vj ♦ ^ *> * 0> b °o. *.7r<~»* A o ,^V/)L' ^ <£ "Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from °^ °o *^fC" The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/poemspicturesOOduvc * V ♦o.o" ^ V » 4 1 POEMS and PICTURES 5477-174 -S3- ^<2~> A WATER PRINT POEMS and PICTURES BY CHARLES THOMAS DUVALL BALTIMORE W. E. C. HARRISON & SONS MCMXIV TS 3 : ft r "U^i* Copyright, 19 14 By Charles Thomas Duvall Printed by Norman T. A. Munder & Co. Engravings by Alpha Photo-Engraving Co. SEP 22 1914 ©CU379616 "•**} ^N> BY WAY OF PREFACE O you, who read this printed page, Seek here no lofty theme or thought-, Its author brings no message sage, No remedy with wisdom fraught. But just some rhymes, in simple strain, Light musings with no high intent, Some idle songs and tales as main, With wayside pictures inter blent. The fruit of scribbling nights and days, Of walks in search of camera spoil, He gathers and before you lays — A record of his pleasant toil. And though small worth appear therein, And less of real poetic power, It still from care your thoughts may win, Or serve to fill an empty hour. The author of this volume has been a scribbler in rhyme for about twenty-five years and a camera "fiend' ' for probably half that period. The selections herein are representative of his efforts in both capacities. While many of the verses have appeared in the papers, a large portion of them have never been printed. The pictures were chosen from a collection of over three hundred views taken from time to time during twelve years of tramping in all sections of the city and suburbs. si CONTENTS POEMS Absorbing Topic, The 69 After the Fire ........... 94 Along the Shore 70 Artist, An 111 At the Door 66 At the Foot of Parnaussus 98 At the End of His Rope 117 Aviator, The 33 Ballade of Conquering 14 Ballade of Lost Pictures 21 Ballade of Conditions 45 Ballade of Failures 49 Ballade of Rejoicing ......... $8 Ballade of Striving ......... 61 Ballade of the Infallible Prophet 77 Baseball Limericks 72, Bicycle, The 119 Blossom Time ........... 130 Boss' Turn, The 102 Brave Young General, The . . . . . ' . . .128 Broomstick Horse, The . . 109 Busy Little Man, A 111 Call By Wireless, A 34 Call of Maryland, The ......... 78 Camera, The 37 Cave, The 154 Chance 55 Chant Royal of the Five Senses . . . . . . 80 Christmas Way, The 56 Christmas Changes 88 Circus Parade, The . . .113 City of Failure, The 146 Coming of the Rain, The 17 Common Complaint, A . . .86 8 CONTENTS Daybreak J 3 Dead Summer, The 4-6 Death Ship, The • • • H 2 Declaration, A 5° Destruction of the Maine . • M3 Dewey at Manila '37 Disgusted Patriot, A i*7 Dreadful Shock, A II2 Do You Remember, Sweetheart 2.3 Doubtful 4 2 DOIN' 'RlTHMETIC IO ° Dusk in the Pines • • .16 End of the Spanish Fleet, The M 2 Ever Fair Baltimore 3 1 Explaining His Failure io 5 Fallen Idol, A 4° Faithless Knight, The i°4 First One In .... ...... no For A Wedding ......••••• 82 Fountain, The 87 Freak, A * 12 Frost Elves, The . . . . 12.6 Good Reasoning IX 9 Going to the Country .110 Gwynn's Falls 3$ Hills of Hope, The .... 3° Hustler's Wish, A .86 Huge Joke, A XI 4 Iceberg and the Ship, The • • 3 2 In the City ........••••• 39 In Answer . . . 89 Last Appeal, A 7 1 Late Autumn *8 Leap-Year Episode 64 Little Gardener, The I]| 8 Longings for the Sea • • • 4 1 March Wind's Mission, The io 5 Marines at Guantanamo l 1% Misty Morning, A l & Moonlight on the Chesapeake 66 Most Too Real I2 9 Neglected Boy, The IG 9 Newer Independence Day, The 4° New Year's Eve . . 62 New Year's Promise, The 9° Nightfall 34 Noble Firemen, The 12 ° CONTENTS Not A Success . . . 120 Old Fort, The ........ . . 26 Old Schoolhouse, The 96 Other Way, The 79 Out of Date . 101 Over-Talented ........... 46 Pioneers I 9? Playing Indians io6 Pleasant Dream, A 122 Poet's Prescription, The 12 Practical Young Lady, A . . . . ... . .104 Puzzling 13 Query, A 54 Resolution 87 Retrospect, A 74 Rock-a-Bye Train, The 102 Run to the Hills . . . . 158 Scheme That Failed, A ......... 65 Sea Ventures . . . .62 Secret of the Leaves, The . . . . . . . . .125 Signs of Summer 69 Skating Weather 126 Sky Land 74 Smoothing the Way 122 Snow Man and the Sun, The ........ 128 Song of Peace, The 24 Song of the Snowflakes 127 Spirit of Christmas, The 25 Spring Song . . .42 Strenuous Life, The . . 53 Summer Storm, A 82 Sun Worshipper, A 15 Sunset, A . 18 Sultry Day, A 29 Swapping Gifts ........... 57 Swing, The 118 Tailor-Made Ghost Story, A 144 Thanksgiving 54 Toilers, The 48 Transformation 47 Vacation Song ........... 29 Voyage of the Oregon 134 Voyaging .... 85 Walker, The 11 What's the Use ? 125 Winter Miracle, A 22 Winter Walk, The 103 Wish, A 37 Witchery of Hallowe'en, The 50 IO CONTENTS ILLUSTRATIONS Abandoned Quarry, Gwynn's Falls Park Autumn Path, An .... Baltimore's " Grand Canyon " Cast up by the Storm . Clifton, Clifton Park Deepdene Road .... First Leayes • Footbridge, A Garrett Bridge, Druid Hill Park Glimpse of Bear Creek, A . Gwynn's Falls .... Key Monument .... Lake Montibello Looking Down the River, Fort McHenry Park Midwinter Thaw, A Mount Clare, Carroll Park Obstruction, An .... Observatory, Patterson Park . Old Rail Fence, An One of Baltimore's " Great Lakes Over the Hills and Far Away . Pasture, The .... Ruined Mill ..... Shady Road, A Spreading Stream, The Stony Run, Wyman Park Sunlight's Spell, The . Sunlit Grove, A Through Stony Ways . Water Print, A Washington Monument 60 19 115 28 107 52 75 M9 59 5i 36 92 140 27 20 108 147 125 76 116 84 67 148 68 35 124 4J 44 8? 2 9i POEMS AND PICTURES THE WALKER Earth's purest joys to him belong Who loves to walk by lane and road, Who seeks with eager steps and strong The paths to Nature's blest abode. His is the breeze upon the hill, And his the fragrance of the glade; He moves to music of the rill, And fares serene through sun and shade. A thousand birds make song for him, A thousand blossoms cheer his sight ; Nor shall the years their beauty dim, Or dull the zest of his delight. Each ordered season, in its turn, Shall weave new spells to charm his sense ; No venturous journey but shall earn His toil abundant recompense. For more than store of worldly goods He counts the wealth that 'round him lies, 12 POEMS AND PICTURES The riches of the fields and woods, The matchless glory of the skies. These will a sure possession be, Whatever changes Time may bring; A fair estate to hold in fee, From which content shall ever spring. THE POET'S PRESCRIPTION Go, where the gracious Summer weaves Her lofty canopy of leaves, And on the greensward's mossy breast Forget the cares that vex your rest. Stretch underneath the kindly trees And bare your forehead to the breeze. Gaze on the blue vast of the sky, Where fleets of laden cloud-ships ply, Or watch the shadows drift across Green meadows where the daisies toss, Like foam upon the emerald waves, Whose swell the woodland's margin laves. Drink in the fragrant air that blows From banks where honeysuckle grows. List to the brook's soft monotone Till exiled Peace resumes her throne. Yield your tired being's every sense To Nature's healing influence; And wholly cured, you shall depart With quiet nerves and tranquil heart. Rejoicing in your blessing still, Repeat as often as you will, And like Antaeus find new birth In each touch of your mother earth. POEMS AND PICTURES i 3 DAYBREAK At last Night's dusky barrier falls And Day looks forth, a shape of fire, Across the city's misty walls And tips with glory roof and spire. Wherever brooding gloom remains He thrusts a spear of crimson light, And unsuspected domes and vanes Flash up like jewels on the sight. Adown the silent lanes of brick The radiance of his presence streams, And all the sleeping world grows quick At touch of his reviving beams. The varied sounds of toil and strife That darkness stilled a little space, Start straightway into noisy life And with the brightness swell apace. While slow, serene, he takes his way Up the blue pathway of the sky; Haste we and labor as we may, The golden hour is passing by. PUZZLING Whenever I look in memory's glass, What pictures there may be, And view the doings of by-gone days, This one thing puzzles me : Why the things and scenes I would most recall Have vanished clear away, While the times I have made a fool of myself Are as fresh as yesterday? i 4 POEMS AND PICTURES BALLADE OF CONQUERING What though the tide of battle sets Fairly against us day by day; What though defeat despair begets And we grow heartsick o'er the hopeless fray; Still we as men our parts must play, Spite of failure and frequent pain, Still must we the command obey, "Forward, into the fight again !" What though sorrow the eyelids wets, As hopes long cherished we see decay; What though losses the spirit frets And the world before us looks bleak and gray; Yet must we each our task essay, Yet must we strive with hand and brain — The gold lies somewhere under the clay, "Forward, into the fight again!" What though we fall in the cunning nets That ever wait for the feet that stray; What though the past awakes regrets And thoughts of the future bring dismay; Others have traveled the weary way And won the summits for which we strain — Shall we prove less brave than they? "Forward, into the fight again !" Envoy Comrades, let us not stop nor stay Though paths be filled with ghosts of the slain; Grip we our courage anew and say, "Forward, into the fight again !" POEMS AND PICTURES ij A SUN WORSHIPPER This thing I know: Far down the years Some old progenitor of mine Told to the sun his hopes and fears And bowed him at his glowing shrine. Else why would I of later days, Who count such heathen worship shame, Thrill to the day-god's quickening rays In every fiber of my frame? When with revivifying beam He wakes the torpid life of Spring, I follow far his luring gleam And with all nature praise and sing. When to his wooing Summer yields And decks herself in leafy pride, I seek the radiance-flooded fields And lave me in his shining tide. When Autumn feels his milder fire And blushes on her hundred hills, I long to join his migrant choir Whose parting song the woodland fills. And when on Winter chill and white He flashes from the distant skies, I revel in his cheery light That warm upon the valley lies. And this shall be my joy, I trust, Till light and life alike be past; Then let the winds disperse my dust To mingle with his beams at last. i6 POEMS AND PICTURES DUSK IN THE PINES The last bright beams of the departing day Bathe the tall pine tops in their dying glow, And bar with light the shadowed trunks below, 1 Where'er the clustered boughs let in a ray; The plume-like branches in the breezes sway And wake a sound as of old ocean's flow, The pillared aisles more vague and gloomy grow, As slow the golden west fades into gray. The bird-songs falter, and the night's first star Sets its pale lamp against the darkening blue; The winds sink to a murmur faint and far, And all the grove with fragrance fills anew; No boisterous sounds or rude arise to mar Earth's peaceful pause between the sun and dew. A MISTY MORNING The morning mist lies thick and dank Around us everywhere, And all the world is white and blank That spread at sunset fair. Gone is the meadow's every sign, Alike the orchard trees ; E'en the old fence's zigzag line One rather knows than sees. Familiar forms and shapes of green Beyond the garden's rim Loom through the vapor's baffling screen Uncertain, strange and dim. POEMS AND PICTURES iy Adown the road a phantom team Plods slowly into sight, A moment shows as in a dream And then is hidden quite. No matin song from hill or dell Betrays the feathered choir ; Far and subdued a ghostly bell Chimes from an unseen spire. Save this there is no sight or sound About the landscape dun, But all in drooping silence bound Awaits the wind and sun. THE COMING OF THE RAIN There's a sense of expectation in the air, And a hum of preparation everywhere, And the clamor waxes high, And the dusty legions fly As the heralds of the tempest sweep the square. The dusky clouds are massing in their might, And across the heavens passing thick as night, And the thunder-cannons boom, And the lightning splits the gloom And bathes the earth in sudden, livid light. Then the vanguard sends the battle music out, As the drops begin to rattle all about, And the winds their trumpets blow, And with lances all a-row, Down the shining column plunges with a shout. 18 POEMS AND PICTURES LATE AUTUMN With banners drooping in the frosty air, The ragged remnant of the hosts of corn Make their last stand upon the hillside torn They summer long defended with unbroken square; The robber crow, sore pressed to find his fare, Calls mournfully about the fields forlorn; The golden-rod, of all its glory shorn, Droops desolate beside the pathway bare. Sport of the wind, the milkweed's downy store Is scattered 'mid the branches of the hedge, Like the first heralds sent by Winter hoar, Who wrapped in cloud bides on the valley's edge, Whence his invading troop ere long will pour In storming ranks across the frozen sedge. A SUNSET Broad bands of flame light all the spacious west, Where burns the sun in a consuming fire; His glowing body, molten, yet entire, Sinks slowly down behind the low hills' crest; Awhile the clouds his dying beams arrest, And straight their softer tints new thoughts inspire No more I see a conflagration dire, But, dreaming, follow that heroic quest Sung by old bards in the brave age of Greece, Whose glories brighten down the centuries, And I behold a ship, with winds at peace, Move on its course by scarce-perceived degrees — Deep-laden Argo with the golden fleece, And Jason homing over Eastern seas. An Autumn Path, Windsor Hills A Midwinter Thaw — Near Walbrook POEMS AND PICTURES 21 BALLADE OF LOST PICTURES Our album holds full many a view, Our walls some worthy prints display, Good subjects we possess, a few, And films that scrutiny repay; But still our wayward thoughts will stray To scenes where we with failure met, Fond memories that ever stay — The pictures that we didn't get. The search for beauty we pursue, In every field we seek our "prey," We hunger for material new, And make exposures where we may; And though results much skill betray, We feel no less a vague regret For those we've missed and lost for aye — The pictures that we didn't get. Elusive graces still we woo, Each subtle charm we would portray, Though trifles oft our care undo, And error spoils the best essay; Development has gone astray, Or shutter has been wrongly set — What glowing fancies round them play — The pictures that we didn't get. Envoy The biggest fish still gets away, The noblest game escapes the net, And we alike bewail today The pictures that we didn't get. 22 POEMS AND PICTURES A WINTER MIRACLE We walked the fields at set of sun, What time grim Winter kept his state, And thought eyes ne'er had looked upon A world more bleak or desolate. Black limbed and gaunt against the west The leafless woodland reared its head ; And all above earth's frozen breast But late in bloom lay gray and dead. From out the north, portending storm, Vast cloud-shapes blotted out the day; We turned and sought our chamber warm And shut the dreary scene away. We rose at dawn and stood o'erawed Before the splendor of the sight ; A noiseless host had been abroad And wrought a wonder in the night. O'er withered field and barren glade The snow a spotless veil had flung; To every bough and bush and blade The fleecy flakes had caught and clung. Familiar vistas through the wood The vision strove in vain to trace; The trees in misty whiteness stood That blurred all sense of form or space. The willows wore a hoary crown, And e'en the boulders in the stream Were cushioned o'er with softest down Where frost-elves well might couch and dream. POEMS AND PICTURES 23 O gracious Power, that gives so much ! Who would have dreamed a scene so bare, Beneath His love's transforming touch, Could thus become so heavenly fair ? DO YOU REMEMBER, SWEETHEART? Do you remember, sweetheart, The summer days gone by, When earth was in her rarest mood And glory filled the sky? The fields were all a-blossom then, The woods with birds were gay, And every brook made melody Along our sunny way. Do you remember, sweetheart, The happy hours we spent Upon the hillside's grassy slope Beneath the oak's green tent? The stream ran sparkling far below Its curving banks between, And vagrant cloud shapes drifted by Across the blue serene. Do you remember, sweetheart, The pathway through the glade — The leafy aisles that led our feet To cloistered nooks of shade? The fallen tree, where oft we sat, Has mingled with the mold, Yet must your true heart cherish still Those blissful days of old. 24 POEMS AND PICTURES THE SONG OF PEACE The song that filled Judea's plain That starry night of old, When angels sang the wondrous strain, Adown the years has rolled ; And strong and clear today as when The world first felt its thrill, Above the clash of heedless men It rings and echoes still. Though oft the din of savage war Has whelmed the joyful sound, And zealot hate with rabid roar As oft in discord drowned, Yet through the centuries of wrong Love has preserved each word, And Faith has seen the angel throng, And listening Hope has heard. And earth at last, by strife o'erwrought, Looks to a milder sway, As men, by larger wisdom taught, Would lay the sword away; While gentle hearts and kind rejoice And Bethlehem's song repeat, And nations, harkening to the voice, Have found its message sweet. And as the years bring round the feast That woke the blest refrain, May the glad chorus be increased Till Peace supreme shall reign ! POEMS AND PICTURES 25 Till every land and every tongue, Released from martial woe, Shall join the song by angels sung That Christmas long ago! THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS O Spirit of the Christmas time, To you I lift my verses; You give the bells a blither chime And open hearts and purses. You make this old world heaven-fair And banish gloom and sadness ; You lure men from life's sordid care To join in childhood's gladness. You blight the weeds that faith destroy And start love's flowers growing; You touch the sluggish pulse of joy And set the warm blood flowing. You oft renew affection's blaze In lives whose bliss was squandered; You lead back to remembered ways The feet that far had wandered. You turn from contemplated wrong The souls who hatred treasure ; You teach the lips unused to song To wake a gleeful measure. So, gentle spirit, take my lay And speed your mission ever, And may the years extend your sway Until you leave us never. 26 POEMS AND PICTURES THE OLD FORT Fort McHenry, whose gallant defense inspired the " Star-Spangled Banner." No more along the parapet her guards pace to and fro, No more her sunset gun resounds above Patapsco; Her shuttered barracks stand forlorn, no hurrying troopers pass; The old parade ground's lines are hid beneath effacing grass. She who ne'er yielded to the foe must yield to circum- stance ; Vain now the watch she long has kept o'er Chesapeake's expanse ; The need that raised her storied walls does not exist today, Yet from our life her name and fame can never pass away. For 'twas upon her hallowed soil our flag waved through the night, What time the foe attacked our land in vengeful hate and spite; And from her heights inspiring gleams across the deep were borne To him who watched with straining gaze that gray September morn. Then let the old fort stand intact, the chiefest of our shrines, Her deathless glory ever linked with Key's immortal lines ; Still let her silent cannons keep their station by the shore, And let her starry banner wave above them evermore. And pilgrim feet shall hither come to pass with reverent tread Along the ramparts Valor held in those dark days of dread ; And generations yet unborn shall to her slopes repair And gazing on her streaming flag rejoice to see it there. < >< as u s h a; O o u O C/2 POEMS AND PICTURES 2g VACATION SONG Away from the town, away ! Away to the woods and fields ! To the blooming leas and the fragrant breeze And the pleasures nature yields ! Away from the burning streets And the killing grind of trade To the dewy sheen of the meadows green And the woodland's soothing shade ! Away from the city's roar To the song the brooklet sings, To the waters cool and the quiet pool Where the swallow dips his wings ! Away to the founts of health ! To the medicine of the hills ! To gain new life to face the strife, And conquer the future's ills. A SULTRY DAY The hazy fields are dumb and motionless, The woods are still in every dreaming spray, The blossoms droop beside the dusty way, Faint with the ardor of the sun's caress ; All living things the subtle spell confess, The choir is mute that made the morning gay, Hushed is each bird note, save the plaintive lay Of wood-thrush, calling from some dim recess. Anon the scene a breath of air receives, A languid zephyr, that has scarce the power To wake a drowsy murmur in the leaves Or rock the bee upon his honied, flower, Then Time, who near had slept, the charm unweaves And lazily tolls out the passing hour. jo POEMS AND PICTURES THE HILLS OF HOPE We tread the dreary round of toil, As duty bids or need; Deep in the valley's depths we moil, Where wrong and evil breed. Around us rise the shining hills, With pleasant groves o'erspread, Whose paths, when time our hope fulfills, We mean our feet shall tread. We labor through the weary days, Amid the dust and gloom, And ever lift a longing gaze Up to those peaks of bloom; Then turn and strike a stronger blow, And set a sterner face, And onward strive, with heart aglow, Resolved to win a place. Ofttimes to lowest depths we fall, And lose life's kindly cheer, Despair enshrouds us like a pall, And failure seems anear; But still upon the hills of hope The sunrise glory gleams, And still love beckons up the slope That leads us to our dreams. O fainting soul, be not dismayed ! Press on unto the goal ; Attack each barrier unafraid, With purpose firm and whole ; POEMS AND PICTURES ji Nor murmur if the way be long, Nor falter in the quest, And you shall join the victor throng Upon those heights of rest. EVER FAIR BALTIMORE Proudly she sits like a queen in her splendor, Throned on her hills at the head of the bay; Graced with the best Art and Nature can lend her, Glowing by night and inspiring by day. Bright are the names on the page of her glory, Garlands she wears both for beauty and lore; Splendid the deeds that illumine her story, Town of our love, ever fair Baltimore ! Chorus Sing to her, sing to her, swell the glad chorus, Tell out her name all the broad country o'er; Great things behind us and greater before us, Forward in faith, Baltimore, Baltimore ! Wide are her gates to the toiler and planner, Ready she stands to encourage and aid; Guarding the rights of all under her banner ; Just in her laws and straightforward in trade. Fronting the future with purpose unswerving, True to the best in her annals of yore ; Surely no other is worthy our serving, Town of our love, ever fair Baltimore. Issued in Sheet-music form. For Sale at the principal music stores or 6ent postpaid for 12 cents (stamps) by the author, 210 Guilford Ave., Baltimore. 32 POEMS AND PICTURES THE ICEBERG AND THE SHIP The ^Titanic," April 14, 1912. From the heart of the polar regions, In a glacier-guarded bay, With a crash of riven mountains, An iceberg broke away. "I am called," it hoarsely thundered, "And I follow afar and free; I am called to my work in the fog and mirk Where the great ships dare the sea." And out by the rocky headland That clutched it with futile hands, Away through the icy water, Unchecked by its brittle bands; And out past the bold sea-fishers, Who shrank from its frosty breath, Through many a day it crushed its way A huge white shape of death. From her port on the further ocean Steamed forth the brave new ship, A marvel of human effort, She sped on her maiden trip ; Two thousand souls for her burden, And never was freight more dear, And she swept the tide in strength and pride A thing that knew not fear. When out of the midnight darkness, Rose a wall of crystal rock, And fair on the iceberg's ledges She struck with splintering shock; POEMS AND PICTURES 33 And, her iron sides rent asunder, Down the sea's dark depths she spun, And the far-called doom passed o'er her tomb, Its awful work was done. THE AVIATOR Secure upon my slender seat I upward speed — a thing elate; Fast falls the earth beneath my feet, The soaring eagle is my mate. I slant my flexile wings of steel And shoot into the upper blue, Or turn my sentient steering wheel And sail the silent regions through. I dive; I soar; I ride at will The waves of the uncharted air; My humming motor drives me still To heights no feathered travelers dare. I revel in the realms of light ! I drink the winds of ecstasy ! I note with ever-fresh delight The glorious prospect spread for me ! Let timid souls contented crawl About the narrow land's confine; Give me my winged ship and all The boundless world of space for mine ! 34 POEMS AND PICTURES A CALL BY WIRELESS Should the receiver of your heart Thrill to an influence strange, Fear not; 'tis but that Cupid's art Has brought you in my range. Long while on lonely seas adrift, Storm-tossed and sore afraid, I've seized the age's latest gift And sent this call for aid. Believing Love would guide it true, I've flashed it far and free, And this glad day I'll bless if you Have caught my C. Q. D. NIGHTFALL With softest step, in sober garments clad, Laden with blessings and large-hearted cheer, The gracious presence of the Night draws near, And from the tired hands of the toiler glad She takes the task ; wheels cease their whirrings mad At her light touch ; days' worries disappear, As freely she bestows her treasures dear With equal favor on the gay and sad. All they that labor drove abroad at morn Turn swiftly homeward at her beckoning, And lonely hearths, and households long forlorn, Are bright with joy and gay with welcoming; E'en to the meanest drudge her grace is borne, And he whom Day made slave she makes a king. o J* "C U "c c O I s «: w h O g 5 s Ut o nj u u POEMS AND PICTURES 37 THE CAMERA My eye takes in a thousand things : The leaf that falls, the vine that clings, The blossom lifting to the sun, The streamlet where the ripples run, The torrent pouring o'er the ledge, The lily at the mill-pond's edge, The towering rock-cliff's rugged lines, The clean-cut silhouette of the pines, The kine knee-deep in waters cool, The shadow in the glassy pool, The outspread valley's blooming miles, The shady woodland's sun-flecked aisles, The swaying rushes by the brook, The wind-swept river's wrinkled look, The foam-line of the breaking seas, The white sails swelling with the breeze, The scenes of home, the friendly face, The witchery of childhood's grace ; All these I gather up and set Within my darkened cabinet, The which, when duly taken thence, And fixed with certain elements, Shall keep undimmed their pictured charm Through season's change and age's harm. A WISH Though days be dark or sunny, Good Luck keep you in care, And love and friends and money Be yours in ample share. j8 POEMS AND PICTURES GWYNN'S FALLS Dear loved stream, still winding down Through crowding hills a devious way, Give me to bring your charms renown And lend your music to my lay. Through sun and shade, by height and plain, With many a carven curve and bend, You hasten downward to the main Wherein your troubled course must end. Now rushing down a rocky ledge, Now resting in a quiet pool, Now creeping through the waving sedge, You keep no law and own no rule. And changing with your changeful flow, I hear your voice's varying tones, Here through smooth reaches singing low, There raging* at impeding stones. The beeches spread their roots and drink The grateful coolness of your wave, And drooping willows at the brink, Their branches in your waters lave. O'er your still depths the swallows skim, The hawk, high-poised, a shadow floats, And songbirds, 'round your current's brim, Make glad the valley with their notes. The while you glide with swelling strength, Upgathered from a hundred rills, Till in the river's flood at length Your tide its destiny fulfills. POEMS AND PICTURES jg So take my song, old friend, though weak And poor the tribute that I bring; May it tempt kindred souls to seek The beauties that I fain would sing. IN THE CITY The black smoke drifts across the sky, A blot on God's unclouded blue, And grimy buildings, blank and high, On either hand fill up my view. Without the tide of traffic flows And fills the street with its uproar, Whereon the sun so fiercely glows The stones are like an oven floor. And sudden longing, born of these, Wakes olden memories in my brain, And fancy from the present flees And seeks the scenes of youth again. Above the tumult of the streets, Above these stifling airs of death, I hear the song the brook repeats, And catch the pine-trees' fragrant breath. And while my body here today Its customary task fulfills, In spirit I am far away, Among the everlasting hills. 4 o POEMS AND PICTURES A FALLEN IDOL Forlorn and friendless, day by day, Fie stands with wistful eye Beside the city's busy way And sees the world go by. His name was once a word to charm, Men strove his help to win, His voice had power to save or harm What cause he entered in. But now, unnoticed by the throng, An idle part he plays ; His triumphs to the past belong, His fame to other days. The tide that bore him on its crest Through sunny days and fair Has ebbed, with swiftness all unguessed, And left him stranded there. THE NEWER INDEPENDENCE DAY When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air She little reckoned what a sight Of trouble we would have to bear; She hardly thought the time would be When it would all Law's wits require To curb her lively progeny And quench their patriotic fire. She never dreamed her votive youth So ardently would celebrate POEMS AND PICTURES 41 That her great day would grow in truth A thing for men to execrate ; That people over all the land Would her enthusiasts revile And fly to some more peaceful strand Or wish they might be deaf awhile. And if the goddess could today Declare her sentiments to us, I do not doubt that she would pray A worship not so strenuous ; Then give her praise — an ample share, Nor yield an atom of your joys But — just a little more of care And just a little less of noise. LONGINGS FOR THE SEA Oh, for a day upon old ocean's shore ! The wet beach gleaming in the bright sunshine, The fresh breeze blowing over leagues of brine, And white surf pounding on the sandy floor; To watch the long swells rolling evermore, And slow ships creeping up the dim sky line, Swift would I fly, as pilgrim to a shrine, Whose goal attained will his lost joys restore; So might I feel once more the olden thrall Of wind and wave and salt spray flying free, Might hear across the tide the fishers call, And catch the shouts of bathers in their glee, Mixed with child laughter — and above it all The rhythmic surge of the majestic sea. 42 POEMS AND PICTURES SPRING SONG "Spring, gentle Spring." Now Winter sees his power wane, And rising up betimes, Departs with all his stormy train, For more congenial climes ; Throughout the reawakened land A milder reign is sung, And thus we clearly understand That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." The streamlet breaks the icy hush Wrought by the north wind keen, And Nature with artistic brush Now paints the landscape green; Upon the boughs the buds come out Where late icicles clung, Which goes to prove beyond a doubt That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." The birds that vanished with the leaves Now suddenly appear, And chatter daily round our eaves Of Summer's coming cheer, While each nest-building conference The blooming groves among Affords conclusive evidence That "gentle Spring" has "sprung." DOUBTFUL Breathes there a man with soul so dead Who never to himself has said : "Great Scott ! here is that letter yet My wife said I must not forget." c > .5 CO c o w > o OS o POEMS AND PICTURES 4s BALLADE OF CONDITIONS When life is smooth and the skies are blue, And we move along through quiet days, With nothing at all in the world to do, 'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways ; But when the pulse of the times betrays A fever-fire in its rapid beat, And thought finds vent in impassioned phrase, Then ho ! for the rush and roar of the street. When the clouds of care are faint and few, And trouble far from our presence strays, With prospects wearing a roseate hue, 'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways ; But when the rallying trumpet brays, And legions haste on eager feet, And the struggling hosts their slogans raise, Then ho ! for the rush and roar of the street. When the future looks serene to view, And Peace on the spirit her soft spell lays With all things tranquil the broad land through, 'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways ; But when the fires of conflict blaze, And rival forces fiercely meet, And the flag of victory bends and sways, Then ho ! for the rush and roar of the street. Envoy When life in the pulses sluggish plays, 'Tis sweet to loiter in woodland ways ; But when the tide runs strong and fleet, Then ho ! for the rush and roar of the street. 46 POEMS AND PICTURES THE DEAD SUMMER Softly, softly, let us tread, Summer lies beneath us dead ; She who joyed in woodlands green And the meadow's golden sheen, She who laughed in all the rills Rippling down her sunny hills, Lieth here beneath the mold, Killed by Winter's frost and cold. Ah, it seems but yesterday That we roamed her bowers gay, Seeking 'mid her ample store Blossoms that we loved of yore, While the birds sang in her praise Madrigals and roundelays, And the sun the long hours through Wooed her from the heavens blue. Now her groves are brown and bare, And no birds sing anywhere, Not a note the silence stirs — Gone are all her worshippers ; And the chill December breeze Blows the last leaves from the trees, And the sun makes briefer stay Since her spirit passed away. OVER-TALENTED Ah, better far it is to be Blest with one gift that shines Than cursed with mediocrity In half-a-dozen lines ! POEMS AND PICTURES 47 For instance : You could hardly name A thing Jones couldn't do; Of ways to reach success and fame A score at least he knew. But yet his talents, strange to say, Were not of much avail In helping him to make his way Or fill his dinner pail. While Smith, whose wit and skill are small, His course triumphant goes ; On one thing only can he call, But that one thing he knows. And so Jones hustles hard and long To make his two ends meet, While Smith in power waxes strong And lives on Easy Street. Hence we contend : Far better be Blest with one gift that shines Than cursed with mediocrity In half-a-dozen lines. THE TRANSFORMATION He goes his way, clear-eyed and brave, To face his weighty business cares, You'd think him far too staid and grave For aught except life's stern affairs ; But see him at the baseball game, His coat is off, his hat askew, His eyes are wild, his face aflame, He's yelling like an Indian, too. 48 POEMS AND PICTURES THE TOILERS Two toilers, toiling in the sun, Strove each in his accustomed way; One served for self alone and one Wrought under love's inspiring sway. One planned a work of noble scope And to the task his hands applied; But wearied soon, and losing hope, He cast it scarce begun aside. The other took the matter crude, And laboring with earnest will, Saw the design, unformed and rude, Take shape beneath his loving skill. Each day he sought it with delight As slow it grew the thing he meant, And though he oft knew failure's blight He faltered not in his intent. At last, his patient efforts through, Content he saw his labors cease, And set the work for men to view, And lo, they cried, "A masterpiece !" The work the one had found too hard, Who measured by self's narrow laws, Gained for the other rich reward And won a grateful world's applause. I hold in plans or small or great Our faith must enter to prevail ; The heart will conquer soon or late, No work of love can wholly fail. POEMS AND PICTURES 49 BALLADE OF FAILURES Day by day, be it foul or fair, Regular as the matin peal, On the busiest corner of the square Gather a band of comrades leal ! Little of kinship, though, they feel, Save that life holds for all the same ; Failure upon them has set his seal — "These are down and out of the game !" Summer and Winter they thither fare Drawn as the magnet draws the steel, To watch a struggle they never share, To stand supine in a world of zeal : To mark the changes the hours reveal, Till the sun goes down in the west aflame, Content if night brings a bed and a meal — "These are down and out of the game !" Motley the company gathered there, Odds and ends from Fate's flying reel : Spendthrifts, careless and debonair, Beggars, shabby from head to heel ; Wearying friendship with bold appeal, Dead to honor and lost to shame, Mourning the turn of Fortune's wheel, "These are down and out of the game !" Envoy Youth, ere you enter the conflict, kneel, Pray quick passage from praise and blame, Or ever men thus with your record deal : "These are down and out of the game !" 50 POEMS AND PICTURES THE WITCHERY OF HALLOWE'EN The witchery of hallowe'en, It tingles in the air ! And spirits walk the halls unseen Or lurk upon the stair; We know their work in everything By ways we can't explain, The bells that curiously ring The ghost-taps at the pane. The witchery of hallowe'en, It steals into the breast ! It comes our sober days between And gives to life a zest ; When with the merry throng we prove, By foolish spell or rhyme, The truth of charms that only move At this enchanted time. The witchery of hallowe'en, We freely own its power ! May each return still find us keen For Folly's fleeting hour; And let the years steal what they may From joys to which we've clung, So that they spare each festal day That keeps this old world young! A DECLARATION Dear heart, I've striven long to find Some way to tell my state of mind In language due ; But vain my toil, my sighs, my tears ; No thought will come, no line appears Save this : "I'm over head and ears In love with you." A Glimpse of Bear Creek— Off the North Point Road Deepdene Road, Roland Park POEMS AND PICTURES S3 THE STRENUOUS LIFE ' Wake ! for the sun has ushered in the day ; The city clamors and you must away — Why rail then at the fate that drives you forth Or swear at Time for that he will not stay? Quick ! sieze the cup of coffee scalding hot ; The hasty roll, the egg, — no matter what ; There is no time to feast if you would keep Your hard-won fame of "Johnny-on-the-spot." Rush wildly forth, leave wide both door and gate, The trolley's coming and it will not wait; Haste now, lest you be left along with those Who beat the empty air and wail, "Too late !" Attack your work; exert your utmost power, With thought to crowd a week into an hour — You dare not take your leisure if you hope From all the throng to pluck Success's flower. Dash out at noon unto the lunchroom nigh, Bolt down your sandwich and prepare to fly; The clock speaks with inexorable voice And bids you hence, nor tarry for the pie. Fill thus the hours, nor cease e'en with the light, But push your labors far into the night ; There is so much that waits accomplishment And soon comes Death to claim his oft-scorned right. And when the scribe whom wiser ways shall rule Stands where you lie beneath the grasses cool And reads the too-brief record of your years, It may be he will write, "Here was a fool !" 54 POEMS AND PICTURES A QUERY My aforetime plunging friend, Now you've reached your tether's end And must henceforth calmly wend With the herd ; Without quibble or pretense, Out of your experience, Answer me in confidence Just a word. You have walked in joyous ways All the morning of your days And have let your spirits blaze Unrestrained ; Every pleasure you have tried That your pocket could provide, Nor threw you the cup aside Until drained. So, your folly being done, And your comrades fled, each one, Tell me ere your race be run On the earth ; As you reckon up your lot, All you had and now have not, Do you really think you got Your money's worth? THANKSGIVING Lord of our days, with grateful hearts For plenteous tokens of thy grace, Awhile we close our mills and marts, Forget our toil, and give Thee place. POEMS AND PICTURES 55 For all Thy mercies, guarding still, We would in humble thanks unite: For work that kept our hands from ill, For love that led our steps aright. And as we gather to our feast, Though rich our table be or spare, Grant we may feel that not Thy least Through act of ours shall poorer fare. Grant all who for our needs provide, Who speed the arts or till the soil, May have this festal harvest tide An ampler portion for their toil. Increase our wisdom and our strength, Teach us to use our goodly store So that throughout our fair land's length The cry of want be heard no more. CHANCE I am the maddest sprite that walks the earth, Upon mankind I vent my frolic thought, Order and rule I ever set at naught, I crown with honors one devoid of worth, I give him plenty who deserveth dearth, And teach the fool what Wisdom vainly sought; Many the transformations I have wrought, I turn life topsy-turvy for my mirth, I make the beggar rich, the vassal king — There are no bounds to my extravagance ; When brave men battle for some priceless thing, And do and dare their fortunes to advance, Ofttimes the prize with random hand I fling To some dull clown who never lifted lance. j6 POEMS AND PICTURES THE CHRISTMAS WAY The Christmas Way is broad and fair, And all men may pass freely there; Across the world it stretches far, Back to one brightly-gleaming star, Whose glory streams in widening ray Adown the love-set Christmas way. There Hope and Joy go hand in hand And scatter blessings through the land, And Kindly Heart and Goodly Cheer Amid the foremost there appear ; While merry jest and laughter gay Make music on the Christmas Way. There Gladness walks and jolly Mirth, And bells peal sweetly, "Peace on earth," And over all the happy throng Resounds the old angelic song, "Good-will to men !" the swelling lay Thrills through the crowded Christmas Way. There, too, on either side, a row Of gift-booths stand, a wondrous show, Each one with evergreens bedight And mistletoe and holly bright ; And eager, glad-voiced children stray In rapture down the Christmas Way. O man, beset by Sin and Care, Or meshed in Money's golden snare, Cast off your bonds, put worry by, Come, with clean heart and beaming eye, POEMS AND PICTURES 57 And wander back to childhood's day Along the blessed Christmas Way. SWAPPING GIFTS A Christmas Suggestion Now brother's got a walking-stick, A present he abominates ; And sister's waist just makes her sick, It is a shade she fairly hates ; And mother's gift's a patent thing For toasting bread — which she can't bear- And father has a signet ring, Who jewelry would never wear. And they have picked, with equal skill, Their maiden aunt a carving knife ; A lounging robe for Uncle Bill, Who never lounged in all his life ; A set of James for Cousin Sue, Who doesn't like his works a jot, And all the presents seem askew And no one likes the thing they got. If, then, we rack our wits in vain, And all for naught each year go broke, The giving will become a pain, And Christmas but a sorry joke ; And so that no one will be vexed, And none be blamed for lack of sense, Let's get together ere the next And swap with some intelligence. j8 POEMS AND PICTURES BALLADE OF REJOICING Though lusty Winter storms amain Against the walls of our retreat, Though frequent falls the chilling rain And masks the dreary world in sleet; Though mists enfold us, dense, complete, And skies ne'er show a rift of blue, Still sings my heart with rapture meet, " Tis always Summer, dear, with you." Though unseen hands across the pane Stretch night by night a frosty sheet, Though brooklets bear an icy chain And flow no more in ripples fleet ; Though never comes our ears to greet One note of all the birds we knew, Still to the strain my pulses beat, " Tis always Summer, dear, with you." Though snowdrifts fill the field and lane And hide the paths where passed our feet, Though loud the mourning woods complain For all their leafy pomp and sweet ; Though ne'er the sun with kindly heat The barren branches sparkles through, Yet must my joyful tongue repeat, " Tis always Summer, dear, with you." Envoy Love, thus would I the season greet, Though nature wears a sombre hue ; This makes my life with bliss replete, " Tis always Summer, dear, with you." Q a Q s h h w as OS < o W c c c z o Q < POEMS AND PICTURES 61 BALLADE OF STRIVING In an ever changing show Moves the throng of passers-by, Proud and humble, swift and slow, Every state you may descry; Dauntless youth with courage high, Cautious age with sober pace, Side by side for favors try — This is Fortune's open race ! Late and early on they go, Firm of lip and stern of eye, Summer's heat nor Winter's snow Ever turns their course awry; Daring all beneath the sky, Forward to the goal they chase, Each resolved to win or die — This is Fortune's open race ! Little time for rest they know, Little time for laugh or sigh ; Naught they fear but overthrow Ere the golden prize be nigh ; "Faster, faster," runs the cry, "Speed's the only saving grace !" Toiling, panting, on they fly — This is Fortune's open race ! Envoy Let us ponder, you and I, Ere with these we take our place, Will the gain the loss supply? This is Fortune's open race ! 62 POEMS AND PICTURES NEW YEAR'S EVE The New Year at the threshold stands, He comes to be awhile our guest; Haste we and set him forth our best, Such as his high estate demands. Prepare the chamber of the heart, Put all its worn-out gear aside; Let no profaning thing abide That of the Old Year made a part. Sweep out each lingering vice of youth, The follies born of thoughtless blood ; Call back the olden love of good, And trim anew the lamp of truth. Cast off the foulness and the sin, The habits that to evil lead ; Make sweet the dwelling for his need, And bid the New Year enter in. SEA VENTURES The ships, in all their snowy pride, Drop slowly seaward with the tide; I stand here at the harbor side And watch them outward steer; And oft I wonder as I gaze, Of all the ships mine eye surveys, How many will in after days In port again appear? POEMS AND PICTURES 63 Ah ! not a few before the blast, Will sink beneath the waters vast, Or on some rocky shore be cast, Dismantled, battered wrecks ; Yet none the less, the vessels will — Let winds blow fair or winds blow ill — Go forth on man's adventures still Wherever Fortune becks. We, too, send forth our ships, with cheers, Out on the sea of changeful years, And wait, with varying hopes and fears, To greet their coming home. Till tidings blown from shores afar Of treacherous sands or sunken bar, And strong boats foundered, hull and spar, Tell us they will not come. But though Fate thus our efforts mocks, Not all the dread of tempest shocks, Of hostile sails and hidden rocks, Can e'er our faith subdue ; And soon upon that shifting main Our ships go bravely forth again, Though cravens cry "Your toil is vain, Why still the shade pursue ?" Hope on, brave heart ; the tide must turn ; We cannot Fortune's ways discern, Though now she every offering spurn, She yet may with us dwell; When borne before a favoring gale, Our ships return with swelling sail, And to our faint and trembling hail, Send back a glad "All's, well !" 64 POEMS AND PICTURES A LEAP-YEAR EPISODE They were gathered in the office, for the boss was not around, And they talked on various topics with sagacity pro- found, Until someone mentioned leap-year and the privilege ladies had Of proposing for a husband then if one they wanted bad. There was Jones, the city salesman; Smith, the keeper of the cash, And Robinson and Jackson, and they all spoke up quite rash Of the way they'd treat a lady who might offer them her hand, And the sentiments they uttered were magnanimous and grand ; When the door abruptly opened and a female entered there, A lady large and stately, with a most determined air, And o'er that group of noble men her flashing glances ran, Then she in manner resolute began, "I want a man" — Jones leaped straight for the window and was through it like a flash, And Jackson down the elevator made a splendid dash, And passersby who saw the pair go speeding up the street Declared that as a sprinting match it never could be beat; Smith, too, of his agility gave most conclusive proof By springing on the fire-escape and climbing to the roof, And Robinson, he couldn't tell just how he got away, But they dragged him from the cellar somewhat later in the day; While the lady, she whose entrance had such wild com- motion made, POEMS AND PICTURES 65 Turned to the grinning office boy, the only one who stayed, And said as if in these events she noticed nothing strange, "I want a man to come around and fix my kitchen range." A SCHEME THAT FAILED Old Brown, who lives across the way, Has in his stable stowed A perfect dandy of a sleigh That never sees the road. And Smith, who lives next door but two, Is owner of a mare He doesn't use the whole year through Save on occasions rare. And I have just the nicest girl A man could sit beside, Whose pretty head is all awhirl With longings for a ride. And so before the pair I laid A proposition fine To pool the sleigh, the mare, the maid Into one grand combine. And as the portion which I brought Was worth far more than theirs, It was .entirely right, I thought, For me to run affairs. But they — they laughed my scheme to scorn And mocked me to my face, So sleigh and mare and maid forlorn Each keeps a separate place. 66 POEMS AND PICTURES AT THE DOOR They said good-night, but lingered still On either side the narrow sill; He clasped her hands across the space, She strove to hide her happy face, Where love looked forth despite her skill. The clock rang out its warning shrill, They started with a guilty thrill, And once again (O cruel case!) They said good-night. Yet they their cup of bliss would fill, The moon retired in kindly will, And as the shadows veiled the place, He drew her close in his embrace And in a mode where words are nil They said good-night. MOONLIGHT ON THE CHESAPEAKE Swift o'er the surface of the bay we glide, Whereon the Night has spread her dusky veil, And lo ! the moon, new risen now, and pale, Throws her reflection on the gloomy tide : A silver path, across the waters wide, That leads unbroken to our vessel's rail, Save when the silhouette of a passing sail A moment in the glory may abide. O perfect hour ! won from life's toil and stress ; Would that we might its fleeting passage stay, And soothed by breezy Summer's soft caress, Here, side by side, forever drift away O'er endless seas of moonlit loveliness, Far from the wearing strife of garish day. POEMS AND PICTURES 69 SIGNS OF SUMMER When days wax longer as they pass And airs more torrid blow, When to the greenwood lad and lass In merry parties go; When each suburbanite you meet Prates of his garden patch, When anglers brother anglers greet With yarns about the catch; When loud from every plot of green The lawn-mower sounds afar, When on each vacant lot is seen The future baseball star; When city street and country lane Anew with sunlight throb, We know that Summer's come again And Old Sol's on the job. THE ABSORBING TOPIC With anxious look and eager eye He scanned the printed page, As if some matter great and high Did all his thought engage. He moved impatient in his seat And turned the leaves once more, Then cried, enraged, "Confound this sheet, Where have they put the score?" 70 POEMS AND PICTURES ALONG THE SHORE Here at the ocean's verge I stand, Where foam lines break on the sloping sand, And salt airs gladden the weary land With a steady breeze and strong; Out on the boundless blue expanse Swiftly the homing ships advance, White their sails in the sunlight glance, Smoothly they glide along. Pleasant, methinks, such life must be Thus to fare on the shining sea, Over the waves when winds blow free To sweep on tireless wings ; But, ah! when I gaze along the beach At wreckage marking the breakers* reach, And read the lesson its fragments teach, A different thought upsprings. Here lie timbers of goodly ships That went forth upon hopeful trips, Sailing out from their harbor slips Freighted with words of cheer; Sailing fair till the storm-fiend's scourge Beat them under the heaving surge ; Wind and wave are moaning a dirge Over their unknown bier. Never of them shall we tidings learn, Never a message for hearts that yearn, Never will they to the port return Where weary watchers wait. POEMS AND PICTURES A broken spar, or a battered boat, Mast or plank that was left afloat, Left to drift to these shores remote, Leaves us to guess their fate. A LAST APPEAL O hear me, cruel-hearted thief, This is my last appeal to you, Here read the cause of all my grief And see the mischief that you do. You took from me my tender heart, Though you it could no profit bring, Now mine is but an idle part, I have no heart for anything. You robbed me of my healthful sleep, To me the night no more brings rest; Your haunting graces round me sweep Whene'er my troubled pillow's pressed. You stole my appetite away, Alas ! I can no longer eat ; The dining-hours that sweetened day Have lost the charm that made them sweet. Give back, give back all these again, And you I will forever bless; For me to live with none were vain, While you can surely live with less. Or if a part you wish to keep, I yield perforce unto your might; So hold you then my heart and sleep, But please return my appetite! J2 POEMS AND PICTURES A PAGE 0,F BASEBALL LIMERICKS RUNNING YET The score it was twenty to three, And a spectator cried "Hully Gee !" As man after man O'er the plate gaily ran, "Is it ball or foot-racing I see?" NO WINGS A chap who was playing at third, To grab a high throw never stirred ; When the captain yelled "Why, You big chump, don't you try?" He said, "Do you think I'm a bird?" BETTER UPSIDE DOWN A bow-legged stortstop called Ed, Once missed a hot grounder and said, As he saw with what ease It could pass through his knees, "I see I should stand on my head." TOO MUCH WIND-UP A pitcher who had a great ball, Prepared to give batters a fall ; When he found to his fright He was wound up so tight That he couldn't project it at all. NOT SPEED ENOUGH Said the coach, a sarcastic-tongued soul, To a youngster who failed of his goal, "Remember this, son, When the bases you run, You're not taking an afternoon stroll." POEMS AND PICTURES 73 A PAGE OF BASEBALL LIMERICKS A MONOTONOUS JOB A fan who to keep score essayed, In a game where no hits had been made, Said, "This job is so fraught With the making of naught That a rubber stamp would be an aid." AN UNKIND CUT Said one who loved dollars and cents, "These ball games are too much expense ; I shall let them go by" — Cried a waggish friend, "Why, Have they nailed up the hole in the fence?" HOW NICE Said the right field, "This thing's wrongly planned, They should grow daisies here close at hand, Then Fd lighten the hours By gathering flowers To give to the girls in the stand." A TOUGH POSITION A player at second called Rob, Had a base runner light on his knob ; Said he, feeling the sore, When the mixup was o'er, "This sure is a strenuous job." A SARCASTIC ROOTER A girl new to baseball affairs, Saw the men, yelling, stand on their chairs ; "Are you rooting?" she said To one wild-eyed and red, And he shrieked, "No, I'm saying my prayers." J4 POEMS AND PICTURES A RETROSPECT How many times, dear heart, have we Together roamed beside the sea When life was young, and skies were blue, And all the world was fair and new, And it was rapture just to be! And we have traced o'er dale and lea The paths that led to Arcady, And lingered there the long hours through, How many times ? And though our ways, by "fate's decree," Since then have severed been and free, I still have kept your memory true Through all these changing years, while you, Ah, sad coquette, have thought of me — How many times ? SKY LAND World of rare beauty ! old yet ever new, Whose cloud-built scenes my fancy oft beguiles, Alike though Winter storms or Summer smiles ; Earth's varied forms you show in softer hue, Plains, valleys, mountains, in your depths I view; Sometimes an ocean set with fleecy isles, Or placid lake, girt 'round about for miles With snowy peaks upheaved against the blue. Here I a rugged cape can plainly trace, And there the curving beach line of a bay; Awhile these hold their unsubstantial grace, Then are dissolved and pass like mist away, And newer shapes drift slowly into place, Frail counterfeits as fair and brief as they. First Leaves — Spring, near Mt. Winans M^^& ; 1^^: Old Rail Fence — Near Emory Grove POEMS AND PICTURES 77 BALLADE OF THE INFALLIBLE PROPHET I shirk no trials a man may meet While journeying on this mortal sphere, I can eat my grapes, though sour or sweet, And take my chances without a fear; I dread not poverty's presence drear, I'll face misfortune's cruellest blow; But I shrink and cower when comes anear The infallible prophet, I-told-you-so. I can bow to the fate that brings defeat, And smile at the world's unfeeling jeer, But Satan's self I would rather greet Than list to this bore with his half-hid sneer ; Than have him prate in my tortured ear The wordy reasons I sadly know, That tear my wounds like a jagged spear, The infallible prophet, I-told-you-so. I can bear the shock to my poor conceit When I see my brave schemes disappear, But I long to flee to a safe retreat Whenever his rasping voice I hear : How he had known it for half a year, He felt it would happen long ago ; It was all foreseen by this mighty seer, The infallible prophet, I-told-you-so. Envoy Death, grim slayer, have you no cheer? Take your weapon and lay him low — Give me to read on his tombstone clear : "The infallible prophet, I-told-you-so." y8 POEMS AND PICTURES THE CALL OF MARYLAND Old Home Week, Baltimore, October 13-19, 1907 wandering sons ! children dear ! Where'er today you roam, For you we spread the festal cheer And deck your natal home ; For you a queenly mother waits In stately joy and pride Within her fairest city's gates, Where doors are opened wide. Come home — forget awhile your care, Put by your wasting toil ; Come, breathe your old State's genial air And tread her kindly soil; Retrace the scenes of life's young day, Clasp friendly hands once more, And Love will smooth the years away And vanished youth restore. Come home — though far you build anew Or other ties you form, Your old State's skies are still as blue, Our hearts are just as warm; Still on her swelling hills the sun Sends down his brightest ray, And still her sparkling rivers run Rejoicing to the Bay. Come home — our bannered streets are bright, Our standards proudly fly, And "Welcome" gleams from flag and light, And beams in every eye; POEMS AND PICTURES yg And kindred and old comrades will With pleasant greetings come, While pleasure all the hours shall fill — Come home, dear hearts, come home. THE "OTHER WAY" Each morning as to work I go, A maiden fair I meet, The dearest, sweetest girl, I know, That treads the busy street; She comes and goes so sweet and shy, Watch her I could all day, But ah ! she quickly passes by — She goes the other way. I note her coming with delight, And often wish that she Would read my tender looks aright And kindly smile on me; But scarce I gaze upon her face And mark the blushes play, Ere tripping by with dainty pace She goes the other way. Thus Fortune, too, the gay coquette, Will ever me torment ; For years I've tried my steps to set The way that hers are bent; But she will my endeavors cheat, Strive howsoe'er I may, And always when we chance to meet She goes the other way. 80 POEMS AND PICTURES CHANT ROYAL OF THE FIVE SENSES When to our gaze earth's beauty is laid bare In pine crowned height or cultivated plain, In forest dim, or meadow broad and fair, Where some slow stream meanders to the main; Whether in Spring's bright verdure newly dressed, Or wearing Summer's glories on her breast ; Flushed with the wealth of Autumn opulent, Or ruled by Winter, stern, omnipotent — What time or season holds the scenes divine, Let us repeat with voices reverent, "We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine !" When Music lures us to her subtle snare With the dear burden of some old refrain, To which we harken, lost to time and care, And hearing naught save that enchanting strain, Till charmed we stand, her witching power confessed, And smile or weep at her supreme behest; Or when we list to speaker eloquent, Whose glowing language holds us rapt, intent, While to his cause our kindred hopes incline, Then let us thus to our delight give vent, "We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine !" When lavish Summer scatters on the air The gathered odors of her golden reign, On every breeze bestows an ample share So rich the fragrance that her blooms contain; While we, with hearts by love of Nature blest, Inhale her sweets with never failing zest; Or when her fields of rain are redolent, And every leaf with diamond drops besprent, And her blown breath is like a rare old wine, POEMS AND PICTURES Si Then be our voices in glad chorus blent, "We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine !" When we have known the sick-room's scanty fare, And weary weeks on Fever's couch have lain, And kindly hands a tempting dish prepare To call the wasted vigor back again; Or bring rare fruits, whose glowing hues suggest Some orchard old or vineyard sun-caressed, And to our lips the pleasant cure present, And we enjoy its substance succulent, While life anew thrills in our limbs supine, Then must we cry from out our deep content, "We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine !" When in our homes Death enters unaware And bears some loved one to his dark domain, And we arise from our first blind despair To greet the friends who strive to ease our pain, And learn how much unto the soul distressed May by a simple hand-clasp be expressed; When words are vain to fitly represent The tenderness in loving bosoms pent, How mute caress may speak the feeling fine, Then let us say, with heads submissive bent, "We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine!" Envoy Friends, here is shown the body's complement, These senses five, no more could we invent ; Then, thus endowed, shall we at life repine? Nay, let us murmur, grateful, penitent, "We thank Thee, God, for this great gift of Thine!" A Chant Royal is a sort of enlarged Ballade, in that it has a fixed length and definite laws for rhyming. There are very few in the English Language. 82 POEMS AND PICTURES FOR A WEDDING When you are one, courageous twain, May Love within your household reign, May Gladness be your constant guest, May Peace, sweet dove, build there her nest, And with her quiet brood remain. And should you strive for worldly gain, May Fortune, "fickle goddess," deign To aid you in each honest quest, When you are one ! And as your days begin to wane, May you your early faith retain, And gently, calmly, sink to rest, With thoughts of rounded duty blest, Thus proving marriage is no bane When you are one ! A SUMMER STORM "Rain!" cried the tree, the first to catch the word The herald wind brought o'er the dusty plain; "Rain ! rain !" leaf after leaf took up the strain Till every drooping blade and blossom heard, And e'en the wasted brook was faintly stirred ; Then, crash ! the gathered clouds were split in twain, And down it poured, great sheets of driving rain, And all the landscape misty grew and blurred. Deep drank the thirsty earth so long denied; The blossoms bowed beneath it, and the tree, Feeling the gusty current smite its side, Tossed its glad arms and rocked in ecstasy; The brook became a torrent swift and wide And roared across the meadow, mad with glee. c c O u o c POEMS AND PICTURES 8j VOYAGING Within my chamber window streams The full round moon's refulgent beams, And, roused, I quit my couch and stand At gaze on an enchanted land. Outspread before my mazed eyes The sleeping town transfigured lies Beneath an ocean white and still That reaches to my casement sill. A waveless flood that covers all, Save where some spire, or chimney tall, That turns to me its shadowed side, Yet shows above the shining tide. So fair it lies, this mystic sea, I fain a-voyaging would be, And straightway Fancy frames a boat And out upon the deep I float. As in a dream I drift away Where fragrant breezes softly play, And radiant summer ever smiles Around a hundred fairy isles. Or 'neath some beetling cliff I sail, Whereon a streamlet spreads a veil, And push my shallop to the land And roam its silver-gleaming strand. Through these and other scenes I pass Till Fancy turns her magic glass, And lo ! the east is pale with dawn And all the moonlit glow is gone. 86 POEMS AND PICTURES A HUSTLER'S WISH I am a hustler; all my life It seems has been a chase, I entered early in the strife, And kept a foremost place. I rushed so hard from youth to prime, I sometimes have my fears That I have run ahead of time By half a score of years. And now that I've won Fortune's smile I'd like to stop the wheels, To quit the struggle for awhile And see how loafing feels. I'd like to seek some grassy plot, Such as the poets laud, And on the softest, greenest spot Just spread myself abroad. And there, all care forgotten, lie With gently heaving breast And gaze up at the quiet sky And rest, and rest, and rest. A COMMON COMPLAINT *'0 doctor," moans the worried wife, "My husband's in some awful trouble ; His sleep with horrid dreams is rife, He talks of hit and steal and double." "Nay," said the doctor, "be at ease, Attacks like this should not affright us, 'Tis but a mild form of disease And widely known as baseballitus." POEMS AND PICTURES 87 RESOLUTION He called her fickle, heartless, cold, And wished that he had never met her; Declared his love's knell had been tolled, And said he lived but to forget her. He gave her back each scented note, From every pledge made haste to free her; Then went away to scenes remote, And vowed he nevermore would see her. But when she wrote in sore distress, "Please, Jack, return, my heart's dear master," He went home by the fast express, And swore because it wasn't faster. THE FOUNTAIN From out the center of a lake I saw a shining column spring, Straight as an arrow from the string, And in a thousand jewels break. I marked the stream's incessant flow, Now upward borne, a thing elate, Now crushed again beneath the weight Of its own water, sinking low. O fountain with the jeweled crown! O type of this our mortal life ! Such is the soul's unceasing strife Against the flesh which drags it down. Harlem Park, Baltimore 88 POEMS AND PICTURES CHRISTMAS CHANGES "It is the gracious Christmas time, The fireplace glows with cheery light, And on the windows, white with rime, A thousand jewels sparkle bright. "The tree within the corner stands, Its boughs with glittering baubles strung, Where Santa Claus with generous hands Last night his welcome presents hung. "Without the earth is wrapped in snow And sleigh-bells jingle far and near, And sounds of gladness come and go Upon the frosty atmosphere." Thus sang the bard of former days, Or might have sung if so he willed, But I, who scribble modern lays, Am not by such bright visions thrilled. No glowing fireplace, deep and wide, Have I to set my thoughts astir; I keep my Christmas cheer beside A cold, prosaic register. The corner holds no laden tree That I in rhyme might celebrate, Because, the scientists agree, Our forests thus we devastate. And Santa Claus, the jolly elf, Who used to come with reindeer team, Is relegated to the shelf And out of date as poet's theme. POEMS AND PICTURES 89 And so I cannot find a point Whereon to hang a Christmas verse — Ah me! the times are out of joint And poet's woes grow daily worse. IN ANSWER Old Friend : You ask me if it pays, This using quires of paper And lots of ink in writing lays Beside the "midnight taper." Well, that depends, if "paying" means A certain money profit, I fear your correspondent gleans But very little of it. But though the work no money earns To keep his pot a-boiling, He still maintains it yields returns That justify the toiling. If he can keep through life's dull way Some thought of fields and flowers To cheer his labors day by day, Tis worth the "wasted" hours. And while some cry the road is hard, And o'er their lot sit sighing, He dons the mantle of the bard And takes to versifying. go POEMS AND PICTURES THE NEW YEAR'S PROMISE When last the bells at midnight rung To usher in the new-born year, We gathered where light mirth upsprung And kept the hour with song and cheer. No sorrow for the year agone, No vain regret our pleasure marred; We only saw the golden dawn, The glowing future promise starred. And yet a brief twelvemonth before The same old year with joy we hailed, Assured its days all blessings bore For which we'd striven long — and failed. And well our baffled purpose knew How much its close found still undone, The tasks accomplished — Ah, how few ! How slight the victory we had won ! But flowery hope that ever springs Above the ruins of defeat Put forth its fairest blossomings And served our blinded sense to cheat. So that once more with greetings fair We welcomed in the year's advent, As now we greet Time's latest heir, And ever will till life be spent. For though our good intent may fail, And wished-for triumph end in pain, Still must we each glad season hail That wakens brave resolve again. Washington Monument, Mt. Vernon Place Key Monument, Eutaw Place POEMS AND PICTURES 93 PIONEERS The street is full of drifted snow, The walk has vanished and a row Of trampled footprints to and fro Its place betrays; And here the people come and go Their busy ways. Along in narrow track they tread, Each follows up the one ahead, Unbroken snow about them spread On either side; The living stream in that worn bed Will ever bide. Thus day by day our course we take, Content to follow in the wake Of those before, nor effort make At methods new ; The common way we ne'er forsake Our journey through. Not thus the men whose deeds sublime Illume the chronicle of Time, Who left their names in every clime Our heritage, And live in deathless prose and rhyme From age to age. Not thus the men who brought the light When all the world was sunk in night, Who waged for Truth a valiant fight Through sneer and frown, And won in spite of Error's might The victor's crown. g4 POEMS AND PICTURES These followed not the beaten route But firm in faith, of courage stout, And free from fear and halting doubt, New pathways traced, And from the track struck boldly out Into the waste. AFTER THE FIRE A Prophecy of Greater Baltimore The fire had passed; above the scene The genius of the city bent In bitter woe, like some sad queen Dethroned and doomed to banishment; And as she mourned she felt the spell Of a superior presence near, While gracious words of comfort fell Like music on her raptured ear. "My daughter, cease your futile sighs, This fire shall prove your lasting gain; These ruined piles anew shall rise In beauty dear as sunny skies That follow gloomy days of rain. "Here, with prophetic sense, I see A fairer, vaster realm than this; A people from old bonds set free Shall make a city that will be The Southland's real metropolis. "These streets again with trade shall fill In volume never known of yore ; Here loom and press and forge and mill Shall pile the products of their skill, And wealth her garnered treasure pour. POEMS AND PICTURES O *— o c POEMS AND PICTURES i 4 g A massive gate across my pathway hung, Between two towers that marked some city's border, But from their heights no flaunting banner swung, Nor saw I sign of sentinel or warder. I ventured on, and slowly drawing near, I thought, they either sleep or are dissembling; And as my courage gained upon my fear, I gave a feeble hail, and waited, trembling. My voice awoke the echoes of the place, A jeering troop that mocked me with their riot — They raged about me for a moment's space, Then sank again to their primeval quiet. Naught else replied; upon the towers vast No watch appeared, nor any living mortal, And so I thrust the gate aside and passed, With quaking heart, unchallenged through the portal. Within, a mighty city met my gaze, With streets and lanes in seeming chaos blending, But plunging into the perplexing maze, I pushed ahead to learn my journey's ending. The street I entered seemed devoid of life, Throughout its gloomy length no one was stirring; No moving to and fro in busy strife, No healthy sounds of toil, no wheels a-whirring. The roadway had become a tangled mass Of weeds and vines that for its bed contested, And on the pave the interloping grass Thrust forth from every crevice unmolested. Neglect had made a ruin everywhere, Each weed-grown walk and crumbling habitation Showed that the place was dead to human care, And all was left to time's despoliation. ISO POEMS AND PICTURES So lonely it appeared, a sense of awe, A feeling as of death's dread presence thrilled me, Till, passing on my way, ere long I saw Some signs of life, whereat new courage filled me. Some creatures of my kind, that I descried, Not far ahead the grass-grown pathway threading", And hoping for some speech, with quickened stride, I drew beside them, wondering, yet dreading. My presence seemed to waken no surprise, No token gave they whither they were faring, But with despondent steps and weary eyes They moved along, unheeding and uncaring. Awhile I kept their apathetic pace, Then seeking one who less indifferent bore him, I asked where dwelt the ruler of the place — He raised his hand and pointed on before him. I looked, and in the distance I beheld A noble palace rising fair and stately, And straight, by that strange power still impelled, My steps I thither turned precipitately. A noble pile it was as e'er I saw, Although its beauties had with time diminished, And closer view discovered many a flaw Where careless hands had left their work unfinished. The massive steps that to the entrance led Had, like the walls, in places cracked and crumbled, And from the sculptured portico o'erhead Great blocks of stone upon the pave had tumbled. Awhile I stood with purposes at war, Still swayed between advancing and retreating; And oft I scanned the throng about the door, But no one stirred or gave me word of greeting. POEMS AND PICTURES 151 All were as silent as the crumbling stone, Nor could I see that any there kept sentry; And when my foolish fancies were overthrown, I pushed into their midst and gained the entry. I found myself within a spacious hall, Filled with the fruits of human undertaking; Books, models, pictures, carvings, statues, all The varied objects of man's patient making. I pondered long upon their presence there, Not that they lacked in beauty or in meetness, But everything I saw, though seeming fair, Had some defect or look of incompleteness. There was no perfect work about the place, No masterpiece the faults of all redeeming; Nor saw I anywhere a human face That with the light of victory was beaming. No countenance that wore a happy look, As of success achieved through hard conditions, But on them all I read, as in a book, Of blasted hopes and unfulfilled ambitions. It was a place of sadness and of gloom, Whose stagnant life nor time nor season altered; And as I moved from crowded room to room, My heart grew heavy and my footsteps faltered. Yet must I learn who ruled this drear domain, And so I passed — my fears at length permitting — To where enthroned amid his solemn train The city's master sat in state befitting. His court was all in shadow — cobwebs gray Across each window hung a dusty curtain, Through which the sun sent in a sickly ray That made all things within vague and uncertain. 1^2 POEMS AND PICTURES I entered straight, and sought the ruler's throne Before my fears could from my purpose win me, But as I strove to make my wishes known, I met his gaze, and courage died within me. Transfixed I stood beneath his eyes' dark spell, While brief he spoke in tones that made me cower "My name is Failure ; lest you here would dwell, Fly ere you feel my spirit's blighting power !" THE DEATH SHIP An Old Whaler's Story " 'Tis many a year since forth we sailed To tempt the Arctic seas ; The land upon our vision failed, The southern stars behind us paled, And northward blew the breeze. We reached the land of ice and snow, The ship caught in the drift ; The ice-stream bore us to and fro, Nor forward, backward, could we go, Save as the ice would shift. The thick green wall on either side Enclosed us like a tomb; The mists rolled downward in a tide, We heard the icebergs crash and slide, And thought it told our doom. The mists arose. Aslant the mast The sun at midnight shone; And still the ice-king held us fast, And still the days unchanging passed Until a month had flown. POEMS AND PICTURES ijj The tedious term ran on — one day A vessel came in sight. Across the ice we made our way, But as we drew near where she lay, She seemed deserted quite. She sent no answer to our hail Though we in chorus roared; We clambered o'er the icy rail, We saw a sight that made us quail — Death only was on board. The dead were here, the dead were there, They had a frightful look; A dead man filled the captain's chair And gazed with empty, ghastly stare Upon an open book. I took the volume green with mold, A dreadful tale I read; And oh, the might of Arctic cold ! Since last the pen the date had told, Full twenty years had fled. A sudden terror on us fell, And from the ship we rushed; We could not break the awful spell, Like men allowed a glimpse of hell, We were in spirit crushed. At last the ice-fields cracked amain, And open sea appeared; The sails that long had idle lain Grew rounded in the breeze again, ; And south the helmsman steered." ' ij4 POEMS AND PICTURES THE CAVE A Traveler's Tale This is the tale as it came to me From the bearded lips of my gray-haired guide, As we lay in the shade of a spreading tree And smoked our pipes on the mountain side : "I never journey among these hills But my heart anew with horror thrills, And memory brings back fresh and clear A dread adventure I met with here. I was in the prime of manhood then, Strong and active beyond most men ; Fond of hunting and roaming about, And glad as a boy could I but be out. In tramping 'round with my gun one day, The chase of a fox led me this way, And I followed him close and found his lair, A hole 'neath a rock in the valley there. I stooped to take a look at the place When a current of air blew o'er my face, A breath of a warm, dry atmosphere, And I cried at once, "A cave is here !" With my hunting-knife I scraped away From the narrow cleft the earth and clay, Till I thought the opening amply wide To enable me to crawl inside ; But first, with a hunter's clear foresight, I gathered some resinous boughs for light, Then with much trouble and frequent pause I worked my way in the cavern's jaws. Within I quickly kindled a blaze And gazed around by the feeble rays To see what manner of place I'd found Thus hidden away beneath the ground. I found myself in a gallery small, Scarce six feet wide from wall to wall, But stretching out in the further gloom POEMS AND PICTURES 155 To a space my torch could not illume. The floor was a stiff, tenacious clay, With an upward slope as the valley lay, And down its slippery, winding length There ran a stream of goodly strength. I took my torch in a firmer grip And began my subterranean trip, Taking the streamlet for my guide And pressing on with eager stride. The cavern opened as I advanced, And my torch in many a byway glanced, And strangest figures and shapes in stone In the flickering light a moment shone; Pillars, white as the new-born snow, Rose up from the floor, row after row, And curtains wrought with gorgeous woof Hung motionless from the studded roof. I wandered onward, charmed, amazed By the many wonders at which I gazed, Till I came to a lake that stopped my course, And which I found was the streamlet's source. I swung my flaming pine-knot high And stared around with straining eye, But could not fathom the lake's extent, Nor see the roof that above it bent. I tossed a stone high overhead, And it sunk far out in the lake's dark bed, And the ripple that started where it fell Struck some distant cliff like a silvery bell. Then a foolish wish came in my mind — I wonder yet I could be so blind — But to hear my gun there I desired, And I pointed it up at the roof and fired. Heavens ! the din that followed that shot ; While I breathe it never will be forgot; The terrible sound ran to and fro And smote on my ears as with a blow. To the uttermost parts of the cave it fled, i 5 6 POEMS AND PICTURES With fainter roar as it further sped, Then back again in a swelling tide, By a thousand echoes multiplied. I seized my gun in frantic haste And down the gallery's slope I raced, Recking nothing of blows or falls, Nor aught but escape from the cavern's walls. On I ran in my headlong course, Till I struck a wall with fearful force, And back on the wet earth tumbled prone, With no more life than the senseless stone. How long I lay there I cannot say. My torch still showed a feeble ray When life returned to my dizzy brain And my sluggish pulses moved again. I struggled up and fanned my light Till it made the cavern chamber bright, And my eyes at once an object found That held me there in wonder bound. 'Twas one of the pine boughs I had left When first I crawled through the narrow cleft Of the cavern's mouth; 'twas the self-same place, But of the cleft there wasn't a trace. I searched the rocky wall all o'er, Tried every crevice from roof to floor, And at last I learned with a dreadful shock That my shot or something had altered the rock And shut me there in a living tomb, With never a soul to know my doom. At first I felt a furious rage And splintered my gun-stock on my cage, Then threw the useless barrel aside And sat me down on the stones and cried. But when I had somewhat calmer grown, I stood my torch on a jutting stone. And gathered the fragments, every one, That had fallen from my splintered gun, POEMS AND PICTURES 157 And a cheerful fire with these I made Which soon dispelled the cavern's shade; Then taking my torch I sought the slope Where the streamlet ran, with growing hope. In a bright cascade the water fell And sank from sight in a sort of well, Slipping away far underground With a ceaseless, bubbling, gurgling sound. Long while in its troubled depths I gazed, And at length my thoughts into action blazed; I picked the stones from the cavern floor Till beside the well I had a score ; Then into the narrow opening there I tumbled them with greatest care, And rejoiced to see they filled the space So that little water could leave the place ; Then from the floor I tore away Huge handfuls of the stiff red clay, And into each crack I let it drop Till the water flowed from the well's rough top And over the floor began to wind, For thus I had thought escape to find; By turning the stream from its former course, And make it an outlet elsewhere force An opening large enough for me To work my way to liberty. My torch by this was almost gone And the darkness swiftly coming on, So I climbed again o'er the rocks and mud To a safer place above the flood; Far up the slope I found a ledge, And scrambled over its ragged edge, But dropped in the act my bit of light And sat there whelmed in blackest night. Till then I had hardly felt a fear, But the frightful gloom and the silence drear And the thought that I there might end my life ijS POEMS AND PICTURES Struck through my heart like the thrust of a knife. Thus I sat for hours and scarcely stirred, Till the gathering waters beneath I heard, By which I knew that the rising tide Was slowly climbing the cavern's side. Higher it rose and further it spread, Till it lapped the ledge where I stood in dread ; Upward it crawled by slow degrees, Over my ankles, over my knees, Up to my waist its cold line grew, While a newer terror my senses knew; But ere the water had reached my face, A thunderous sound rang through the place, And the outward surge of the rushing flood Tore me away from where I stood, Bore me along on its mighty wave Down the gallery's length and out of the cave, Threw me at last against the hill, Where I lay exhausted and bruised and still, While the unchained torrent past me poured And on down the valley raged and roared Till the cave was dry, then it died away To the quiet stream that you see today." "RUN TO THE HILLS!" (An Incident of the Johnstown Calamity, May 31st, 1889) "Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" Through the doomed valley the warning it thrills ! Cried by a rider, whose foam-covered steed Carries him onward with marvelous speed, Bearing the news to the populous town Of the death-dealing deluge hurrying down. Shouting his cry, through the gathering gloom The messenger hurries, a herald of doom; Behind him the waters are rushing along Like a legion of tigers, blood-hungry and strong; And on through the valley that warning it thrills, "Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" POEMS AND PICTURES 759 "Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" It rings through the streets, all the city it fills ! Preceding the rush of the terrible flood, That signal of danger but half understood, Received with a jest or incredulous jeer, Scoffed at and doubted when death was so near; Yet ever along on unwavering course The messenger flies on his furious horse, And nearer and clearer is heard the roar Of the mighty torrent he flies before; And on through the city that warning it thrills, "Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" "Run to the hills ! Run to the hills I" Faces it blanches and pulses it stills! As the mountainous wave, resistless and wide, Pours over the city its merciless tide, And the seething, surging, angry flood, Tearing through iron and stone and wood, Roaring and raging, onward sweeps, Piling the dead in horrible heaps, Grasping the horse and his rider brave, Dragging them under its pitiless wave; While o'er the mad waters that warning it thrills, "Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" "Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" This was the greatest of latter-day ills ! Thousands of souls swept away to their death ; Millions in property gone at a breath, The blackness of woe overshadows the place, And mourning and sorrow are seen on each face, Would they had paid to that warning more heed ! Would we could honor the man for his deed ! But deaf is he now to all honor and fame; 'Tis even denied us to cherish his name. Brave, unknown rider ! Still his cry thrills, "Run to the hills ! Run to the hills !" >°v 0\ ^ <5^ v<* « • o •^^ *° J?** O I e ' c ° " • *

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