appens once a day in three — Out in this bloomin' countree to the West. Oh, w'at fun the lancers 'av w'en they see 'im comin' up, For they know they got 'im now agoin' fast. 'E sees thim comin' at 'im 'ard. 'E cries, ' ' Oh, save me, save me, pard. ' ' But die echoes in this countree to the West. 17 BALLADS OF WESTERN An 'e sees this side 'ill lancer with 'is two short legs up 'ill, With two long ones on the down side runnin' fast, An' round the 'ill 'e reels, With the lancer at 'is 'eels, In this fragrant sagebrush countree to the West. If you listen w'en the wind blows on you just at close of day You can 'ear the lancer goin' round and round, Chasin' the miner on 'is spree, For only 'e can see, This side 'ill lancer in this countree West. 'E cannot catch 'im on the plain if 'e'd only run down quick, But round and round and round and round 'e goes. So don't go on the 'ill In the evenin' at the still. For sure 'e'll get you in this countree West. 18 MINES AND OTHERS THE SOUTH SWANSEA CLAIM. They talks of the Swansea claim, Of the luck of the Silver camp, Way back in the early 'eighties Of the candle and kerosene lamp. They talks of Little Billie With 'is 'appy-go-lucky way. Who wanted to vote with the rest An' 'av 'is political say. Unless 'e owned a claim 'E couldn't vote, 'e found, So 'e started out one morn To stake an' own some ground. An' 'e walked out in the sagebrush, Over the sandy waste, With prairie-dogs yelpin' at 'im, Pallin' in 'oles in 'aste. And the sky looked blue above 'im. An' the coyotes smiled as 'e passed, 'Til 'e saw two stakes a-standin' Before 'is eyes at last. They were the end stakes of a claim. So Billy 'e says to 'imself I'll use them for end stakes, too, At last I'm off the shelf. 19 BALLADS OF WESTERN So from there 'e paced 'is claim, Then found some old Grease-wood To stake the other end — . *E'd made it as well as 'e could. A Western year passed by, With its riots an' killin' down At the Bucket-of-Blood, the saloon Of the only repute in town. And oh, the fun they 'ad, Drinkin' down their whisky an' rum, An' shootin' up an' down Puttin' everything on the bum. So the Western year passed by, An' to keep 'is little claim Little Billy 'ad to work it And 'e gave it South Swansea for name. An' he piled up high the dirt, An' sang in 'is merry way, And the riders passin' by Joshed 'im day by day. An' he sang of the mountain birds, An' 'e sang of 'is pretty gal, Waitin' 'til 'e made 'is fortune As 'e tossed up the rocfe m* the shale. 20 MINES AND OTHERS The assessment work was done, W 'ich the law asks each year on the land, An' another went sailin' onward To join the waitin* band. Into the past it 'ad dropped, An' again to the sandy plain Little Bill went a-muckin' To the old-time sunny refrain. Deeper an' deeper 'e dug, 'Til big drops dripped from 'is brow, Wen " 'oly gee, I believe It's the stuff! won't it make a row?" Now if Billie 'ad been wise 'Ef'd bought up the neighborin' claim. But Little Bill 'ad been joshed too much, So to camp 'e clamerin' came. An' the town boys blew up the town. There never was another night, Next mornin' no whisky left — Was it ever in such a plight ? An' tons came tumbling out. An' 'e worked it to the core. With silver an' gold an' lead Of the 'ighest valued ore. An' now 'e's a millionaire, Is Billy the 'appy-go-luck, An' 'is mine's the richest strike In Silver that's ever been struck. 21 BAILAM OP WmTPM ONLY A BEGGAR. Only a beggar on the street With aching heart and tired feet, But the world passes the outstretched hand; Unnoticed from dawn to eve he'll stand. Only a beggar — who is he? A man or a woman we scorn to see, Holding our breath and skirts as we pass — Without heart, without soul, without thought, alas. Only a beggar, he is born To a life without pleasure hope, forlorn. To a hovel, a floor, a bundle of rags, From his birth to his grave his wretched life drags. Some lives flow on 'midst trees and flowers. With now and then some April showers, When April showers come heavily down Then think of those they almost drown. The weary, weary toil of life. The dreary, dreary days of strife, Oh, help them, careless passer-by — 'Tis but a day before you die. He's only a beggar on the street — He's only a beggar with tired feet, But they have souls and lives to live — 'Tis but a mite you have to give. 22 MINEB AND OTHEBS LIFE. 'Tis a-pushin' an' a-crushin', An' a-leapin' an' a-rushin', An' aside the others brushin', To be first in the mad race ; An' oh, the beatin' gall of him, An' oh, the awful fall of thim Who cannot with their life an' vim Keep up the maddened pace. 'Tis a-sprintin' an' a-tumblin'. An' a-scramblin' an' a-stumblin'. An' like a distant rumblin' When the pistol shot is fired. An oh, the breathless run of him An' the weary faintin' time of thim Who 're coming from the distance dim Stickin' deeply mired. 'Tis a-shovin and a-buckin', An' a-divin' an' a-duckin', An' a mighty lot of luck-in Whoever gets the ball ; An' number one is name of him Who takes the ball away from thim An' rushes down the field with vim An' wins without a fall. 23 BALLADS OF WESTERN Tis a-rendin' an* a-tearin', An' a-burnin an' a-darin', For no one gets a share-in With the one who wins the race. An oh, the name of him who's it, With everyone he makes a hit; But just for once you see him quit, Then let him find his place. A DREAM. As flowers in spring feel the new sweet warmth, as the birds know when summer is nigh. As the spirit feels when something kindred thro' the universe goes by, So came the soul of her who seemed, The one of whom I 'd always dreamed. The perfume from the living rose, the sweetened air just after rain, The laughing music of the wind bringing sweet thoughts with its refrain. So lingered the soul of her who seemed The one of whom I'd always dreamed. A sunset fading in the West, a comet flashing through the night, A melody heard in the street, a noble thought now gone in flight. So went the soul of her who seemed, The one of whom I'd always dreamed. 24 MINES AND OTHERS A SOUL'S LAMENT. What is it that doth make thee groan, lone soul, What wave of hopeless fury seems to roll And crush thee 'neath a weight of icy chill? When hope has fled, what more? what hill To climb and look into the distant view Where unknown lieth in a radiant hue; But all around the hills are steep and high With rocks outcropping to the very sky ; The future seems an endless glacier field, Monotonous, slow-creeping, tightly sealed. Why shiver thou and feel so stony cold, And like the mountains bare seem worn and old? Art thou like one who boundless centuries Sat chained, whose sight knew naught but bounding seas And barren shores and lone and empty waste, Without one voice to break the stillness, faced Despair and sorrow? But there came a day. Canst dream, sad soul, there'll ever be a ray Of gladdened light poured on thy blankened page, Which shrinketh up as 'twere with hoary age? Thou starest full at thy bleak solitude, Naught knowing where to turn for strength 'ning food, Yet, lonely being, there's a place enjoyed. Soar thou thy spirit out into the void, There find grieved soul Infinitude^ — who knows? — And lifts thee gently from thy endless throes, 25 BALLADS OF WESTERN So keep thou there and let thou not 'gain fall Headlong once more, and be an earthly thrall. Oh, strength sublime! Stand firm, thou forlorn mind. Hope lost on earth ? Tis never thou wilt find ; If shrinking, cheerless, cold, thou It seek elsewhere, Oh, souls of earth, what weakness is thy share. TRUTH. To live where distance melts into a misty grey. To feel deep silence stalking round in endless sway, To see motionless mountain peaks of ghostly white, Then Truth speaks out from darkness into light. Changeless is Truth ; of Immortality 'twas born, But oft by that which changes name is daily worn, Mortals run to and fro with knowledge torches high Seeking that which all their energy does defy ; Truth with her wondrous light flees to the simple mind, And walks on with the lowly, leaving might behind; O'er sweeping earth she flings her torches here and there. Lighting the dying's way with strength of hope and prayer ; As riding on the clouds of morn and winds of night She sees the lost ones seek their way on _ mountain height. But search the valley of beauty, not cold hill peak, Go with the open mind in God's own country seek. She will take you in blindness and light your stumbling way, O Truth, who is changeless, immutable, give day. 26 MlNm AND OTEEBS MUSIC. In dreamy valleys, on the hills o'erclad. With luscious vine and song and merriment, They lived or rather whiled their time away. With dance, as if their one abode for aye. They had a soul, these folk, but knew it not ; A soul of music, poetry and all The finer higher things which raiseth man From this stained sphere of ours; they danced, they sang, In music's mystic moods e'en dwelt forever. Oh, age remote, descend as in a dream. Hasten, Saliope, thou sweet-voiced muse. And hold me by thy long lost song entranced; Let weep with thee, aild dream and laugh, and soar Far from this earth aloft to highest heav'n; And when thou'rt We^ry and thy voice is hushed. Come, Clio, with dramatic sway of war Song superb, on crashing through the thunder Swift passing misty hitherworlds in lightning ; While Terpsichore, thou of wildest dance, O'er whirl me through the unknown sphere, through space, Aye on and on, 'til all the fiery soul Is burned and scorched, and will yet rest awhile To gain its madness o'er again. Soft sing To me, Erato, the low air of love. And wile the soul into an ecstasy Of longing, to a quivering spirit tense. 27 BALLADS OF WESTERN MINES AND OTHERS There, where the great beyond seems endless, with Sublime mystery of beauty, ever Raising high the drooping spirit mortal To an immortal glance, a feeling deep As the ocean, which moans and moans and tells The end, the dissolution of all things, Now join our hands and dance. Music, which you On sent into the void, return with sweet, And chastened sound, and whirl round us until Apollo foregoes his lyre in fierce joy To play with harmony ; and beings all Dissolve in that celestial melody And ever float, perfection infinite, ' As one into Eternal Mystery. 28 BALLADS OF WESTERN MINES AND OTHERS JEANNE D'ARC. Brave Maid of Orleans, what battle din and clashings bellow down through all the years ; A miracle wrought through the natural course, long sought by many supplicating tears, When France, no longer France, merely a province nigh to fall, oppressed by leaden fears. Is saved by a child, in her garden a call through the country air, and the Archangel Michael appears. Go, save thy country, Jeanne d'Arc; what meant those words? what terror brought they to her simple heart ! Months passed by, soon courage grew; her mission learned, she was bidden now to start. Discouragement was great ... th^y laughed ... a maid to rescue France, a deliverer thou art? But her voices urged her onward, and like many a for- lorn spirit she dwelt a soul apart. When lo, the great scene changes, clash of steel and in the midst of sword and souls on fire. Whirled white banner, white horse with daring rider in white-armored male attire, With face so stern and pure, her soldiers hushed their foul tongues, and crushed each bad desire. Her eyes alight with strength of victory while hopes of France soared higher, ever higher. 31 BALLADS OF WESTERN Triumphal day, the young king crowned 'mid acclama- tions loud, while stood the simple Maid, Before the great strong throng, echoing loud their praise on praise as adoring homage paid. E'en to all leaders comes the great day, dreamed and longed and worked for, no matter if years delayed, But earthly glory was naught to Jeanne . . . 'Twas not her power, but heavenly voices obeyed. All things on earth a zenith reach, to some a glory spreading o'er the sphere, To those the ebb oft carries bitter darkness to the soul, an end of utter drear. From afar the warrior maid saw the cloud down low'r- ing, but duty knew no fear. The end came on . . . her orders disobeyed . . . sur- rounded, taken with a coarsened jeer. Courage, courage. Jeanne, the crown awaits thee where there is no pain . . . thy work is o'er. Her face is white, shining with strength, with faith, with hope, her eyes on One who'd gone before. A great sob rises from the breathless crowd . . . but none can aid . . . around the great flames roar ; 'Tis done — caressing winds onsweep with the fleeing soul, hitherward to the unknown shore. 32 MINES AND OTHERS THE WORLD IS MILLIONS OF WORLDS. The world is millions of worlds in one, Each soul in the depths of his own ; One never knows what the other thinks, From intimate touch the Immortal shrinks, Living itself alone. In a dream I see the spirits pass With sorrows and joys and tears, But he with the tear on his soul as he goes Laughs with the world, and nobody knows, Knows nor cares nor hears. Each sees the sunset's silver lake With islands of mystic clouds. But they stand and watch as it fades away Without one word, but who can say What heights it all enshrouds? Living itself alone, each soul, Living in the world of thought, Where things all pass as wondrous dreams. Where space in loveliness full teems With fancies finely wrought. It is a priceless thing, is soul. No matter seeming careless and light, But it is so serious and shy That we live alone, and alone we die. Countless beauties lie buried in night. 33 BALLADS OF WESTERN SANTA MARIA NOVELLA. Long ages past those walls rang with the chants of men. Who realize that life is but a day, a night, and then An endless happiness for those who've done their share, Whether in the world or in the monastery bare. As some in worldly pursuits can attain their end, So others give up all, in prayer and good works spend Each hour, each day in labor and thankless exhortation. While the fool and frivolous scoff at them in an idiot oration. In fair Firenza there are cloisters still and lone. Go there, and through fancies like down of thistles blown. Rise dreamy thoughts of past, while all the chant again Sinks and rises, falls and swells in solemn low refrain. Comes the sound of sandaled feet from every door. Jingling beads and quiet laughter as of yore, Happy, happy faces, living strong good hours. Tilling field and pasture 'mid the sunshine and the showers. Through the Gothic arches flowers of every hue In uncut grass look upward to the hazy blue. While passing their evening hour round the mossened well, The Friars sit, until the call of the ancient tower bell. 34 MINES AND 0THEB8 Tis here that wondrous Giotto spent many and many an hour,, Giving to the walls their frescoes, full of deep spiritual power. Gave to all the faces the lost look of the Divine, While from their faded colors beauties unpassed still shine. * So time does go, and all the silence speaking there Tells us that each thing departs sometime, somewhere, That all the centuries roll swiftly on and on, And makes our striving selves but seem so little, worn and wan. The ghosts of the past preach a sermon, a sermon writ- ten in stone. The stones of those Gothic arches and walls so faded and lone. They tell of the crumbling of earth hopes, of another more beautiful sphere, A place of immortal structure sublime, where thou- sands pass every year. 35 BALLADS OF WESTERN ST. CECELIA. He dreamed he saw her sleeping, hidden far from light of day, Shadowed close by praying angels, in a narrow passage way, Through a haze of faintest music a voice through the night was borne, You will find her in the catacombs, in the greyness of the morn. They searched, and in an earthen wall a flickering taper lit, A cream-white marble sarcophagus with an inscription writ, That here lay the Saint Cecelia, who was martyred years agone. And they bore it gently upward into the reddening dawn. Reverently they loosed one slab and poured in the awakening day. Behold, as if but gone asleep, she there before them lay, A snow-white mantle over her, the face hidden from their gaze, The same cuts upon her slender neck as during those three last days. 36 MINES AND OTHERS It seemed as if the body, not unlike a dreaming flower, God had kept in all perfection to show His wondrous power, And that He wished some of His chosen souls to see A glimpse into the distant shore of immortality. Now in the Eternal City, in a basilica of ancient site, Built over her marble palace, which was but lately brought to light, Lies 'neath the altar, 'mid flickering lamps burning round, A breathing marble likeness of the saint as she was' found. And the sanctuary stillness, with the figure lying there, Fills all the heart with sweetness and the fullness of a prayer. During Mass intoned above her, as the light streams in each day, Her spirit seems among them as the silent people pray. While round the marble columns and in shadows here and there, 'Mid frescoed roof and walls from which white won- drous figures stare, Floats the music of her voice o'er the hallowed atmos- phere, "Where the saint is venerated day by day through every year. 37 BALLADS OF WESTERN THE DEDICATION OF A CATHEDRAL When beauty is bestowed it is but right In turn to give, although it is not quite As wondrous ; a temple was raised to God, Through tireless work it grew up from the sod. And stood in loveliness a massive thing Of stone and towers, gargoyles on the wing. Full generosity poured out its store. Beauteous colored windows flooded o'er The large expansa within. The great day eame^ — ■ 'Twas dedicated to the One whose name Is quite forgotten in this restless day Of self, to whom some all their homage pay. Came worshipers and those who worship not, No matter what their station or their lot. At white altar the solemn Mystery Of Mass was intoned and read by the Good Bishop of broadcast and well-earned fame ; Round him assisted men of world-known name. There sat one of intellectual mien Esthetic face, whom many had ne 'er seen ; One of God 's representatives on earth ; A man of rounded gifts and untold worth. Another stood awhile before the throng And gave in finished oratory strong A sermon such as some had never heard. And through it all they barely breathed or stirred ; Each felt uplifted in his very soul. Oh, were there more whom God's work could extol! 38 MINES AND OTHERS The Mass went on, the music ne'er could be More beautiful; one soul whom none could see Must hovered round the organ as it rolled Its praise above; while each mind did enfold Religion in its spirit, and have brought Away with him a deeper, sterner thought. The angels must have triumphed on that day- A temple raised where many more can pray. So little in return it is to give To One who gives the world and life to live. 39 BALLADS OF WESTERN SUPREMACY. Tis fight, fight, fight, Till all the glory is won, And fight, fight, fight. From the rise to the set of the sun. In city, country and town, From the highest to the farthest down, From sea to sea it will ever be. The soul-racking race for supremacy. In the wild the strongest live And tear the others to shreds. And the smaller the fish in the ocean The greater and fiercer its dreads. While the slaughter goes ever on From eve to greying dawn, For none can flee this propensity. The eternal strife for supremacy. The children in their home And the lover for his right Charge with their battle cry Of fight, fight, fight. Oh, 'tis fight, fight, fight 'Til they stagger out of sight. As two in thr0e fall dead on the lea In the tearing rush for supremacy In business, commerce or gain Of any sort or kind, 'Tis the weaker who is felled By the energetic mind. 40 MINES AND OTHERS And oh, the ways they plan To down the other man, The wrecks you see of humanity Who work for the god supremacy. To some it brings dishonor, To others a richly horde, To some disease of body. While many to death are bored. And as the ages go The fiercer the struggles grow, What misery they causelessly Strew on the way of supremacy! 'Tisn't always an honest fight, But is filled with standards low, And seems the more dishonest The more the world lets go. So 'tis fight, fight, fight, To crush with all their might, But who is he living happily Ben£rath the flag of supremacy. Tis the royal road to progress — Give discovery its name, And invention with its wonders^- 'Tis the path where travels fame. 'Tjs the new-idea man Working out a better plan To honorably fight strong and tree To gain the good in supremacy; 41 BALLADS OF WESTERN THE WAIT OF THE WEST. For the West is West, with, its thousands of waiting women and men, Waiting in the burning desert, waiting in the hill- bound glen, Waiting on the snowy mountain, waiting on the smiling plain, Waiting in the pitiless city, waiting the hope of gain. 42 MINES AND OTHERS They will wait till the day of judgment for their mine of gold to come; 'Tis the pitiless trick of fortune that deals but blanks to some ; They are toiling and watching and waiting till the reaper gathers them in, As it does not come to all this game of chance to win. Far over the Oquirrh mountains, in a valley of sage- brush and sands, With a lake out into the distance a wooden shanty stands, And it stands in the scorching light of the Western burning sun, With never a shade tree to hide it from the stars in their evening fun. And in this tiny shanty two people had lived for years. Waiting the call of fortune, waiting through smiles and tears, And they look into the future, the future of joy and hope, As they think of the ore in the earth and the shining glittering stope. Their claims lie all around them, with tunnel and hole and pit, But they say the ore lies deeper, down at a greater dip. And they wait with hope in their eyes and on their lips, '^Who'll buy?'' Which whispers through their hearts in a long and stifled cry, 43 BALLADS OF WESTERN And they wait for the men of wealth who venture into the West, To buy up all that 's rotten and some of the very best. And they dream of the glittering lodes at the deadening calm of night, And they dream of it all the day during the deathly light, And I wonder how long they will dream, this old couple out on the hill. For they have waited for years, and they are waiting still. 44 MINES AND 0THEB8 THE JOY OF LIFE. Whirling, dancing, swaying, leaping far in spray and mist, Laughing gayly, singing madly as by the sunlight kissed, The world looked on and smiled as the waterfall plunged and sang. And its life entered the seething throng, into it throbbed and rang. A nightingale poured out its notes, and the wood in the maddened wild Shivered in mighty ecstasy, with the sportiveness of a child. Beneath a great pine tree in the deepest sheltering shade A pool lay there, so quietly that none around it strayed ; It grazed in silent happiness at the noisy, joyous earth, And drew into its hidden depths beauty and love and mirth. It lived a life all its own, and the world as it gayly passed Never knew of the stores of richness it had in its water soul, deep and vast ; It drank in the blue, blue sky, the secrets of the wood it heard. It buried down deep the most beautiful songs of the heavenly forest bird. There are lives which give their all, to fill the world with light; There are lives which drink in the best and live them out of sight. To each a mission is given if one wishes to seek and find- To the first a joy in the being, to the second a joy in the mind. ^c 45 BALLADS OF WESTERN I WAS NOT OF THEIR KIND. Where the street winds into the mountain from one Western mining camp, You can hear through the fogs of the years a steady, ghostly tramp, The tramp of a morbid throng, the tramp of the man with death, The death that once came in the early days of which no one speaks above breath. They won't remember it now, but the gallows stands there still, To tell the tale of the hanging out on this desert hill ; These softened men now shudder to think, in their wild youth. They could have had once stony hearts with wills un- trained, uncouth. Tis not that they have changed much, but the law has stepped in the land And crushed them into meekness, this once unruly band. And on a stormy night the gallows shudders and creaks, And across the wind-swept mountains of cloudy sha- dows and streaks A voice through the dark cries for breath, and the gal- lows in the wierd light Seems to hold a man outswinging to and fro into the night. And you can see the morbid standing there as long ago, When he was strung up by a crowd always waiting for death and woe, 46 MINES AND OTHERS And the same voice calls for mercy, mercy from deadly foes, Is life so little heeding, a thing that comes and goes ? ''There was no room for me — I was not of their kind. And they have pushed me out!" "Was conscience e'er so blind ? And the dreary weary voice is lost in a piercing moan, And the soul that once had life has again in silence flown. ' ' I was never of their kind ! ' ' Was that his only crime ? The deadliest of the deadliest in that Western lawless time. THE ATLANTIC ISLE. Great land, what secrets lie within thy breast, Oh, tell to me what happened in the past, When waters on this earth were dried up fast. Ah, then a horde of men came from the West, Over a northern sea they marched in quest Of lands to rule, and made a kingdom vast ; One hundred centuries have since then passed, And still their ruins lie in silent rest. The gods were born within this land of ours, Great men adored and placed up in the sky. They sent across the seas their laws, and then They gave to all the earth their wondrous pow'rs But greater hordes came down, and now doth lie By mystery and tribes of red-skinned men. 47 BALLADS OF WESTERN THE BIRTH OF THE ROSE. A FANTASY. Love, love, love, through a forest of pines sang the wind. Par back into the primitive, soon after the first had sinned, And it hushed its happy melody as, passing on its way. It saw a tiny earth-child dying where it lay. On the warm spring earth, 'mid flowers and all the moss and green. And picture clouds passing by in a blue sky all serene, Over her little one weeping the stricken mother bent, And listened to the wondrous dream that from heaven to earth was sent. "An angel came, oh, mother, and took me up and through A garden of flowers so lovely of just the sunset's hue, And the winds were all of music and the air was soft and still, Just like the evening when the sun sinks down behind the hill. And when he brought me back to earth he said he'd come again. Oh, little mother, weep not, for he'll take you with me then!" Sighing, sighing, sighing, through all the forest a moan, As if in answer to that heart so chilled and cold as stone. 48 MINES AND OTHERS " 'Tis all I have — do not take her, Great Power beyond this earth! Oh, why didst thou create this love long before her birth!" And the great trees shivered, and the two white faces there, Looked upward, praying, hoping an answer to their prayer. ' ' Oh, mother, take my hand, and hold me close, for, see, He cannot leave you when at last he comes to carry me," A soft haze filled the air, a light spread far and wide. And music floated all around from hill to mountain side. ''He comes," she whispered gaily, "Oh, mother, hold me tight!" And lo the spirit came, and oh the wondrous sight, As up and on they sped, roses fell to earth, And thus through Mother-Love the fairest flower had birth. 49 BALLADS OF WESTERN IMPERFECTION. Dark had fallen, the clear day In silent breathless dreaming lay Asleep; and all the sky Looked vast and high; 'Twas night. Suddenly from out the black Came trembling guitar notes far back, A prelude soft and low As winds that blow So lightly. Like summer air with all its sound Of falling water, birds around, With quivering notes a voice — Rejoice, rejoice — Went floating. It filled the space, it filled the soul. It crept to the stars and on did roll Forever, but brought to earth By voice and dearth Was I. Down in a courtyard very near. Shrill voices shrieked upon my ear So loudly, it drowned the song. For which I long Each day. 50 MINES AND OTHERS I smelled a rose and thought it fair So full of sweetness, like summer air Soft scented, but 'neath the leaf An insect, the thief Of flowers. A woman passed with face divine, "With every feature sculptured fine. Like marble. No soul was there, So lovely and fair — *Twas sad. A perfect woman, flower and night They seemed ; on each a withering blight Was found ; 'tis ever so — All is below Imperfect. 51 BALLADS OF WESTERN REGEET. His path is strewn with roses, His life is a span without care, It flows between banks of pleasure, He has more than the world's just share. So say the week and unheeding, And they who know not the world — 'Tis a blind for the childish complaining ; Can they guess to what tortures he's hurled' The mind is the seat of the gnawing. For a deed once done, which is wrong, In the maddest whirls of deep pleasure Stands suddenly out fierce and strong. It torments the soul and the spirit 'Till it cries out in a breathless shriek. And writhes and turns in its agony, Without ever daring to speak. Outwardly winning and honored, Inwardly mad with regret; Outwardly enjoying all pleasures. Inwardly ensnared in its net. No one can judge of man — The face is the mask of the soul, As it steers its way thro' the sea. Strikes fiercely from weeds and the shoal. 52 MINES AND OTHERS No sufferings clinch as regret; Thro' life its eternal stare Is worse than the greatest of ills — The soul to itself laid bare. What one longs for conies at the last If the longing be strong and right ; 'Tis the strength of the soul that conquers- The soul with immortal sight. 63 BALLADS OF WESTERN LET NO MAN PUT ASUNDER. What God has joined together let no man put asunder, Therefore this wretched age of homeless life and blunder. Of womankind with husbands two Of men with wives all living, who Has said, let no man put asunder. What heed take they of higher source of truth and light. They stay contented for a week, and then lose sight That each ought to the other give, They say we do not have to live Together — so let us part — 'tis right. Or some together pass their time away, But long as they can part so comes the time, some day, When to the courts they quickly fly, And in a twinkling of an eye. Divorced as far as tl;^ law courts say. 'Tis tottering, this home life which should be so pure. 'Tis weakening, this country one time so secure. When the home divides so the nation falls ; The cause the wisest man appalls, Divorce with its immoral lure. 54 MINES AND OTHERS Religion ? Where ? To stamp out this degrading curse, Few take each other now for better or for worse, One church has treaded the straight way, It weds forever and a day, And ever heeds the Scripture verse. Marriage — it is no marriage — just immoral joy — A plaything for the moment till a broken toy; Tis weakened man, less honor and truth, A creature degraded and uncouth. An evil which some one must destroy. 55 BALLADS OF WESTERN THE DREAM OF THE PROSPECTOR. And he talked with the winds and the storms, And the rocks and the barren waste, As up and down mountains through valleys This dreaming old Prospector paced. The years had gone by like a day, And the summers and winters had passed Like the moon shadows out on the hills In the stillness of the lone vast. He's the spirit, the white ghost of man, With his hope and his longing in quest, He's the wandering soul of the world Searching through days full of zest. 56 MINES AND OTHERS Though Time had grayed his hair, And his dream was still a dream, Yet it oft brings greater joy Than all realities seem. The mountains knew his tread And the light of his fire at night, And the silence heard his pick As he broke the rhyolite. And he loved his solitude And knew all the beauties round, Drinking in the starful night As he lay on the sagebrush ground. One night he left his hills, And on to the desert sand He knew he there should find Somewhere in that thirsty land. But he wandered on and on. And the days grew hot and arid, And he forgot the water In the search for his treasure buried. And his tougue grew dry and hard, His eyes were staring and mad, And yet the search on kept him Just now as it always had. 57 BALLADS OF WESTERN *' Water and gold!" he yelled, And his hands and arms clawed the air, Running o'er cutting sands As he shouted, ''There it lies — there!" He saw torrents of rushing water, Which sank from his mad wild gaze, While far off it again rose upward. Falling in a misty haze. "Oh, gold!" and he dug in the sand; "Oh, water!" he gasped for breath. And falling down he dreamed The dreams which have wrought his death. The hills all turned to gold, The valleys to silver and lead. Then he hastened back to the wife Who long had thought him dead. And he folded her in his arms Who^d waited for years and years, And she cried and wept for joy Who'd suffered but sorrow and fears. And the love he'd long forgotten Came rushing back tenderly, While his little children clung round him And sat upon his knee. 58 MINES AND OTHERS But sudden he opened his eyes And saw the lone lone sand. *'0 God, it was not worth it,'* And he passed to the other land. And the heatened winds beat on him And the drifting sands covered him o'er. And the hills still wait for the tramp They will wait for evermore. A MOOD. I care naught for field or fortune. And yet less for man, Give me what I long for most — Let me do whate'er I can. List not to the laws which bind me, Trample me from foot to head, Do whatever I please, and go Wher'er my mood and spirit said. Break away from fast closed boundaries Cast up in the spirit's world, Forgef that earth with all its dullness Over into space be hurled. To live most in the present, Letting past in blackness sink, Caring naught for any future, Caring but to live, not think. 59 BALLADS OF WESTERN THE MAN WHO WANTS IT ALL. Oh, he thought he was, and thoughts go far To make some things seem true To the vain man and the jealous man, But we see him through and through. A king he thought he was, poor man, A king by right divine. In the wilderness he ruled, poor man, Said everything is mine. Some groveled in the dust for him, Worms wiggled round his feet, And loftily he favors gave From his high and mighty seat. And he swore to himself a long, long swear No one else shall by me stand; I shall make worms of them all, said he, And be mighty in my own land. One day he did this and another that, But really no balance knew, As he feared for his long sought hard won rule, And trembled and swore himself blue. A one time friend came to that land — A greater man than he — And he tramped on the pride and tore out the hearY Of the stranger who had to be. 60 MINES AND OTHERS And the poor, poor man, if he only knew How they despised him through their mask, For bread and butter they all had to get, But, getting, flee far their task. Oh, laugh in your sleeves, oh, laugh in your sleeves, Humanity great and small, At the selfish, mean and narrow man — The man who wants it all. Be content with the world of flowers and trees, It is made for you all, for you all, 'Tis the lust of power and money alone Which makes one poor and small. 61 BALLADS OF WESTERN ILLUSIONS. Illusions? Did you say they are wrong? Realities? They are right: Nay, stern mother, who'er you be, dim not sweet child- hood's sight With the burden of turbulent thoughts which grow as the years speed on and on, Let not the backward gaze of time hiake youth so white and wan; Let the fairies take the tiny child to their home within the wood, Give the birds and trees their voices, let her dream as childhood should; Her fairy clan will take her to the cream-white milky way, Where giants, ogresses and dwarfs fill all the glorious day; And when she sees the falling star, 'tis an angel from the sky With another baby brother she can play with by and by; And oh, the little myths at eve, when the sun is falling low, As the eyelids begin to waver in the reddened after- glow, As the deep-felt dreams of the happy day glide into the dreams of night, And all the hours of childhood's years are but a keen delight. 62 MINES AND OTHERS Soon come the hours of darkness when the youth is left Realities, did I hear you say? "What solace will they find? When the clouds fall low and heavy on the deeply riven soul, Let the glimmer of the fairy youth from between the cloud rifts roll; Let us live on over again the fairy .ioyous life, With the same deep thrills and fantasies with which the air was rife; Romp in the wood and list to the fantastic tales once more Told in the mystic shadows, dim as the eves of yore; Simplicity is a prize which must be clung to might and main, Let not the fairy imagination ever in life quite wane, Let the bridge between youth and knowledge be a long one guarded well, Soon crossed — it chanced that an angel from heaven into depths of anguish once fell; It is the dreams of yesterday which makes the bright today, And tomorrow will be filled with light where imagina- tions play. Remember childhood's sweet illusions, thro all reality's tears. As fireflies flashing in blackened night, so memories lighting years. 63 BALLADS OF WESTERN WORKING HIS WAY. "Oh, boys, wait for me; I'll be with you again: I'm only laid out; Now, go for it, men." And he struggled and shouted As up came the cage ; Through the darkness and black He was all in a rage. "Don't hold me, I say. The ball I must get," But three men sat on him "He will kill himself yet. >> And the cage echoed upward And swung through the shaft, Powder had knocked him out, Gotten quite daft. The gas from the blasting He'd breathed in too deep, And they found him a-lying All of a heap. He was only a miner. Working his day. But what did he ialk about — Football and play? 64 WIINES AND OTHERS He struggled and tore; They feared for their lives; But the nearer the top The harder he strives. To free himself from them, And they knew the deep pit That yawned underneath Below their small skip. But the landing was reached. And they dragged out their man. The air soon revived him, And his story began. ''I'm sorry, old fellows, I've caused you a fright, But its lucky you found me In my hole of a plight. Oh, yes, I've played football; I'm going again Back to the old college, To play with the men. I've been working all summer In mines of the West. Both getting experience And cash with the rest. 65 BALLADS OF WESTERN I need money hard To send me back through, So that is my story; Old pals, will it do? I Ve hurt my hip bad ; On the sick list I go ; You see luck's not with me. But the old folks won't know. There are loads of us fellows Around in the West, But the miners don't know us Among all the rest. We are working our way, boys, Working our way. As college for us Isn't nothing but play. But we'll get to the top, boys, So, pards, thank you all; It's hard striving upward — There's many a fall." 66 MINES AND OTHERS THE CALL OF THE WEST. The West, young in your labors, old in mysterious past. Young with latent energies, old in dead history vast. Young in the people loving you, young in your wealth and gains, Long have you called from peaks through the wail of your sweeping plains. It will reach the cities, where the souls trampled lifeless live ; It tells of its lone vastness with everything to give; Slowly the answer rolls through echoing hills and the sand, With the puff of the leaping engine conquering your land; You'll cry through the tossing wind from the Western morning sun, Till centuries have passed and the thread of your fate's been spun. You'll call from your mountain caverns till the echo of human toil Has flowered your flowerless deserts, and from out your soil Stolen the treasures you've hidden, and by your magic hand Marvels ne'er dreamed of till then shall spring from the depths of your land. 67 BALLADS OF WESTERN FAITH AND HOPE. When evil thoughts the human mind infest, And riot o'er it as if one possessed; And make it seem as if there were no path Of golden light, but only days of wrath, When sinking down and down into the sea Of blackness, through its waters suddenly There comes a ray, a something soft and light, Which dazzles for a moment Inner Sight; You grasp at it, but all is dark again, And, shuddering once more, you feel the pain ; But list and wait, you seem to feel it brush Against the spirit, then a sudden rush Of being borne through waters holding fast, When radiant light suffuses you at last. It is as if from ocean brine and storm You feel two spirits lift you into morn ; Like beauteous Venus rising from the sea And seeing naught but flowers and singing tree And all the world a joyous, laughing spring. With no dead thought that 'neath it lurks a sting ; Two spirits lead you dancing on and on, Hope with her happy laughter opens wide Vistas of golden color, casts aside The heavy clouds on hanging o'er the view, And you go singing down 'neath skies of blue ; Then Faith her sister holds your other hand, And you discry beyond another land, ^^nd so between those two you seem so sure That now no other spirit can allure 68 MINES AND OTHERS You from the flow 'ring woods of joy sublime, Where naught's but music, poetry and rhyme; No matter if you stumble here and there They hold you safe from plan of any snare Laid by their enemies of hateful name, Of weakness, cowardness, and bitter shame ; So with those swords of strength on buckled fast You can keep walking, singing to the last. There is no turning back, no stopping now. What fate ordains is good, no matter how. fiPB BlI^^S One copy del. to Cat. Div. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 907 281 2