LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, Chap. Copyright No.,. ShelfJl^-i! J BUFFALO-^ THE PETER PAUL BOOK COMPANY»>420 MAIN STREET »!>J895 T5 ^.-^ss" Copyright^ J 895 By David William McCourt. PRINTED AND BOUND BY THE PETER PAUL BOOK COMPANY, BUFFALO, N. Y. DEDICATION To her whose love, far-reaching through the years, Each sorrow shares and every joy endears ; Whose generous spirit every failing hides, Seeks every good and every ill divides ; Whose kindling sympathies have blunted grief, And made the pangs of harsh misfortune brief ; Whose pure desires beyond the hearth ne'er roam. But find their sphere in Mother, Wife and Home ; This humble tribute of my muse I bring ; These simple lays, by love inspired, I sing ; Twine modest wreaths of the wild-flowers of song For those fair brows— to me forever young. This sincere homage could I well refuse. Since love and beauty still incite the muse? Nor less from him who, while his lays are spun, Finds love and beauty and the muse in one? What to the poet were the richest prize Without the dear approval of Love's eyes? In vain the world may panegyrics coin. Unless the lips we prize the dearest join. All that is worthiest, all that's sweet and fair, Dear Sympathy is first to find it there ; First to point error with the tenderest art, And draw the venom from the critic's dart. No Strephon I to tire you with his sighs ; No Corydon, mad from his mistress' eyes ; No charm of Chloe or Phyllis here I fife, But the tried merits of a virtuous wife. CONTENTS Dedication, .... S Proem, . . . . .9 THE TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. LYRICS OF LOVE. ' Tis the Hour When Deius Descending, Love in a Cottage, On the Beach, Drifting and Dreaming, The Exile, . A Lover's Dilemma, Love's Secret, The Dearest Hour, For Better or for Worse, Constancy, When Flowers Fade, ^^ She is Dead," They Say, Memories, Beneath the Elder Bushes, Beauty's Eyes, At the Bars, Woman's Seasons, Is Love Worth the Trouble f Love's Strategy, Love's Blindness, A Retrospection, Birds of Paradise, 67 58 59 61 63 65 67 68 69 71 72 73 75 77 79 80 82 83 85 85 88 89 CONTENTS. LYKICS OF LOVE— Continued. Memories of Love, . Love, the Tyrant, Daphne, Though Only Once L Met Her, . As Lightly O^er the Sleeping Lake, Love at First Sight, Hero to Leander, Leander to Hero, Sappho, To Elsie, WAYSIDE WAIFS. A Change of Heart, The Woman in the Case, A r Artemisia, My "Misses,'' Eden Restored, . The Wrangler, Ls Marriage a Failure f Stolen and Returned, Love's April Weather, A Midnight Visitant, " What the Bee is to the Floweret," Grooms, Cupid's Astronomy, Echo and the Benedict, The Bachelor's Choice, • Feiv Die, though Many Resign, Modern Daily Papers, A Letter, CONTENTS. WAYSIDE WAIFS— Continued. The '' Fair ' Shopping, . 134 A New Plea for an Old Case, 134 When Cockney Comes, . 135 The Irish Question and the English Arisiver, 137 Woman's Sphere, .... 139 Love Me, Love My Dog, 142 Cash, ..... 144 The Origin of Snobs, 147 Love and Lucre, . . • • 148 The Knot or Not, 161 Love and Business, . . . . 1.52 To Dr. Broivn-Sequard, 154 In the Woods, .... 155 ODS m MEDITATION. Midnight Chimes, 159 A Wish, 161 In Woodland Ways, 163 Minnehaha, . . . . • 165 Ode to White Bear Lake, 166 Hidden Treasures, . . ' • 168 What is Man f .... 169 Pass it Along, . . . • 171 Present Opportunities, 173 The Popular Creed, 175 Couleur de Rose, 176 When the Tide Comes In, . 178 Rural Reflections, 181 December, . . . . • 186 Twilight, .... 188 CONTENTS. MOODS IN MEDITATION— Continued A Day in Autumn, ApriVs Conquest, Leaving the Farm, . Be Still, My Heart, Fill Up the Bmvl, The Past, To the Mississippi, . Discontent, The Newsboy, ■ Mediocrity, Medusa, Medea, Scylla, Be Not the First to Throw a Stone, Pay as You Go, PATRIOTIC PJEONS. Freedom's Corner-Stone, God Save the People, A Chaplet of Roses, When Columbia Arose, Freedom's Perfect Day, Washington, The Flower of Freedom, Old Glory, . Don't Scold the Boys! Union, 190 195 196 199 200 201 208 210 212 2U 215 216 217 233 PROEM When Apollo, harp in hand, Journeyed to the Pythian land, By Olympus' gates he strayed. And his sweetest numbers played. Ceased the gods celestial cares, Audience gave and praised his airs ; And the muses joined and sang, Till Olympian echoes rang. With the ills of men below. Notes of sorrow and of woe. With the bliss of gods above, Themes of pleasure and of love. Horai, Hebe, Harmonia, Lightly tripped each moving lay, Till admiring gods and men Reconciled their hearts again, — Men to homage, gods to bless. Filling earth with happiness. Thus disciples of Apollo In their master's footsteps follow ; At the gates of mortal pain, Chanting love's endearing strain, Still they seek to reconcile Men to all their good and ill ; Woe or pleasure, fear or hope. Caught in life's strange horoscope, Chant till fates and men agree. Soothed by song to harmony ; Waiting in fame's grand odeon The reward of " lo Paeon." THE TREASURES OF WEINSBERG A Tale of Chivalry. Come, gather round me children, And listen while I sing A tale of German chivalry, When Conrad Third was king : Pile wood upon the glowing hearth. The night is growing cold; And while we watch the cheerful flames, We'll sing of fair and faithful dames. And gallant knights and bold. THE TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. PRELUDE. From lofty Alpine summits To the dark northern brine Rolls the enchanted river, — The deep and winding Rhine ; Here rise the terraced vineyards, There wave the fields of corn ; While happy peasants come and go, As ceaseless as the waters flow — The free, the mountain-born. "My fadder-land !" the Saxon Cries, mth uplifted hand ; And breathes a benediction On his good native land. In memory he wanders Down vistas of the years ; While to his happy vision come Some glimpses of a Rhenish home, Through mists of gathering tears. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG III. Nor turn alone Teutonic hearts To that old German home ; Dear are her hills to all the world, Nor least to those who roam. Ah I Nature, Freedom, Glory I These three the gods enshrine. To guard with rock and SAVord and pen, And keep inviolate to men, The glories of the Khine. IV. Green are the vales of Neckar, Where bloom and blush the vine ; And dark the Swabian mountains, With waving seas of pine ; From Baden's hills to meet the Ill's A hundred streams rush down, By many a wild and lonely bower, By many a ruined urbe and tower. And many an ancient town. Here nestles beauteous Alsace Beside the Vosgos Range ; Blighted by war and pillage, And chafing under change. Now shouts she for the "fadder land," Now cries, "Vive la France!" And like the shuttle in the loom, Flies to and fro the woof of doom, And shifts the threads of chance. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 15 VI. Where once the shout of battle Echoed along the Main Resound the jocund shout and song Of the Bavarian swain ; And Saxon girls, with flaxen curls, The purple clusters tread Where Isar once, in darker flood, Bore down old Geniiany's best blood From mountains of her dead.* VII. Here dwell a free-born people, Proud of their heritage, Bequeathed by patriots of old, Preserved fi'om age to age. Civilis and Arminius Who rose their land to save ; Civilis her bold champion, Arminius her AVashington, — ''The bravest of the brave."! VIII. ^'ow hark the martial numbers, And hear the measured tread ! Lo! Freedom's guarantees appear. So beautiful, but dread. *The battle of Hohenlinden. t A tribute of Napoleon to the gallant Marshal Ney, in ac- knowledgement of his dauntless courage and reckless daring. 16 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. These are the trusty legions Whose triumphs sound afar ; The flowers of their country these, — Her ornament in days of peace — Her strong defense in war. IX. Scions of Cimbrian heroes ! Sons of the glorious dead, Whose spirits to Valhalla Long ages since have fled ! From mountains to the ocean They measured Freedom's home ; And stayed with uncorrupted hands The desecrator of their lands, — The proud, rapacious Rome.* X. And still that ground is sacred Where patriots have stood, And baptized infant Liberty In founts of holy blood. Each rock, each glen is dear to men By virtue of some deed ; *Tbe Romans were never successful in their attempts to conquer the German tribes, but were themselves finally van- quished by the hardy Northmen, who for several centuries had the Italian crown at their disposal, and whose emperors added to their native appellation that of " King of Italy." TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 17 Each tower a shrine for bright romance, Where errant knight, with broken lance, On gory shield shall still advance, And quaff fame's cup of mead. XI. Still Fancy can repeople The scenes of other days ; Still heroes rise to battle, And triumph in our lays ; For love and manly valor Are more than poet's dream ; And we forget tliat arms grow old, And feeling wake in hearts gi'own cold With each engaging theme. XII. Oh ! like a bright oasis Amid the waste of years. Through the dark scenes of carnage, One worthy act appears. So may it live forever, And future ages bring Fresh tributes of immortal bays, And twine forget-me-nots of praise For Conrad Third, the King! 18 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. THE TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. Conrad of Hohenstaufen Was on the German throne ; From all the hills in Swabia The trumpets loud were blown ; From Coblentz flew the tidings Far up the Rhine and down, How the imperial princes all, Intent upon proud Henry's fall, Called Conrad to the crown. II. Great joy ran through Franconia, With noble Conrad's fame ; While all the loyal burghers Their fealty proclaim ; And on high Hohenstaufen Berg, That scowls o'er Danube's flood, The ensigns of his royal line. With all their added glories shine, Inflaming hostile blood. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 19 III. Proud Henry of Bavaria, By right of King Lothaire, Would contest Hohenstaufen's right The purple robes to wear ; And ere his favored rival The sceptre took in hand, The voice of envy sent afar The angry challenges of war, And shook the peaceful land. IV. Then sent he forth a summons To every worthy Welf, Who would be faithful to the pope, And loyal to himself, To meet beneath his banners Along the River Main ; The kingdom of the Rhine to wrest. And snatch the crown and purple vest From Conrad and his train, V. From many an ancient castle That frowns above the Rhine ; From many a hamlet on the crags Where Alpine summits shine ; From all the hills in Saxony The zealous rebels crowd Around the standards of their liege, To serve through combat, march and siege Vain Henry, called the " Proud." 20 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. VI. The woodsman from the forest Threaded by Elba's rills; The peasant from his cabin On the Thuringian Hills ; The fisherman fi'om his lone hut, By Danube's stately tide ; Heroes from Brunswick and Lorraine, Who fought on many a bloody plain, Gathered to Henry's side. VII. A hundred chieftains kept their tryst Along the ancient Limes, — * Landmarks of German valor, Rome built in olden times. Upon the great stone altars. Hard by the sacred oaks. They pledged the sacrifice of war. As once to Woden, Frey and Thor Their rude ancestral folks. VIII. Spake Henry to the leader Of every rebel clan : "Since all may get who have the power, And all may keep who can ; * Fortifications built by the Romans along the banks of the Danube to obstruct the predatory incursions of the German tribes. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 21 Since you must choose to sweat as slaves, Or conquerors to bleed, I pledge to each victorious chief, Beyond the spoils of war, a fief. And from the skull of Conrad, thief! To quaff a cup of mead."* IX. The great Hyrcanian Forest f Resounded far and nigh With "KyrieEleison,"t The German battle cry . And schooling for the carnage, And training for the fight, They passed the time in mimic fray, Or hunting the wild boar by day, And feasting all the night. Xow the proud house of Swabia, Illustrious in arms, Received the challenge of the foe. Unmoved by war's alarms. *An allusion to the alleged custom of the German victors, who are said to have celebrated their triumphs by drinking mead from the skulls of their vanquished foes. tThis name was probably given to the whole wooded portion of Germany, as its vast extent would preclude the possibility of its being identified with any local forest, Ca;sar describing it as being sixty days' journey in length and nine in width. tKyrie Eleison, ( Lord have mercy ! ) The cry uttered by the soldiers of Henry I. in the desperate charge against the Hun- garians, whom they defeated in the bloody battle of Keusch- berg, 933 A. D. 22 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG, The loyal margraves gather, And vassals of the crown, To ratify the nation's choice, And give the people's wishes voice. Nor yet forget their own. XI. To Aix they summoned Conrad, Where the great council sat, And bade him strip his Saxon garb,* And doff his soldier's hat; And clad in Frankish purple, On the great marble stool. They crowned him like the kings of France, With all the pomp that courts enhance. And tendered him the golden lance, Symbol of golden rule. XII. The court of Hohenstaufen Is merry with the feast ; Knights from the West have gathered there, Crusaders from the East ; * The nobles and vassals of the crown had been summoned from all German lands, and at Aix la Chapelle they did homage to Otto ai Charles the Great's successor and as king of the Franks. Otto had laid aside his Saxon garb, for it was a recognized principle that the king, from whatever stem he might be chosen, must live according to Frankish law and custom. — Hendgrsotiy History of Geymany in Middle Ages, TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 23 And minnesingei-s from the guilds Chivalrous lyrics sing, Of gallant deeds in love and war, Of doughty knights and ladies fair, And make the palace ring. XIII. Of Xibelonig heroes, Their feuds and daring deeds ; Their battles for their county, Their suflering for their creeds. The loves, tlie intrigues and the crimes Of Brunhild and Siegfried ; Of old Sir Hildebrand, the bold ; Of Gunther, Chriemhild, later told In Nibelungen lied. XIV. Of days of knightly valor, When man to war was bred ; And to his arm's dishonor Preferred to lose his head ; When woman caught the spirit Of boldness from the times, And with a scourge her lord did meet. Who had been vanquished, for defeat Was then the worst of crimes.* *There is a story that when the Saxons and Thuringians came home defeated from a battle with these people, (the Magyars), their wives rose up and flogged them well for their cowardice. — Yange. 24 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. XV. When wives went forth to battle, To animate their lords ; Incite to deeds of bravery, And whet revengeful swords. Nor yet amid the slaughter Less feminine were found ; For love amid the carnage flew, And with its lips the poison drew From many a bloody wound.* XVI. They sang of great Arminius, Their country's saviour called ; — Arminius the hero Of Teutoberger Wald. How Varus and his legions Came forth in martial pride ; Were trapped in forests, deep and black, With tireless patriots on their track ; 0, Varus, give my legions back ! " In vain Augustus cried. t *It was the custom for the families of soldiers to accompany them to battle in order to witness the bravery of their husbands, brothers and sons, to draw the blood from their wounds with their lips, and to carry them meat and drink while under fire. — Lieb, History Emperor William I. t For several months the emperor abandoned himself to transports of grief,daring which he frequently exclaimed.'Varus, Varus, restore me my legions ! ' and he observed the fatal day as a mournful solemnity until his death. — Menzits' History of Ger- many. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 25 XVII. Aud how at Roiicesvalles, Amid the Pyrenees, Roland, the mighty paladin, Hewed down the Navarrese ; And fought the fiery Saracens, A hundred thousand strong ; And Ethiopians and IMoors, And pagans from Carthaginian shores, In battle fierce and long. XVIII. How with but fifty warriors, Who ne'er a foe had shun, He fought the heathen forces, A thousand to his one. And how one mighty blast he blew Adown the bloody chase, And saved all Christendom from thrall, As told by every Rolandsaul, In every market place.* * Two pillars or posts were the tokens of home and settlement to the Germans. They were planted at the gates of their villages and towns, where one was called the Ermansaul, the other the Kolandsau!. — Vo»s^, History of Gertnuvy. Grimm suspects a connection between the Roland statues and those old Teutonic pillars of which the Irminsul, destroyed by Charlemagne, is the best known QX?imY>\e..— Encyclopcedia Britannica. 26 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. XIX. How Otto fought the Magyars Upon the River Leeh, Till all its waters, red with blood, Ran down unto the sea ; Till of the Austrian army, — Bohemia's strength and pride, But seven lived to carry home The story of the fearful doom, Where sixty-thousand died. XX. How proud Lothar, the king of France, By pride exalted high, Threatened to enter Germany, And drink her rivers dry ; How Charles came down to Achen, By force of spear and lance, And turned the golden eagles' beaks To point across the mountain peaks, Toward the hills of France. XXI. Thus sang the minnesingers. While Saxon damsels dance ; Each wan'ior timing on his shield The numbers with his lance. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 27 The fiddler of Burgundy Had there found better cheer, Than when on Etzelburg's dark night He fiddled on through feast and fight,— The fight that cost him dear.^ XXII. See, proudly flies the standai'd, By the twin eagles borne, — Those royal birds whose plumage No vulture e'er had torn I f And all around the palace It was a goodly sight To see the knights before their tents, Engaged in jousts and tournaments. Preparing for the fight. XXIII. And through their ranks rode Conrad Upon his goodly steed. Reviewing all the loyal hosts That he was called to lead. * Folker, the mighty fiddler of Burgundy, fiddling wildly til! he too joined in the fray, and then Dietrich's men burst in, and all were killed but old Sir Hildebrand, who. on his side, slew the mighty fiddler, so that of all the Burgundians only Gunther and Hagen were left —K<7«^^. t Conrad was the first Kaiser to use the standard of the double eagle. Probably suggested to him by that of Greece, which he had seen in one of the crusades. 28 7'REASURES OF WEINSBERG . His lance and golden helmet Gleamed in the morning sun ; A pretty sight it was to see The king — the tallest German he,— And the most manly one.* XXIV. The veteran leaders marshalled Their true and tried brigades ; Loudly their trumpets sounded, And brightly flashed their blades, As forth they went to battle Proud Henry's rebel hordes ; A staunch and formidable force, — Twelve-thousand foot, five-thousand horse, Well armed with spears and swords. XXV. Then Conrad bade the barons Of all the ancient halls To lay provisions in the bergs, And strengthen all their walls ; To bring the warriors' children, The women and the old. To find protection from their foes, Till the distracting wars should close, Within the guarded hold. * A poet, contemporary with Charlemagne, employs similar language in describing the great king. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 29 XXVI. Proud Henry drew his forces up In battle's grim array To meet the hosts of Henry Now eager for the fray ; And while the buglers loudly call, Foemen with spear and targe, Are meeting in the deadly strife, Reckless of loss of limb or life, In many a gallant charge. XXVII. Along the front of battle King Conrad fiercely rode, And all about his charger's path The enemy he mowed. And knights before his prowess Fled back in wild alarm, For as the lightning rends the oak, So fell his foes before the stroke Of that most potent arm * XXVIII. At many a fierce encounter, The rival armies stood : And many a field in Germany Was richer for their blood ; * At the siege of Damascus, Conrad is said to have displayed admirable courage and daring, and to have cut off the arm and head of a Saracen with one blow of his sword. 30 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. And many a worthy noble, And many a doughty knight, Answered no more at the roll-call, But lay unburied by the wall They sought to win in fight. XXIX. And many a glorious feat in arms Was done by heroes there ; Ready with blade to follow The leader bold to dare. But, oh ! it was a fearful sight To mark the plain beneath. Where foes in the embrace of hate Rushed madly to the brink of fate, And found a mutual death. XXX. And many a lonely widow Has watched through gathering tear. And vainly listened for the step Of her bold cavalier ; And many a weeping orphan Has mourned his murdered sire ; And many a maiden' s heart grew cold Despairing for her lover bold, Slain by the sword and fire. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 31 XXXI. For the decisive struggle On Weira's banks they met ; Each leader bent on victor}', His sword had keenly whet. But "truce" was hoarsely whispered ; "Truce" answered back again ; While a good monk his cask undrapes, And cries : ' ' Lets shed the blood of grapes, But not the blood of men! " * XXXII. And so in jolly slaughter Of good Falernian wine, All spite and rancor yielded To feelings more divine. And they who fell upon that field A lighter slumber found. Than they who drain the goblet brewed In civic strife and deadly feud, And malice passes round. * It was agreed, however, instead of fighting, to make truce, and the Saxons expressed their willingness to renew their allegiance to Conrad and to submit their complaints to a general Diet to be held in Worms. The day ended, not, as everyone had expected, in bloodshed, but in a mild carouse, the Arch- bishop of Treves being discovered to have opportunely brought with him as baggage a considerable quantity of wine. — Hen- derson, History of Germany in Middl$ Ages. 32 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. XXXIII. Dear to the hearts of all his hosts Was Conrad, strong and brave ; Who shared their every peril, And hope and courage gave. And even his prisoners of war No longer were his foes ; And seldom wished or sought release, Preferring slavery with these To liberty with those. XXXIV. But Henry was a tyrant, Harsh, insolent and vain ; A selfish, cruel rebel, Whose soul had many a stain. And many a dark, atrocious deed, And many a deed of shame, He perpetrated on the bands That fell into his ruthless hands, Their loyal zeal to tame. XXXV. But ever for the despot There lurks the deadly blade ; And retribution comes at last, Though often long delayed. And wrongs that rankle in the heart There fan the growing fire, Till vengeance, hot with passion, springs, Like the volcanic flame, and flings Its lava-floods of ire. TREASURES OF VVEINSBERG. 33 XXXVI. Then ran there through the dual hosts The rumor strange and dread That Henry, leader of the Welfs, Lay in his armor dead. Nor bruise of spear, nor gash of sword, Was on his body found ; Nor ebbed away in outw^ard flood His life, in crimson tides of blood. From any gaping wound.* XXXVII. Yet death had laid a warrior low. Who late a king defied ; The heart that would not bow^ to man Was humbled in its pride. And for a space grim War shrank back. As if in awe and dread. Even at the vanquished tyrant's feet. Dismayed that frowui of hate to meet On the face of the dead. XXXVIII. As falls the tall, but blasted pine, Struck by the bolt of heaven. So fell the proud aspirant, By Death from power riven. *The true cause of Henry's death is unknown ; but he was probably the victim of poison by the hand of some follower who had a wrong to revenge. 34 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG, For Fate with him had kept the tryst That suffers no abuse ; No "Field of Falsehood" found he there,* The Knight of the Pale Horse who dare May never hope for truce. XXXIX. By the giants of cold and darkness Borne off to Jotenheim, To Hel, Loki's pale daughter, He answers every crime ; In realms of frost and shadow Sits the grim tyrant now ; f Alone his weary hours to drag, Forever chained beneath the crag. Where serpents spit, with ceaseless fag, The venom on his brow, i XL. But brief the truce that death could bring To men, warlike and bold, Who little recked of life or limb, In those dark days of old ; *The field near Colmar, where, in the battle with his sons, the men of King Louis deserted him, just as the engagement was about to begin. tThe ancient Germans believed that they who did not gain an entrance to Valhalla, the Hall of the Slain, became the pris- oners of Hel, daughter of Loki, and were obliged to live in her frigid, sunless and barren land, the companions of her bondage. X Such was the punishment accorded Loki, the evil god in the old mythology. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 35 Then honor hved in savage deeds, And power in a strong hand ; When he wlio drenched his land with gore Was called the ''Great," although he bore The despot's cursed brand. XLI. Oh ! may earth never see again Such stern and awful times, When Might trod on neck of Right, Omnipotent through crimes ! Still kings, Uke old Attila, Are at best the " Scourge of God,' For they subvert the general good, And mar the peace A^ith petty feud, And sway oppression's rod. XLII. And neither loss of leader, Nor good Falernian cheer, Could heal in Welfish bosoms The wounds of rancor's spear ; For vengeance was a duty That chivalry had schooled ; While pity, love, in monks divine. Were weaknesses (pite feminine, No manly bosom ruled. 36 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG, XLIII. Now Conrad finds a foeman More worthy of himself, In Henry's valiant brother — The warrior-baron Welf, Who on the River Neckar, By Weinsberg's castled peak, Rallies the remnant of his band, 'Gainst Conrad's force to make a stand, Like Greek opposing Greek. XLIV. 'Twas in the year one-thousand- One-hundred and two score, That knights on that historic field Armorial ensigns bore ; And Germans in that famous fight Had German foes to face. Burning to battle and to bleed For cause of country, crown and creed, And urge the bloody chase. XLV. As rushes down the avalanche From Jungfrau's stoi-my breast, So rushed the knights to battle In charges hotly pressed ; While Victory, fickle mistress, AVhom kings in vain pursue, Capricious, flitted to and fro, To either faction friend or foe, As Fortune gave the clue. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 37 XLVI. Thus pendulated triumph, As fierce battalions swept ; And from the tower, looking down. Full many a mother wept, Like Niobe, to see her sons Lie bleeding on the sod ; And many a supplicating prayer, And many a loud cry of despair, Rose from those towers to God. XLVI I. But louder than their prayers and cries. Rose the shrill sound of battle. Where swords on helmets loudly ring. And spears on targes rattle. And Xeckar, turbulent and strong. Through fields of corn and vine, Darkened by many a crimson stain, Bore down the bodies of the slain To the bosom of the Rhine. XLVI II. And when the sun went down that day Upon the field of slaughter, It saw a sight may I ne'er see, Where blood flowed free as water ; And Welf was praying for the night To spread its sable pall Over the scenes of his defeat, And darkly cover his retreat To Weinsberg's friendly wall. 38 TREASURES OE WEINSBERG. XLIX, And wlien o'er the Thuringian Hills The rosy morn looked down, TJie light revealed a ghastly field, Held by the dead, alone. While from the castle's turrets Welf s tattered banners wave A faint defiance to the foe. That now beleaguer him below, He dares no longer brave. L. Strong was the ancient fortress, Founded upon a rock ; Oft had its massive walls hurled back Grim war's convulsive shock. When strove the feudal barons, The chiefs of plundering hordes, Who held their own with a strong hand. And laid in tribute all the land By virtue of their swords. LI. From Conrad's tent a messenger Rode with a flag of white To call a truce to all the knights, Armed to renew the fight ; To summon to a parley The chiefs from tower and field, That Welf might meet with Wablinger, On terms of amity confer, And each concession yield. TREASURES OE WEINSBERG. 39 LII. Now Conrad offered to the AYelfs, Would they capitulate, Immunity from treason's charge, And each his old estate, If all unarmed his troops would march Down through the castle gate ; For Conrad, like a noble foe, Loved better far to ward a blow, Than to exterminate. LIII. But Welf was stern and haughty, Burning with noble zeal, And would not listen to the king's Magnanimous appeal ; But still would trust the chances Of war to win his cause ; To make the rights of Henry known. And set the "Lion" * on the throne, Though chieftains bade him pause. LIV. "Now beat down the portcullis That guards the castle gate, And tear away the wicket, And hew away the grate I * Son of Henry the Proud. 40 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. Press down upon the sallyport, And scale the parapet, Till on the frowning ramparts high We shall o'erpower the foe, or die Where valiant foes are met! " LV. Thus resolute spake Conrad, And loud arose the cheer, As warriors stormed the fortress With beam and axe and spear. To battlement and turret Their mighty blows resound ; But harmlessly they fall as rain Might patter on the window-pane ; In vain the warriors pound. LVI. "Ho, Welf ! ho, Welf I " cries WabUnger ; ' ' Ho, Wablinger ! ' ' cries Welf ; '^ "Now prove your German hardihood I " "Let each man knight himself! " "Down with the proud usurj^er! " "Now pay each ancient grudge ! And who shall womanishly cry For quarter, let him basely die, And vengeance be his judge ! " * The terms "Welf" and "Wablinger" as distinguished fac- tions, were first used by the Germans in the siege of Weinsberg. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 41 LVII. The archers from the parapet Let fly their fatal darts ; And spearsmen through th' embrasures Pierced many gallant hearts ; For every point was guarded In moat and barbacan By those who knew that capture meant Their kingdom lost, their firesides rent, And death to every man, LVIII. "By good Saint Boniface I my boys, I love a noble foe ; And such we find in every Welf, Who gives us blow for blow ; For every point of vantage Is theii's, save only one ; Still unavailing seem our knocks Against those dark and massive rocks ; 'Tis human flesh to stone. LIX. "Against those guarded towers Our force may not prevail, But we can send an ally Yet never known to fail ; For when the spear and sabre Have swept the town and field, Gaunt Famine follows in their train, And lofty donjons fi'own in vain. For stoutest hearts must yield." 42 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. LX. And so the strategies of war The WabUngers pursue By leaving to stern hunger The effort to subdue. Tlien, safe from anus of foeman, In mole they quaff their cheer ; Where neither wail of infant dying, Nor anguish of a mother crying, Could vex the warrior's ear. LXI. Oh ! worthy are the heroes Who for their country die ; And bards exalt them in their lays. And sound their^praises high ; But there are those who suffer, And hide their grief and pain, Wasting with hunger, woe and care. Yet battling on against despair. When human hopes seem vain. LXII. And in that dark and dreadful siege. With famine for their foe, How many a noble deed was done The world will never know ; For death and tribulation Bring man to feel for man ; And bid the heart forget its hate In impulses to mitigate Misfortune's cruel ban. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 43 LXIII. Pride is a mighty passion To nerve througli thick and thin ; And till the herg's supi>lies gave out, Proud AVelf would not give in ; But when the final crust went round, Xor hoped for succor came, His soul was bowed, for he could trace Starvation in each meagre face, Tiiat makes the lion tame. LXIV. Then brought they in a graybeard, Whom one had saved from death, A bard, a priest, a prophet Of the Druid ic faith ; In augury and magic versed. And astrologic lore, 'Twas said by symbol, omen, sign, Future and fate lie could divine, And say what fortune bore. XLV. "Xow, reverend father, can'st thou read The book of destiny? Pray tell me, then, what shifts of chance The future has for me. Speak out, old man, thy iiead's secure ; Thy locks safe-conduct claim ; Nor say me false for gain or fear. For there be none shall harm thee here. And none thy craft to blame." 44 TREASURES OE IVEINSBERG. XLVI. Spake thus Count Welf. Assured, the priest Ilis 0(icult task began ; First went he up into the tower Heaven's horoscope to scan. " What see'st thou in the heavens, sage. That darkens thus thy brow?" "Look, waiTior, see athwart the night Now Woden hurls his shafts of light ; O'er Weinsberg's towers they take their flight The Yalkyr beckon now." * LXVII. Then brought he forth the runic rods. And spread the cloth of white. As old Abnma long ago, Ere Cimbrians went to fight ; On each he cut the mystic signs And carved with studious skill ; Then thrice he called upon the gods, And thrice he chose the runic rods, And thrice they augured ill. * Shooting stars were held to be the track of weapons carried to supply the fresh comers into Valhalla. — Yonge. The Valkyrs were the choosers of the elect to the hails of the slain. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 45 LXVIII. Now overhead the bird of night Begins his doleful lays, And by the postern gate a steed Full long and loudly neighs ; * The seer looked at the baron, The baron at the seer ; And each ujDon the other's face The import of those sounds could trace In lines of awe and fear. LXIX. Then in a solemn voice the priest Unto the warrior spake : " A hope forlorn is thine, brave knight, 'Twere best thou should' st forsake ; The auguries have spoken ; Thy fortunes stand at bay ; With honor thou hast served thy cause, But Justice, Mercy bid thee pause, And prudence points the way." LXX. Then called Welf to his council The chieftains wise in strife, Who deemed resistance longer A useless waste of life ; * The hooting of the owl forboded trouble ; and auguries were drawn from the neighing of horses. 46 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. For they had suffered on the field, Through siege had shown their pluck ; But there were infants, daughters, wives, And yielding now might save their lives, So the white flag was struck.^ LXXI. But Conrad stipulated Conditions now more stern, For stubbornness in conflict Makes vengeance deeper burn ; And victors grace their triumphs Too oft by deeds of shame, Besmearing history's glorious page With gory paragraphs of rage, To win the conqueror's fame. LXXII. Then issued he a strange decree, Which ordered all the wives, Mothers and daughters of the Welfs, If yet they prized their lives, Their liberty, to quit the berg. And if it was their pleasure. To carry with them from the hold Their valuables in goods or gold — Each one her choicest treasure. *The garrison of Weinsberg capitulated after a stubborn resistance of eight weeks; and then only because their provisions had given out. TREASURES GF WEINSBERG. 47 LXXIII. Now Conrad meant the men should be His prisoners of war ; But when they had unlocked the gates, And pulled away the bar, So that the women might go down The passage for their flight, Between the soldiers' parted ranks. To ofier generous Conrad thanks. The soldiers saw a sight LXXIV. That made them frown with anger, And grasp their spears and swords. And send a shout through all the hosts Of dark and threatening words ; For from the berg there issued Procession strange and long, Such as was never seen before, Nor sung in tales of ancient lore. Nor minnesingers' song. LXXV. For every noble woman Had left behind her pelf, And on her shoulders bravely bore Her treasure in a Welf : Each worthy wife and daughter. Each sister, sweetlieart, mother, Came tugging stoutly, one by one, Her husband, lover, or her son. Her father, or her brother. 48 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. LXXVI. First came th' heroic Countess With Welf upon her shoulders, Which well might touch with j^ity The hearts of all beholders ; And following on to Conrad's tent The strange procession came ; And much the king was pleased to see Such proofs of love and constancy In every faithful dame. LXXVI I. For with a mighty eflfort They bore their burdens down ; Trembling before the king with fear Lest they should meet his frown. Wasted with toil and famine ; By sorrows, losses, fears. Their hearts o'ercame their weakness there, Strengthened by love and dark despair ; The king was touched to tears. LXXVIII. The knights drew close around them. Clanking their armor loud ; And murmurs of displeasure Ean through the armM crowd ; TREASURES OF WEJNSBERG. 49 And lifting up their sabres, They waited but the nod To make a finish of their quarrels, As once on Aller cruel Charles, By letting Saxon blood.* LXXIX. But Conrad bade them be at peace, And put their weapons by ; And while he spake, pity and love AVere beaming in his eye ; For what the arm^d power of hate Had failed to overthrow Bowed low before the magic wand Of love, wielded by woman's hand, Amid despair and woe. LXXX. In dread suspense they waited To hear the stern displeasures Of Conrad at the quality Of these, their ''choicest treasures;" " Dames, go in peace, with blessings ! " His kingly voice was heard, " And bear your treasures as a token That when your king his word has spoken, Your king will keep his word.f * At Verden, on the Aller, Charlemagne butchered in one day 4,500 Saxons who had fallen into his hands. t Says the historian Zimmerman: "The historical truth of the tale, handed down orally for centuries, has great weight, even against modern objectors." 50 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. LXXXI. " May ever German lovers Have sweethearts brave as these ! May German husbands still have wives As true in war or peace !" And may our German youth still boast As fond and faithful mothers As these that here their treasures bear ; And I their toils would rather share Than be the king of others ! LXXXII. "Ho ! valiant knights, what say you now, Who hazard deadly wars, If Venus by her strategies Can still outgeneral Mars ? Dost thou complain, my Albrecht, who In love no ' Bear ' would' st prove? When scowled our Otto with alarms When overcome by woman's charms ? When saw Leopold feats of arms To match these feats of love?" LXXXIII. "Long live the noble Conrad ! " Arose the joyful cry From every woman as she passed The king in reverence by ; And in their smiles and praises He greater triumph found Than if a hundred victories His enemies brought to their knees, By despotism bound. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 51 LXXXIV. Those war-rent towers have fallen Before the storms of tune To rise again, through woman's truth In structure more sublime ; Where acts of sacrificing love The memories renew Of those who bowed for others' needs By those who emulate then- deeds, Remembering Weibertrue * LXXXV. Valhalla too has crumbled In the twilight of the gods ; No more are borne on dripping shields Knights to the bright abodes ; From out the mists of battle Has Frigga's phantom driven ; And factions cease in general peace, And love and brotherhood increase Since feudal towers were riven. LXXXVI. The dream of Barbarossa Now realized we see : The double eagle flies at last O'er German unity. * The hill was called VVeibertrue. or Woman's Truth ; and in 1820 Charlotte, Queen of ^^^urtenlberg, (daughter of George III.), with the other ladies of Germany, built an asylum there for poor women who have been noted for self-sacrificing acts of love. 52 TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. His ghost in old Kylf hauser Berg At last may soundly snore ; No more his hopes the ravens mock, Nor peck his red beard through the rock : Nor shall the din of battle's shock Disturb his slumbers more."*^ LXXXVII. The tyrant's scourge is soon forgot. A monarch's deeds of grace, Survive the wrecks of splendid tombs And fame eternal trace On living records that outlast And challenge Time and Death ; Though sceptres rust, crowns turn to dust, And severed lies the column's bust. Love twines anew its wreath. * A legend still exists showing the always prevailing hope that the unity of the German people might be again realized un- der the insignia of the double eagle. It is as follows : The ghost of the Emperor Frederick having passed into his castle, Kylf hauser Berg, in Wurtemburg, in a deep cavern there he sits, his arms resting upon a granite table, and sleeps. His yel- low beard has grown up through the granite during his long and troubled slumbers. At the end of every century he awakes and asks, "Are the ravens still flying over the mountain?" If an- swered, "They are, and no eagle has appeared to drive them away," he replies sadly, " Must I then sleep a century more?" —Lieb^ History of Emperor William I. TREASURES OF WEINSBERG. 53 LXXXVIII. Oh ! may we still have rulers Of noble Conrad's mould, Who are not tyrannous through power, Nor swayed by lust of gold. And may we still have women With hearts as warm and brave, Who, when our fortunes fickle prove. With strategems of generous love, May cheer, inspire and save. LXXXIX. Still German fathers tell their sons Of many a gallant deed Done by their knightly monarch For country and for creed. And ever to their daughters The virtues are retold Of those brave women and the measures By which they carried off their treasures, From Weinsberg's ancient hold. LYRICS OF LOVE. The time Tve lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman^s eyes, Has been my hearths undoing. Though Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorned the love she brought me ; My only books Were ivoman's looks, And folly^s all they've taught me. —Moore. LYRICS OF LOVE. 57 'TIS THE HOUR WHEN DEWS DESCENDING. 'Tis the hour when dews descending, Fall to sleep on flower and tree, And bright Hesperus is lending Rays to guide my steps to thee. While the far cathedral bell Softly chimes the close of day, Keeping love's dear promise well, To renewed delights I stray. In the shadows of the vines Sweet tlie welcome that discloses Where expectant love reclines, Hidden in her bower of roses ; Leafy vine and shadow, screen us From unfriendly, prying eyes ! Guard us well. Love's mother, Venus, In the dusk of evening skies. Softly pause here, fleeting Time, 'Mid the fragrance of these flowers; Lovers deem it quite a crime, When you steal their precious hours ; All too soon you bid us part, — Hour of bliss so quickly over ; Morn may cheer the sorrowing heart, But leave twilight to the lover. 58 LYRICS OF LOVE. LOVE IN A COTTAGE. There's never a spot beneath heaven's high dome So dear to the heart as a love-hghted cot, Where smiles and bright eyes beam their dear welcome home, And care on the bosom of love is forgot. How blest from the turmoil of life to retreat To pleasures that wait by the bright social hearth. And find in the circle where loved faces meet That peace that is found no where else upon earth! Within this dear shrine to our bosoms we fold The hearts that the fond ties of kindred endear, The virtues that spring from love's exquisite mould, The pure aspirations, the hopes bright and clear ; How fondly we guard them with vigilant care. These treasures that love to our keeping has given ; Though humble our cottage, still, still may it wear The bright smile of peace and the sunshine of heaven. L YRICS OF LO VE. 59 Secure in devotion, affection shall kneel, And Love, our high-priest, his sweet incense shall burn ; His blest inspiration our spirits shall feel. And every dear hope its fruition return. From the intrigues of court let the proud monarch fly, And view for a moment the joys round my door ; "Would I barter the least for his crown? No, not I! With "Love in a Cottage," how could I ask more? ON THE BEACH. The sun is dipping in the sea, The western sky is warm with light, And from the hills the coming night Sends shadows tall of rock and tree. We wander on the lonely sands That stretch along the narrow beach, Where love and night and silence teach A unison of hearts and hands. We see the white sails of a ship Sweep 'twixt us and the purple west, And bearing outward on the breast Of the blue deep, and as we dip 60 L YRICS OF LO VE. In the low surf for pearly shell, We vaguely follow in the mind Her combat Mdth the sea and wind, And wish the daring sailors well. We watch her fade beneath the star Of eve, bright Hesperus, whose ray Shall guide her on her devious M'ay, And light her past the treacherous bar. We see the deep in sunset shine, And feel upon our cheeks, aglow. The winds that from the islands blow, Ladened with odors of the brine. Upon one hand the quiet world Lies in the shadows, half asleep, And on the other rolls the deep. About the promontory curled. And standing in immensity, Of which we seem the merest parts, We hear the beating of our hearts Above the sobbing of the sea. We hear the murmur of the waves Complaining to the quiet shore, And in the shadows just before, We hear them answered from their caves. L YRICS OF LO VE. 61 Upon our lips a silence falls, And in our minds a sense of awe, Makes love to love still closer draw, Where heart to heart in darkness calls. Sublime is night when planets roll, Unnumbered down the dusky sky ; Sublime the sea whose waters lie. Encircling earth from pole to pole : But more sublime is that emotion That heart and soul and mind doth move, — That first deep thrill of mutual love, Mystic as Night — boundless as Ocean. DRIFTING AND DEEAMING. Rest the oars and let our boat, Unpropelled, its course now keep ; Leave the helm and let us float With the current of the deej) ; Soft and low the breezes creep. Scarce a ripple flecks the stream ; In the shadow Care's asleep, — Homeward let us drift and dream. 62 L YRICS OF LO VE. Winding with the shadowy shore, Slowly, silently we go. Save the dripping of the oar On the lily -leaves below. Draw me close and whisper low ! Holy now the moments seem : Over, under bright stars glow ; Far from earth we drift and dream. Far behind us let us leave Sights and sounds that rudely jar On the senses while they weave Eound our hearts a web of care ; Let to-morrow bring its share, — Dull pursuits of fruitless themes ; But to-night we drift afar In the shadowy realm of dreams. Of the past no thought is ours ; Dreams of future are more pleasant, - Picturing in Elysian bowers Bliss whose earnest is the present : And though fading like the crescent In the light of morn, we deem Love and joy less evanescent In these days of which we dream. See ! the light begins to break From the sky along the river, Kudely from our dreams to wake, — Would that they might last forever ! LYRICS OF LOVE. 63 One dear pledge and then we sever, — Pledge I shortly shall redeem, When you shall be mine forever, — Blissful ending of our dream ! THE EXILE. When Luna o'er the eastern isles is straying; When hangs the vesper star above the west ; When low winds over flowery meadows playing Bring to the world a sense of peace and rest; I visit the low mound where May reposes, I burden with my sighs the evening breeze ; And o'er my love, low sleeping, scatter roses, Ere I depart to rove the distant seas. Death taught my heart through love a bitter sorrow, And I each day the lesson here rehearse ; And I shall not forget its truths to-morrow, Nor distance shall their memories disperse. My heart beneath this cypress tree I bury, Love ne'er can animate nor beauty please ; What care I now if life be sad or merry ? I seek oblivion in the distant seas. 64 L YRICS OF LO VE. Through unknown climes, on shore or on the ocean, Foredoomed by fate, I shape my course to stray j Impelled to wander from that one emotion, -:- Earth hath no resting place without my May. One longing, lingering look I cast behind me, To mark the mound beneath the cypress trees ; But, oh 1 the tears of sad regret they blind me, — An exile doomed to rove the distant seas. But, see! my ship already chides her moorings; The winds are urging her with them to fly, So I must cease my murmurings and implorings ; The dews of sorrow now must quit mine eye. Wild Patagonia's rugged rocks will cheer me; The desert with my withered heart agrees ; Since all is lost that did to life endear me, Sail on, my barque, toward the distant seas! L YRICS OF LO VE. 65 A LOVER'S DILEMMA. Edith has dancing eyes, 'Neath drooping lashes, Like night with clouded skies When lightning flashes. Oft has her conquering glance Pierced my heart like a lance : Late I'discover For conquest she doth rove, Never in quest of love ; How can I love her ? Irene has flaxen curls ; — Cheeks like two peaches ; — Teeth like two rows of pearls On wave-kissed beaches. But for those pearls and peaches Her lover must have riches ; All the world over Beauty would sell herself For the vain love of pelf; How can I love her ? 66 L YRICS OF LO VE. Julia has many a grace ; Manners quite charming ; Beauty of form and face, All hearts disarming. But Julia's proud and vain, Treating with cold disdain Love's humble trover: Fashion her heart doth move More than the words of love ; How can I love her? Martha has herds and flocks. Broad lands and money ; But Martha my suit mocks, — Martha's not sunny. Love has no armament Proof 'gainst a termagant ; How can I love her? Who, be he old or young. Can bridle woman's tongue. Come he and prove her. If you could show a miss With eyes of Edith ; Lips of Irene to kiss Whene'er love heedeth; Julia's resplendent charms. Ripe for a lover's arms. Mansions above her ; Did every lovely grace Martha's wealth interlace, Think I could love her? L YRICS OF LO VE. 67 Though she has homely ways, Shy, plain and modest, Speaks truth in all she says, Of girls the oddest ; Though she has little wealth, Save virtue, sense and health, She'll lack no lover ; When such a maid I find, If she's to love inclined, I'll be no rover. LOVE'S SECRET. I've a secret to tell to you, Maude, That none but you should hear. So come with me to the quiet grove. And I'll whisper it in your ear. How soft are the tints of the sky ! How lovely the hues of the flowers ! How pleasant to dream By this rippling stream In these quiet woodland bowers ! LYRICS OF LOVE. My secret ? Ah ! yes, I forgot ; Come, let me draw you near ! Ah ! your heart avows in tumultuous beat You have guessed the secret, my dear. Those busy gossips, the eyes. The stumbling tongue outrun, And tattle love's lore A thousand times o'er Ere the tardy lips have begun. THE DEAREST HOUR. The dearest hour of all the twenty-four. Hour doubly blest — from care and sorrow free — Is that which brings the prattlers to my knee, Leaving their playthings scattered on the floor! Ah ! here the trinity that I adore, — Love, Joy and Peace, I worship in each elf, In whom I live again — my younger self- Thanks, Mother Goose, to thy sweet, mystic lore ! The merry laugh that exorciseth care. The mischief-speaking eyes that question mine, The rosy lips that lisp all thinge divine. The childish moods 'tis mine with these to share, Like life-rejuvenating founts keep young My spirit, else by aging passion wrung. L YRICS OF LO VE. FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE. (to my wife on the ninth anniversary of our WEDDING.) Nine years ago, dear faithful wife, We sought the altar to rehearse Our marriage vows and take in life One path, for better or for worse. All life before us then seemed bright. We feared not care's nor sorrow's curse; Love was our constant, dear delight. Still growing better, never worse. Our worldly fortune then was small. We little cared for wealth of purse. Rich in affections bright' ning all, We sought no other, fearing worse. The fleeting years some joys have slain. And brought us other hopes to nurse. But love unaltered keeps its reign. Still better when our fortune's worse. Through sorrow's shadows we have passed. We've seen our fondest hopes disperse; No clouds our path have e'er o'ercast But brought us good from seeming worse. 70 L YRICS OF LO VE. If we have lost in fortune's wheel, Our hearts to each can reimburse ; If we have gained, still may we feel We still had love had it been worse. Experience stern some truths has taught In ways we thought were plain and terse : But since the lessons have been wrought. We know w^hat's better — what is worse. But taken all in all, the years Have blest us, nor would we reverse Their annual rounds of smiles and tears, For well we know they might be worse. Nine years ! we have forgotten life Before we knew love's gentle fetter ; And though they all were blest, dear wife. In love I'm sure they're growing better. L YRICS OF L O VE, 71 CONSTANCY. In summer hours, 'Mid sun and showers, The roving bee flits through the clover But seeks no more The flowery store, When days of genial skies are over. Thus fickle love For sweets will rove. While pleasure plumes its fitful wing ; But quickly flies To sunnier skies, When darker days succeed the spring. Oh ! give to me Sweet constancy. That smiles when days are bright and sunny ; Still like the bee Saves hoardingly. For darker hours its stores of honey. 72 L YRICS OF LO VE. WHEN FLOWERS FADE. When flowers fade where once they bloomed, Or bloom no more where once we found them, With their decay some joy is doomed, — The joy that love once shed around them. When faces we have learned to cherish Return no more to bless our sight, Ah ! what can wake the joys that perish In bosoms robbed of half their light? When heart to heart becomes estranged, By fondest feelings once united, How all the world seems cold and changed, And all our hopes of bliss are blighted ! Who once the joys of love have known, Must sorrow, torn from love apart, For when the tender charm has flown, Oh ! what a desert is the heart ! L YRICS OF L O VE. 73 ''SHE IS DEAD," THEY SAY. "She is dead," they say, but I scarce can weep, For still on her cheeks the red roses grow, And I think of her as in peacefid sleep, From which I would not wake her to woe ; She was tired, poor girl, with sorrow and care, Weary with pining life's long, dark day ; But her troubles all are forgotten there, — The dull, deep heartache has passed away. She was not meant for the sterner part It was hers to act on the stage of life ; There was much that jarred on her gentle heart, And her spirit shrank from its scenes of strife. And longed for peace in some lowly cot, — Some quiet from which she might never rove ; She has found them now in this restful spot, And sorrow no more shall her still heart move. Oh, Death ! thou art often a welcome friend ! Thou bringest a balm for the weary clay ; At the touch of thy wand all troubles end. And life's sad visions are snatched away : But we shrink away from thy chilling touch. And vex our minds with a childish fear, When life has little and thou so much That to fainting spirits is peaceful and dear. 74 L YRICS OF L O VE. And I say to my heart, it is better so, — Better to die in the bloom of youth, Than cheerlessly down life's hill to go, And learn by experience each bitter truth ; Than see the hopes of our youth depart. And faith grope on with a step uncertain ; While love lies listlessly in the heart, Waiting for Death to drop the curtain. So I gaze on her beauty, but scarce can weep, For I feel that in death is a peace most blest ; And soonet or later we all must sleep, — For weary hearts there's a certain rest; Oh ! let me go ere I feel the blight Of sorrow and age to an early tomb ; Like her who has spoken her last ''good night," While life has vigor and youth its bloom. LYRICS OF LOVE, 75 MEMORIES. How sweetly comes to Memory's wakeful ear The lingering cadence of some loved refrain Restoring Fancy all her scenes most dear Of love and joy, and, ah ! too oft the pain. Here 'mid the shadows let me close mine eyes, Let conscious reason curb the sober facts ; Let the dark curtains of the past arise, And youth's dear ideals reheai*se their acts. Upon the retina of inner sight Come trooping images from out the past, Fresh as when time first bore them to the light, Too sweet, too true, too exquisite to last. Dear are the scenes eluding change and blight That boyish fancy hived from field and wood ; Pleasure and youth together take their flight, And leave us but the reminiscent mood. The voice that hjTaned my earliest lullabies, The form that hovered o'er my couch of pain. The ministering angel in whose eyes I saw the light that spoke of hope again. The generous deed that soothed an aching breast, Blest impulse of a heart that beats no more ; The wami caress of fingers laid to rest, — Ah ! Fancy, if you could but life restore ! 76 L YRICS OF LO VE. And there smiles she, the Hebe of my youth, Who bore my cup of pleasure from the gods. So long estranged ; she never learned the truth ; But love must ever battle against odds. And yet she left to memory the bliss Of one sweet day amid the waste of years, — The rapture of an hour when love's first kiss Awoke the hopes I since have drowned in tears. Alas ! the best of life lies in our dreams, Naught we attain is bright as hope's design; Of her full day we catch but a few gleams, And stumble on, lamenting its decline. How cold Reality's unsparing hand Has swept away the pleasing webs of hope, And rudely shifted with his fateful wand The brighter form on life's kaleidoscope. To thee, bright Fancy, it is given to range. When love and hope and happiness have fled, Amid the ruins strewn by fickle Change, And resurrect the heart's dear ofi'spring dead. Night with her dewy fingers shuts the rose. But cannot hide its perfume from the wind ; Thus Time the flowers of hope and pleasure close, But Memory stores their fragrance in the mind. L YRICS OF LO VE. 77 BENEATH THE ELDER BUSHES. That summer Sunday was serene, The tasseled corn was waving green, And sweetly sang the thrushes. When I went whisthng down the lane To meet the fair Eliza Jane Beneath the elder bushes. Oh ! 'tis pleasant wooing While the dove is cooing ; When each believes, And none deceives, And loving brings not ruing. Beneath the friendly, fragrant shade I found the dear expectant maid. All radiant with blushes ; In that secluded, quiet spot How quickly was the world forgot Beneath the elder bushes ! The doves among the maple boughs Beheld and heard us pledge our vows 'Twixt love's delicious hushes. Like bees that cull sweets from the flowers, We heeded not the flying hours Beneath the elder bushes. 78 LYRICS OF LOVE. I pressed her rosebud lips to mine,— A new sensation, most divine, — My arm her bonnet crushes ; But for my hfe I cannot tell Just what was said or what befell Beneath the elder bushes. With beauty's coy and native art She held my willing captive heart In passion's silken meshes ; And in the dusky arms of eve Full oft we took the lover's leave, Beneath the elder l)ushes. How often since those tender years, I've said those vows in other ears, With sentimental gushes ; But from love's ashes who can rake The fire that beauty once could wake Beneath the elder bushes ? If there's a world of light and bliss Awaiting mortals after this, When thence my spirit rushes. The harp and crown I will resign, Can one sweet nymph alone be mine Neath drooping elder bushes. L YRICS OF L O VE. 79 BEAUTY'S EYES. Gazing into Beauty's eyes, Pressing dimpled fingers ; Thrilled by whisperings and sighs, Late the lover lingers ; Time with care and sorrow flies With exceeding quickness ; What a remedy for sickness Is the light of loving eyes! Gazing into Beauty's eyes, Blest is every minute ; Dreaming fondly of the prize. And the way to win it. Hopes and fears alternate rise, Maidens so j^erplex us ; How they toy with us and vex us With their dear bewitching eyes! Gazing into Beauty's eyes. Gives the brain a dizziness ; Reason says 'twould be more wise To be about our business ; Thus sage Reason may advise, But I'm quite suspicious He n'er felt those thrills delicious. Waked by Beauty's languid eyes. 80 LYRICS OF LOVE. Gazing in Beauty's eyes, Season of fond dreaming ! In each glorious orb there lies Love's dear language gleaming ; What she grants or what denies Plainly there is written ; But, beware how you are smitten By alluring Beauty's eyes! AT THE BARS. When the day through its bright western portals In garments of glory dei3arts ; When rest comes to toil-weary mortals, And lovers to fond maidens' hearts ; When shadows adown the west creeping, Call out the young moon and the stars, I steal off when others are sleeping, Where Jennie meets me at the bars. Her footsteps I eagerly listen ; I watch for the gleam of bright eyes That out of the darkness shall glisten, Like stars from night's unclouded skies. She comes with her charms and her graces, I pray don't be envious. Mars ! Let all the young stars hide their faces, When Jennie meets me at the bars! L YRICS OF LO VE. 81 Though few are the words that are spoken, Our hearts all their raptures can tell, For love in dear silence unbroken Has ever a magical spell ; Soft peace o'er this new Eden hover ; Forgetting the world and its jars. We feel it contains but two lovers. When Jennie meets me at the bars. Let others find bliss in deep slumber. And joy in their care-drowning bowls ; My moments more sweetly I number. When love my fond bosom controls. I leave to the miser his treasure. To the soldier his glory and scars ; I find a more exquisite pleasure. When Jennie meets me at the bars. We linger, unheeding time's fleetness. So lost in each tender caress ; Each moment renewing the sweetness Of raptures no words can express ; Until the young moon, stealing from us, Alone we stand under the stars, And seal with our lips the dear promise We pledged by the old oaken bars. 82 LYRICS OF LOVE, WOMAN'S SEASONS. When glad Nature decks her bowers With the summer's fragrant flowers ; When the sun -enamored skies Beam as soft as maiden's eyes ; When the brooks go laughing by Where the wanton zephyrs sigh, And in all her gayest mood Nature trips through mead and wood, Then you'll find Woman fickle and unkind ; Light coquette and vain deceiver, Youth, beware how you believe her, Or she'll wring your heart with woe, — With her cruel "No!" When the pale sun's slanting rays Usher cheerless winter days ; When the flowers no longer spring. And the birds have ceased to sing ; When the skies are overcast, And we fly the northern blast ; When with dark and frigid mood Nature stalks through mead and wood, Then you'll find Woman constant, true and kind ; Fear no more the fair deceiver. Youth may trust her and believe her ; Kindest ever in distress With her loving "Yes!" Z YRICS OF LO VE. 83 IS LOVE WORTH THE TROUBLE? Is love, with its wooing, Its sighing and suing, Worth half of the heart-aches we go through to gain it? Lies there in its measure That exquisite pleasure That pays for the trouble we take to obtain it? Its fondest caresses Too often distress us, And still though it wounds us we cannot disdain it ; In doubt and in anguish The lover may languish Yet deem it a prize could he only obtain it. Is he caught in the net By a trifling coquette, (She feels no true passion, but knows how to feign it), She wounds and deceives him, And heartlessly leaves him To feel love's not w^orth what he paid to obtain it. Some damsel of fashion May waken his passion ; Her eye's on his purse and she knows how to drain it ; 84 L YRICS OF LO VE. But, oh ! it is painful To mark how disdainful She flies him when she can no longer obtain it. Does beauty attract him? She'll surely distract him ; Young love is so rash it is wise to restrain it ; There is never a snare Like a face that is fair To torture the lover who seeks to obtain it. A charming young heiress Would scarcely embarass A youth if her heart should invite him to train it ; For true love with money Is life's milk and honey, And worth all the trouble j'-ou take to obtain it. But were I to choose 'em . I'd seek a warm bosom. So fond that my coldness or absence would pain it; I'd waste not an hour On beauty or dower, But find true love worth all I paid to obtain it. L YRICS OF L O VE. 85 LOVE'S STRATEGY. Beauty doth challenge with her charms, And seeks a warder in her pride ; Her wit a warrior seems in arms ; Her heart a city fortified ; What gahant knight shall force the gate ? When others wounded quit the field, Comes Love, who ne'er to force resorts, His weapons carefully concealed ; For parley tempts her from her forts ; He smiles and she capitulates. LOVE'S BLINDNESS. To Father Time Love's mother went, Complaining of the gods' unkindness, Who to her darling boy had sent Their curse,— irremediable blindness. The urchin,—' twas a pretty sight, While Time at mortal ills was gmmbling, Round gray beard played— a merry sprite- Happy in spite of all his stumbling. L YRICS OF LO VE. Time, meditating, tried the edge, And whetted leisurely his sickle, Remarking as he gave his pledge, That gods and mortals both were iickle. '"Tis pity," (here he caught the lad. And stroked his soft and golden tresses), *"Tis pity blindness, never sad, Should see, and see his ow^n distresses." But when he heard how she appealed, (E'en gods admire maternal fervor). He who to men disdained to yield, Announced his readiness to serve her. Of remedies they talked apace. As practiced both by gods and by men. Till Time quite diagnosed the case. And recommended Doctor Hymen. The doctor summoned, came with pills. And phials, quite equipped for duty, But when he learned the urchin's ills, He tied him for a romp to Beauty. A happy hit in healing art ; Old Galen's self had scarce done better; Love soon had Beauty's charms by heart. And in his blindness loved the fetter . L YRICS OF LO VE. 87 His mother, anxious for his sight, Observed with care his every movement, And followed him by day and night To note each symptom of improvement. Now whether 'twas the fierce desire To gaze on Beauty's rapturous being ; Or if 'twere passion's mounting fire, The optics from their fetters freeing. That brought him sight, I cannot say, For Hymen's cures come often queerly ; But his eyes opened day by day. Till in six months he saw quite clearly. But, oh ! each charm of fancy fled ; No more was heard Love's merry laughter ; No more on fond illusions fed, He lived unhappy ever after. Still through experience sage we find, Since loving pairs Mill be united, 'Tis best that love be not too blind, But, on the whole, somewhat near-sighted. 88 L YRICS OF LO VE. A EETEOSPECTION. Long years ago ! It matters not how long ; they were too brief For our young hearts, at least, to feel them so ; — Too full of song and blossom, bud and leaf. And summer's radiance to have left behind The full length of their shadows on our hearts With sorrow's record, for fate has been kind, And silvered all our clouds with tenderest arts. Through all the years. Long years ago When hand in hand together we first learned Life's deeper meaning, ere we yet could know The good for which instinctively we yearned, We could not see, for love had kindly hid The thorns among the roses, and so taught That bitterest sorrows, lurking oft amid Our pleasures, have to lasting good been wrought, Through all the years. Long years ago ! Love sit by me and let us here recount Their misty cycles ; tracing in its flow, Each stream of pleasure back to its dear fount ; Not all of joy and peace have been those years, LYRICS OF LOVE. 89 But we forget the sting who gain the sweet, And learn to read through eyes bedimmed with tears The lessons that stern sorrows make complete Through all the years. BIRDS OF PARADISE. When Hope her wings for flight doth plume, Their morning hues glow heavenly bright ; But, see! how quick they change to gloom. If once she folds them to alight. Afar she flies In distant skies, Eluding ever those who jDrize her, If caught, within the grasp she dies Before the heart can realize her. Joy comes with sunbeams on her wings, Unto the heart a welcome guest ; And ever sweetest songs she sings. While building there her airy nest ; But, lo ! she flies To sunnier skies The moment we most dearly prize her ; Within the heart her music dies. While still we grasp to realize her. 90 L YRICS OF LO VE. Love has a plumage bright as Hope's, A song as sweet as ever Joy's ; In heaven her lovely wings she opes, On earth her music never cloys ; And though she flies In distant skies, She still returns to those who prize her: But if from cold neglect she dies, Ah ! then, too late we realize her. MEMORIES OF LOVE. When Time shall have bereft me Of those I hold most dear, And Sorrow shall have left me The heart-ache and the tear. When Joy shall fly, a rover. And Hope a truant prove, Still round my heart shall hover The memories of love. When friends shall have departed. And kindred spirits flown. And left me broken-hearted To wander on alone, Bright Fancy roaming over The paths that now I rove, Each loved one shall recover Through memories of love. L YRICS OF LO VE. 91 And when Death shall have ended Life's dim, uncertain ray, And night shall have descended Across my cheerless way. Oh ! may one friend or lover My low couch weep above. Each fault of mine to cover With memories of love. LOVE, THE TYRANT. When Love weaves around us his mystical snare. And hearts yield to bondage, delightful and tender, We find the dear silken chains pleasant to wear, And with scarce a show of resistance, surrender. Our freedom at once, with a sigh, we resign, And blindly assist him in tying the fetter ; Aye even for deeper enthrallment we pine, — The closer the bondage it pleases the better. Submissive to dictates that else would annoy, How humbly we sue for each trivial favor ; And find in the tyrant's exactions a joy That tightens the bonds of the artful enslaver. 92 LYRICS OF LOVE. Yet, lest some might seek to escape from his net, Each victim he wounds with a thrust of his arrow ;— A wound he keeps open, nor lets us forget, For who has known true love, unmixed with a sorrow? But Love has a poison concealed in his dart That works blest delirium or sad melancholy ; Now goads to distraction the fond lover's heart. Now leads it a dance to the music of folly. Thus, wretched or blest, we submit to his force, Tho' left still a choice to be free for a season. And find our peace dogged by a biting remorse. Or acknowledge his rule and surrender our reason. L YRICS OF LO VE. 93 DAPHNE. A PARAPHRASE OF THE C4RECIAN TALE. In the lovely vale of Tempe, Nestling close to high Olympus, Where the turbid stream Peneiis Surges 'neath the sacred mountain, Chafes and frets its rocky portals In its haste to meet the ocean, Lived the pretty maiden Daphne. Fair was she as rosy morning, Fresh and pure as sparkling dewdrops, Light of heart as birds at matins. Fleet as bright Apollo's arrows. There she passed the days of childhood, Playing in the flowery meadows. Gathering sunbeams, chasing shadows, Climbing up the rugged mountains, To be first to greet the INIorning, First to hail the car of Phcebus, As he urged his fiery horses Through the gateway of the Orient, Up the turnpike road of heaven ; Gazed upon his midday glory. Watched him fade behind the mountains, Dippmg down into the ocean, Leaving all the world in darkness. Care-free thus she lived and happy ; 94 L YRICS OF LO VE, Never had she known a sorrow, Never felt a pang of anguish ; Knew no hate and felt no longing ; Love, the peace-destroying tyrant. Was a stranger to her bosom. Other damsels round her prattled Of their conquests and their lovers, Of their intrigues and their raptures, Of their jealousies and heartaches. But she heeded not their gossip ; Listened to the voice of no man, Though the lovers round her sighing. Would have led her to the altar ; But she was the child of freedom. Still suspicious of a fetter. Once upon the slopes of Ossa Stood she in the glow of morning ; When the sun with golden splendor, Burnished all the face of Nature ; Saw a glorious form before her, Saw the prince of gods and mortals, And she knew it was Apollo, Come to woo her in the mountains. Hastily he ran toward her, Came with outstretched arms and shouting, "I have found thee. Child of Morning! And no more shalt thou escape me. I have sought thee long and vainly ; Sought thee in the scented meadows ; Tracked thee by the winding rivers, And pursued thee over mountains. L YRICS OF LO VE. 95 Others thoumay'st thrust behind thee; Break their hearts by frowning coldness, But Apollo will not leave thee, — Mine thou art from hence forever." Then the cheek of the fair Daphne Blushed as rosy as the morning, Blanched again with fear and anger. Shot her lovely eyes defiance, And her heart grew bold within her, As she spake unto Apollo : '*I know neither love nor bondage ; Yet my heart has known no fetter ; I have lived among the mountains ; I have wandered by the rivers, Free as the pure breath of heaven ; None there was on earth to bid me, None to say me 'go,' or 'follow.' Thus shall live forever Daphne, For to none I yield my freedom. ' * Then the shadow of dark anger Dimmed the bright brow of Apollo, And distorted all his features ; On his lips sat scorn and daring, Dropping curse and malediction ; In his eye there gleamed the frenzy Of the disappointed lover ; And his chin with passion quivered. Trembled with determination. Onward then he rushed to seize her, Stretched his hand to grasp the maiden, But the free, light-footed Daphne LYRICS OF LOVE. Like a vision fled before him; Tripped as lightly as the shadows Down the gentle slopes of Ossa ; Over hill and dale and river, Stepped she lightly as the sunbeams, O'er the grasses of the meadows Soft as fall the leaves in autumn. Close behind her came Apollo, Goaded on by love and madness. Strengthened by the mighty passion Of his heart within him burning. Then her strength began to fail her. And she stretched her hands imploring, To her friend, the fair Demeter ; But she came not to her succor, Came not to resist Apollo. Then she felt her head grow dizzy. Felt her limbs beneath her tremble,,. Felt the power within her failing ; On her neck she felt the breathing From the lips of her pursuer. From the furnace of his passion. And before her lay the river. Then she cried unto river, ''Take me. Father! O, Peneus, In thy arms receive thy daughter ! " Plunged she then into the water. And the billows closed above her. Mourned Apollo for his madness ; Sorrowed for the hapless maiden, Who in death retained her freedom ; "Thus the end of all my folly ! " L YRICS OF LO VE. 97 Cried he loud with self-reproaches, " Thus the light goes out of uiorning, And the day is shorn of beauty. Lone I must pursue my journey, Cheerless down the paths of splendor, To the mystic land of shadows. To the realm of night and darkness." Then he spake unto the river, Gazed into its turbid waters. Waved his hand above its eddies, With the sorcery of the sunlight. From its marge there sprang a laurel. Fresh and green with clustering foliage, To be emblem of his sorrow, Keeping grief alive forever With the memory of Daphne. From its boughs he twines the garlands For the brows of gentle poets. Who immortalize her beauty, Who rehearse his love and madness. Till the world shall know his sorrow. And behold his expiation ; For as long as flows the river. Long as stands the high Olympus, Long as Time shall whirl his cycles. Comes he daily to the river ; Gazes in its restless waters, Weeps his dew upon the laurel. Bids the nymphs of wood and water, Speak his coming in their matins, And make all the halls of morning Echo with the name of Daphne. 98 LYRICS OF LOVE. THOUGH ONLY ONCE I MET HER. Though only once I met her, I never can forget her, For with one look My heart she took And bound it with a fetter. 'Twas in a crowded street Where thousands daily meet. Perhaps 'twas chance, But by one glance My conquest was complete. I caught a glimpse of grace, A lovely, charming face, And eyes so bright. Whose tender light Young love delights to trace. Amid the throng retreating. She left my fond heart beating, Hoping that fate Would soon or late Renew our transient meeting. LYRICS OF LOVE. 99 Through many a year I've wandered, On many a maiden pondered, But have not met The damsel yet On whom my love was squandered. Unconscious of the pain My heart must bear in vain, Her lips may move With words of love For some more lucky swain. But when I would forget, And silence my regret, I say with art, "You foolish heart, She's only a coquette!" For oft we send our sighs To what before us flies; But when 'tis caught. Upon the spot Our passion for it dies. Still, could I meet her now. With that same eye and brow, I'd feel a pang, But— love, go hang ! I've sager grown, I trow. 100 L YRICS OF LO VE. AS LIGHTLY O'ER THE SLEEPING LAKE. As lightly o'er the sleeping lake Our boat the tranquil water parts, And leaves behind a quivering wake, Like parting words to lovers' hearts, Mark how the ripples from her bow Pulse outward in the growing dark, Till imperceptible they grow, To M^ake with every passing bark ! Such is that maiden's fickle breast Who smiles on all and sighs to many ; Yet cannot make one bosom blest, Through lack of constancy to any. Julia, I long had deemed you true. And paid your trust with warm devotion; But I have learned from not a few That others wake a like emotion. L YRICS OF LO VE. 101 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. I like that first quick thrill of heart, — That spontaneity of feelings, — Once Love may wound us with his dart, But martyrs us in after dealings. But once we feel his magic touch, That fires the bosom like a battery ; The glance and smile that mean so much ; Ah ! onoe our lips are free from flattery ! That love be mine that comes as free As sunbeams from Sol's boundless quiver ; This of the heart alone can be ; The rest, — read Kellogg on the liver.* I hate the cold formalities, — The social rules that dwarf affections, — The harsh conventionalities That draw love out by vivisections. Let prudes and dowagers combine To discipline young Love in manners ; He falls at once in a decline, And dies from briefer fasts than Tanner's. *In ancient times derangement of the liver was supposed to be a fundamental condition in nearly all diseases. —Dr. J. H. Kellogg, 102 L YRICS OF LO VE. Love curbed by reason, pines and dies ; It finds in freedom its existence, And like the electric spark it flies Along the path of least resistance. We learn the good and ill that fate Brings to our lives ; we learn to fashion Our hearts to duty ; learn to hate, But who can learn the first grand passion? Our judgments often lead us wide Of what we seek by true endeavor ; But when we make the heart our guide, We seldom stray from right, if ever. The soldier on the battle plain Prefers death from the hissing ball To wasting on in lingering pain Within a gloomy hospital. Thus hopeful youth with glowing heart When met by beauty's conquering eyes, Would rather fall before their dart, Than pine, a lingering sacrifice. L YRICS OF LOVE 103 HERO TO LEANDER. Not yet, my love ! I pray you go not yet ! Why dost thou hasten from my arms so soon? On Ida's summit loiters still the moon ; Behind high Pelion Hesperus scarce has set. What cares can my Leander's bosom fret? Has love and its delights no further charms ? Or haste you to some fairer maiden's arms, Through the rapt hours your Hero to forget? Oh ! that the sea should thus our hearts divide ! I would this nightly peril were the last ; Yea, in my arms here let me hold thee fas*, Phoebus shall hght thee o'er the treacherous tide. Through the dark hours let love this grot illume ; Day all too soon will bring my hours of gloom. 104 L YRICS OF LO VE. LEANDER TO HERO. Entreat me not, my love ! I cannot stay, Though thy fond bosom spread its couch of bUss * Fain would I linger on thy honied kiss, But the deep calls me and I must away. On Helle's breast the rude winds are at play, And from th' Aegaeum creeps th' assassin tide ; No longer in thy arms I may abide. Though it were heaven to loiter there till day. Farewell, dear heart ! 'tis but some hours of pain, To stray and languish in the garrish light. But we shall find an antidote in night. When she restores me to your arms again ! Fate, envious still of lovers, bids him go, And Helle's specter beckons him below. L YRICS OF LO VE. 105 SAPPHO. The black gulf yawns ! In elemental strife, Jove's forked arrows hurtle in the dark ; Oh, choose, ye gods, my bosom for a mark, My coward heart no more can cope with life ! Hope reels from thrusts of Disappointment's knife, Nor from the alchemy of Love can borrow A panacea for the wounds of sorrow ; Oh ! never more, my heart, with anguish rife, Can joy or peace from passion's flame be wrung ! For thy parched deserts Love can bring no rain ! There is a fascination in the deep ! Oh ! nevermore, my soul, shalt thou be stung To madness by proud Phaon's cold disdain ; — Lethe awaits this^dark and dizzy leap ! 106 L YRICS OF LO VE. TO ELSIE. Sweet bud of promise ! whom untimely frost Blighted upon the bough you late adorned ! With what a depth of sorrow have we mourned The precious blossom that we loved and lost ! But they who love must learn at length the cost Of fond aflfection in the pangs of woe ; For when shall fall th' inexorable blow ■ They grieve the deepest who have loved the most. Yet have we borne and gladly more would bear, In sufferance for the sweetness of the morn Thy smiles made bright ; and though the joy was brief, Still through the years thine miage we shall wear, Feeling with love our bosoms freshly torn, And wedding fond remembrance unto grief. WAYSIDE WAIFS. All things are big with jest; nothing thafs plain But may be witty, if thou hast the vein. — Herbert. WAYSIDE WAIFS, 109 A CHANGE OF HEART. I loved her once, — no matter when, — 'Twas one of boyhood's first romances ; We were scarce more than children then, When loves are little more than fancies ; It had a charm because 'twas new, My hopes and fears I bade her tell ; And I believed if vows are true. She loved no other half so well. We grew apart, — no matter how, — Young love can always find a reason To break a heart or hope or vow, As you may learn in one brief season ; 'Twas not that I had fickle grown. Attracted by some fairer belle ; But if the truth must all be known, She loved another full as well. We meet no more, — no matter why, — The world is anxious to discover The burden of each maiden's sigh, The gloom of every hopeless lover ; But since I have got back my heart, I've found a short way to forget her, For 'tis not quite so sad to part When cheered by one who loves me better. 110 WAYSIDE WAIFS. THE WOMAN IN THE CASE. When erring man from Eden fell, And plunged in sin the human race, He laid the blame, as you know well, Upon the woman in the case. And since that first misfortune came, All wrongs and evil luck we trace. And like the first man lay the blame Upon the woman in the case. When wise men err or good men stray, 'Tis the old tale, — a pretty face, — For no one slips, but people say : ^' There was a woman in the case ! " In social quarrel or family jar, The cause the gossips quickly place, For Helen still engender' s war, — The modern woman in the case. When bankers' clerks aspire to shine. And live at quite a rapid pace. We learn when they have crossed the line, There was a woman in the case. WAYSIDE WAIFS. Ill Our friends the Mormons break our laws, 'Tis sad religion is so base ; While juries find the stumbling cause Is still the woman in the case. If there's a saint without a stain, The Devil hopes to win from grace. He seldom tempts with power or gain, But puts a woman in the case. For murder, duel, suicide. The daily papers find much space. And other news must stand aside To show the woman in the case. Thus it would seem the subtle charm Of pretty form in silk and lace, Is held the source of all our harm. And named "The woman in the case." Life, though with blessings it abounds, Would still be like an empty vase Were man compelled to plod its rounds Without a woman in the case. 112 WAYSIDE WAIFS. A L' ARTEMISIA. Now, fickle fame, I'm on your track ! My Laura writes that she will meet me, And says to see her lover back Will make her glad enough to eat me. Then I'll make haste ! why longer roam, When honors just before me wait? For I have only to go home To be the poet Laura ate. MY ''MISSES." After a youth of single strife, I've learned what true connubial bliss is, Yet half the sorrows of my life Have come to me through certain " misses. Although in this 'tis not my plan The single gentle sex to censure, 'Tis true my troubles first began All through a certain Miss Adventure. My way in life I sought to make, And got a start by frugal living. But lost it all through a Miss Take, Though I was warned by a Miss Giving. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 113 And when a pretty maid I wooed, And studied courtship as a science, I feared my love was Miss Construed, Who feared in turn a Miss Alliance. Then to Miss Chance I was a dupe, Miss Trust my every step pursuing ; And if I e'er got in the " soup," ' T was some that Miss Chief had been brewing. The miss that next brought me to grief, I think her name was a Miss Nomer, Was called Miss Fortune, who, the thief. Left me, when short of cash, a roamer. I gave the gossips many a topic. Who saw my plans to wed Miss Carry,. For while my love was Miss Ann Thropic, Miss Ogyny forbade me marry. Now since I've settled down in life. Less to Miss Hap have I confided. For who is guided by a wife Is not so apt to be Miss-Guided. 114 WAYSIDE WAIFS. EDEN RESTORED. If, as the Jewish fable says, Man lost his paradise through woman, And sons of God fell down from grace To share the love of angels human ; And if it be, as some opine, Dear love was the forbidden tree, — The sacred fruit— to gods divine, Then what a sinner I must be. Not all was lost, for I have traced Glimpses of Eden in her eyes ; And on her lips I still can taste The sweetest fruits of Paradise. THE WRANGLER. In Cambridge, long for learning famed, Who carries off the prize and laurels For high attainments has been named The lurangler in those classic quarrels. Where sophomores and freshmen train On problems touching all things human, Truths that perplex man's weightier brain Were once declared too deep for woman. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 115 But now when in these mental lists She wields Minerva's lighter lances, ( Though at the bat or oar her fists Have had as yet but meager chances.) Man's high prerogatives of sex And brain are trembling in the balance, While she surmounts heights that perplex The wits of her pedantic gallants. In logic and philosophy She proves herself no mean competitor, And bears the lam-el twig away, Though seniors frown and freshmen fret at her. Experience all this truth will yield :— If in a contest you entangle her, You'll find ere you have left the field, The woman is the better wrangler. 116 WAYSIDE WAIFS. IS MAERIAGE A FAILURE? "Is marriage a failure?" she asked me one day, When discussing at length all its outs and its ins, While close to my bosom all tranquilly lay Her pair of sweet babies, — the cherubs were twins. The boys were asleep, and I said as I gazed On their innocent faces, so free from life's trouble " If wedlock's a lottery, you should be pleased, For instead of a blank you have drawn your prize double. ''And if our success in this world much depends On how well we fill it, a common sense view. Then marriage should really accomplish our ends. At least it is hardly a failure with you. "But if the world's full, as it seems now indeed, From over-production, as jobbers express it, For infants there really is no crying need , And absence of many would certainly bless it. " For if wedlock goes on as it seems to be going, Recruiting the nations by twos and by threes, The failure of marriage will surely be owing To striving too hard for success, — such as these." WA YSIDE WAIFS. 117 Just then the dear fellows awoke from their nap, And cut short my speech with their notes of distress ; I acknowledged when laying them down in her lap, That marriage was really a liowling success ! STOLEN AND RETURNED Oh ! do not pout those pretty lips, Nor chide me with thine eyes, If yielding to Their tempting hue, Mine own may seem unwise. For who can view that rosy mouth, Provoking love and bliss, And turn his eyes From such a prize. So temptingly near his? The clover-hlossom sips the dew, — The honey-bee the clover, — And maiden's lips With rosy tips Have nectar for the lover. 118 WAYSIDE WAIFS. If prudishly you hoard the store, My charming little miser, Then must I rove In search of love With damsel who is wiser. And if you rue the stolen bliss, By one who deemed it pleasure, I will give back The pilfered smack. And add ten-fold the measure. LOVE'S APRIL WEATHER. Winnie, why so fickle rove ? Maid so lately fond and loving, Let your heart in pity move, — Now that all the world is moving. Pity show to one who grieves,— Sorrowing o'er a maid's deceiving ; Now when trees put on their leaves, Can you not put off my leaving ? Does regret that bosom know, Once with love so warmly glowing ? Mine shall feel the chilling blow, — While these April winds are blowing. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 119 You may seek a richer mate, As you oft have intimated, But that love will soon abate That with love of gold is baited. Had you still been true to me. Never breathed to love your treason, I should not be going to sea — See another love this season. You may sigh to all who pass. Maidens' hearts are soft and plastic, But I'll not stick to a lass With affections so elastic. If the pledges oft told o'er You persist still in ignoring, I shall ever pass the door Of a damsel past adoring. So, dear, fickle maid, adieu ! Your deceit, shall not undo me ; And since I have ceased to sue, Do not seek a cause to sue me. 120 WAYSIDE WAIFS. A MIDNIGHT VISITANT. 'Twas twelve o'clock ; the rising gale Was moaning through the broken shutter, When down the hall there came a wail That caused my anxious heart to flutter. It was the moment when the dead Are said to come again, and near The swish of garments and the tread Of hurrying feet fell on my ear. A nervous chill crept up my spine, My damp hair stiffened, and my tongue Mute with the awe of power divine, Unto my parched palate clung. 'Twas then I heard that wail again, But this time with a thrill of joy, For I was happiest of men, — The doctor said it was a boy. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 121 WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWERET" If pretty girls were only flowers, And I a roving humble-bee, I doubt if I should be so humble, But that I'd pass some pleasant hours, Sipping the sweets that suited me. And none should ever hear me grumble. Life then were all a summer day. And I should not be dogged by care Among the wild-flowers and the clover ; I'd sip and dream my hours away On dainty blossoms sweet and fair, And prove a most attentive lover. And when should come the nipping frost To rob the posies of their sweet. And round me I should see them wither, I'd not survive to know them lost. Without them life were not complete, And death would bear me with them thither. But since the bee's sweet taste is Love's And maids have roses on their lips. Distilling nectar for his pleasure. While he from flower to flower roves. Sipping in rapture from their tips. Then life is bliss and youth's a treasure. 122 WAYSIDE WAIFS. And when young beauty's charms shall lose Theu- freshness as the roses do, Think Love, unfed, will pine and perish? Not he ! fresh gardens he doth choose, Wooing the fragrance of the new, Whose budding joys his presence cherish. But even then, the sweets among. Lurk disappointment's bitter drops To mar the flavor of the honey, — The sting, the venom of the tongue, Eemorse and broken hearts and hopes, From lack of constancy — or money. GROOMS. Though rich papas rave and proud mammas disparage. And society frowns at romantic love's dizziness, In elopements, involving a social miss-carriage, Our Jehues are doing a good, driving business. Yet if the young heiress is constant and willing, And leaves all for love, it would certainly seem. Though angry papa cuts them off with a shilling, They should prove in the long run a good spanking team. For the gay world forgives them both after a span, And pater comes down with his cash, I presume, And mamma says if he's a good, stable man. He doubtless will prove a most excellent groom. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 123 CUPID'S ASTRONOMY. Beside the parlor fire we sat One chilly evening when December's Frosts made us draw more close for chat Around the brightly glowing embers. Our chairs were drawn up close together, The lamp was turned down for economy ; At first we talked about the weather, Then drifted, somehow, to astronomy. The moon was rising, round and bright, Above a distant promontory, And by her mellow, mystic light We read in heaven the old, sweet story. The ''Bear " was climbing up the pole, The rampant *'Ram" the "Goat" did batter But Luna most our glances stole. For love is such a moonshine matter. Though INIercury downward took a start, And Mars glowed firey as a foeman, We found the '' Vu-gin '' and the " Heart" With Cupid near them for the "Bowman." While Orion's lights we sought to trace. She talked about the law of action, And how that bodies out in space Were drawn together by attraction. 124 WAYSIDE WAIFS. Then I explained, with throbbing heart, While love urged on with hope's compunction, How stars that seemed of each a part Were, ( as oft lovers), in conjunction. My arm a crescent round her zone, A double star in heaven we seemed ; Like Saturn she in gold rings shone, In bands a Jupiter I beamed. Her lovely eyes, scintillant stars, Keflecting love's dear radiation, Were dancing to the measured bars Of hearts in blissful perturbation. But love's soft transit over lips, Or it might be their occultation, Hid Luna in a brief eclipse, And threw the stars in aberration. And her dear promise to be mine Fell sweeter on my list'ning ears Than that soft melody, divine. They call the ''music of the spheres." Let science spread her wings and wander In search of worlds beyond the skies, Much nearer home my hours I'll squander, And see new worlds in loving eyes. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 125 ECHO AND THE BENEDICT. (after saxe.) A youth whom fate had led to dare The trials of the nuptial splice, Once sought out Echo, well aware That she would give him sound advice. A confidential inten^iew, He hoped that she as such would treat it ; But she, as oft the sex will do, Set out instanter to repeat it. "Dear maid," said he, "what should a youth Take to allay his pain and his ache, When he in searching after truth, Gets mixed in matters metaphysic?" Quoth Echo, humorously : ' ' Physic ! ' ' " But if he fails to find relief In nostrums doctors by the dram sell, What would you say to ending grief By wedding a sweet, loving damsel? " Quoth Echo, with a mutter : * ' Dam sell ! ' ' "Suppose I loved a maid like you. Whose parents gave me little hope. Though she was loving, kind and true. And graceful as an antelope ? ' ' Quoth Echo, fervently : " Elope ! " 126 WAYSIDE WAIFS. " But if I find when I am wed, That I have hardly won a prize, But quite a termagant instead, What hope have I to realize?" Quoth Eecho, plainly : ' ' Real lies !" " What if returning late at night, I find her ready for a bicker, And she declares I'm sadly tight, Though I had not a drop of liquor? " Quoth Echo, with some sternness : ' 'Lick her ! ' ' ' ' But if I find my wedded spouse A shrew, vindictive, stern and stout. Who's bound to rule in her own house. Though she should knock my daylight out?" Quoth Echo, warningly : " Light out ! " " But should I fall, at last, a corse, Beneath her treatment, diabolic, Say what can pain her like remorse In hours by grief made melancholic?" Quoth Echo, with a snicker : "Colic ! " '' Should I by kindness seek to rule, Thinking to win her favor by it. Would she not make me out a fool, Should I be quite so rash as try it? " Quoth Echo, scornfully : "Ass, try it! " JVAVS/BE WAIFS. 127 " How may I win her back to love, Or under meek subjection bring, That she a modest wife may prove, And gentle as the voice of spring?" Quoth Echo, matron-like : * ' Offspring ? ' ' THE BACHELOR'S CHOICE. Well, show me the maid to my mind. And single no longer I'll tarry ; But till such a damsel I find, I certainly never shall marry. My friends have been setting the day, Since I with two fair maidens fell in,- One Mary — for brevity May — The other fair Helen or Ellen. My Helen is lively and gay. And somewhat, I think, of a beauty ; While Mary, though not such a fay. Is much more a damsel of duty. Miss Helen is learned and fine, Her language is charming and witty ; But Mary's not given to shine. Although in her way rather pretty. 128 WAYSIDE WAIFS, Fair Helen talks science and art, I'm puzzled with all her astronomy ; But Mary aspires to my heart By her knowledge in household economy. Dear Helen plays waltzes and marches, And sings in a manner bewitchin', While brave Mary washes and starches, And sings while she works in the kitchen. Vain Helen has suitors a score, And favors, I fear, for the twenty ; My Mary but me doth adore, Though she has had offers in plenty. Should ever my fortune grow worse. Proud Helen, I fear, soon would leave me, But Mary, who seeks not my purse. With heart still as fond would receive me. Would I please my eye and my ear. Then Helen were surely the winner ; But Mary's case looks pretty clear When it draws near the hour for my dinner. When I get a snug cottage to dwell in, Believe me, no longer I'll tarry ; With Helen I fear 'twould have hell in, So Mary is liker to marry. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 129 FEW DIE, THOUGH MANY RESIGN. When Ned was betrayed by the maid of his heart, Who sought a new field for her conquering eye, He vowed the sad moment that saw their souls part Would mark him a wretch, broken-hearted, to die. It ever was thus, but hearts are not of glass. And a fortnight of sorrow but heightens joy after ; And in the bright smiles of a handsomer lass He answered the jest, about dying, with laughter. MODERN DAILY PAPERS. When old Cadmus carved the letters Of his first Greek alpha-betas, And Mercury bore dispatches through the vapors, The gods were surely hinting At the glorious art of printing. And the advent of our modern daily papers. For a thousand years thought slept, For a thousand more it crept. For a thousand groped in darkness quite nocturnal, Till the genius of the press Clothed it in the lightning's dress. And sent it fiashing through the modern journal. 130 WAYSIDE WAIFS. Now philosophers and sages Can bequeath the world their pages, And science sheds a radiance from her tapers ; And every worthy movement For humanity's improvement Is sure to find advancement in the papers . 'Tis a pleasure so peruse The lightning-gathered news From London, Paris, Berlin, Rome and Calais ; For all the tongues of Babel Are gathered by the cable In its trans- Atlantic message to the daily. Although inclined to mix Somewhat in politics, Our editors are great opinion shapers. For they harp on every topic. And are very philanthropic When dispensing their pet ideas through the papers. Their reporters show a zeal That few holy men reveal. Yet warily we shrink from these news-scrapers. For they dog us and waylay us, And with "taffy" they betray us To air our dearest secrets in the papers. Our aldermen are wise. At least in their own eyes. And shine in council like a borealis ; But still with all their thunder, I They often make a blunder, | And then we give them ' ' pointers ' ' in the dailies. % WAYSIDE WAIFS. 131 Our detectives and police, — May their ''shadows" still increase, — Are sometimes dilatory in their catches ; But when they have no clue What better can they do Than depend upon the daily press dispatches? If we have wrongs to right, If we have foes to fight, No more we fly to pistols or to rapiers. For the modern form of duel Is to thrust with language cruel, In a wordy, bloodless battle in the papers. "When our taxes threat' ning grow. And improvements come too slow. When we think we're injured by official capers, When we discover flaws In our customs or our laws. We can always air our grievance in the papers. There are many fine inventions. Contrived with good intentions, The march of human progress is eternal ; But ever in the van Of this glorious march of man We find the spirit of the modern journal. 132 WAYSIDE WAIFS. A LETTER. She wrote a letter with her eyes, Well filled with words of bliss, Then like a prudent maid, and wise, She sealed it with a kiss. — Meredith Nicholson in '^Century.*' "She wrote a letter with her eyes," With love peeping behind ; Ah ! surely he was far from wise Who wrote : ' ' Young Love is blind. ' ' "Well filled with words of bliss," and sent, With flowers of speech from true lips ; Some say love by the rose is meant. But I'm inclined to two-lips. "Then like a prudent maid, and wise," — I've met such sapient misses, — A lengthy postscript she supplies Of half a score of kisses. "She sealeiif^'with a kiss" of hope. And stamped it with another, While lips like those of envelope. Stick closer than a brother. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 133 P. S. — Her letter finished thus, She with a smile addressed it, Then hurried off to catch a buss, And to the male expressed it. Ah ! he who reads this missive well May be a happy bach ; Love has such a delightful spell, — A real sigh — for dispatch. The note I'd gladly pay at sight. Yet hope for days of grace To be her pupil day and night And read her eye-deal face. Misfortune does not cross her eyes. That friends may dot her teas, And though their apples she denies, Their lashes still could please. Love, granting nought to him who kneels, Lip-service takes in lieu. And thus a damsel's letters seals And she sighs: ''Billy, do!" ( Billet doux) 134 WAYSIDE WAIFS. THE ''FALL" SHOPPING. The Devil showed his choicest fruit ; Eve looked it o'er, but did not buy it; The shape, the color did not suit, Though much he urged that she should try it. ''I'll catch her yet," he chuckling said, And straightway went to advertising ; The "Eden Sun" Eve daily read, And back she went with haste surprising. He marked them up, then marked them down, So 'twould appear the goods were cheapened ; The "bargain counter" she was shown, — She imrchased and — her eyes were opened. A NEW PLEA FOR AN OLD CASE. It now appears the Lord was rash In laying on poor Eve the lash. When with an apple he surprised her ; For had a jury heard her case. Their verdict might have saved the race. By finding Satan hypnotized her. i WAYSIDE WAIFS. 135 WHEN COCKNEY COMES. When Cockney plays the rover, And sails the waters over To see his cousin o'er the sea, And learn how big the world may be Beyond the Straits of Dover, He thinks this upstart nation Should make a demonstration, About his worth and title prate, And show him round in coach of state. With noisy celebration. With many an air of snobbing. He goes about hobnobbing. And if he's taxed for being "fly," "Hat'ome," he whines, '' 'tis notso 'igh," And calls it downright robbing. He shows with great facility Our dearth of proud nobility. Our poverty in "broken " lords, In coats-of-arms ( not won with swords ), And titled imbecility. 136 WAYSIDE WAIFS. He finds no ruins, stately, We have grown up so lately, So new does everything appear, The British antiquarian here Must surely languish greatly. Our freedom and democracy He sneers at as hypocrisy ; And is not slow his views to vent On social state and government Without an aristocracy. We smile at such a caper Of any snobbish aper ; Our fathers twice to arms appealed. And whipped the British on the fleld- They w^hip us now — on paper. Because we push and hurry He calls us mercenary, Yet is not slow to gather in A goodly portion of our " tin," Across the sea to carry. We could ignore him quite all, His presence is not vital, Did he not turn our daughters' heads ( Seeking our lucre if he weds ), With boasts of blood and title. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 137 Keturn, ye Cockney callers ! Ye antiquarian scholars ! Heap on abuse and harsh rebukes, But spare us, ye bankrupt dukes, Our damsels and our dollars. THE IRISH QUESTION AND THE ENGLISH ANSWER. PADDY. ''Misther Bull, Misther Bull, Shure the toimes they be dull ; The shmall bit av favor we ax is : Since the pratie crap's poor. And the wulf's at the door, Wud ye lit us down light wid the taxes ? " JOHN BULL. "Pat O'Brien, Pat O'Brien, That's no business of mine ; The rent I must have to a copper ; You Irish will shirk All fair honest work. And then play the saint or the pauper. " 138 WAYSIDE WAIFS. ''Misther Bull, Misther Bull, Wud ye give us a pull? Our childer are starving, God bliss ye ; Jist give a bite gratis, Fur all av our praties Are ate by the bugs and malitia." JOHN BULL. " Mike Flaherty, Mike Flaherty, We can't live by charity, And keep in the race with gentility ; 'Tis taxed, sir, that I am For missions in Siam, — Besides there's the Queen and nobility." PADDY. "Misther Bull, Misther Bull, Shure yer banks are all full ; Wud ye lend me the loan of a guinea ? Whin we git gold and pork From our friends in New York, I'll pay ye all back to a pinny." JOHN BULL. '*Tim Connor, Tim Connor, Say now on your honor. Supposing you had so great riches. Between you and me, How long would it be Ere it reached the grog-shops and j^riests' breeches?" WAYS WE WAIFS. 139 ''Misther Bull, Misther Bull, Wud ye give us home rule ? Shure we'll ax nuthin' more av ye, raley Take home yer polace, And we'll all kape the pace Widout the cold lead and shillaly." JOHN BULL. ''Charles Parnell, Charles Parnell, You would surely raise hell, Should once I withdraw my restriction ; You'd get roaring full, And there' d be a 'home rule,' With fist, chair and table eviction." WOMAN'S SPHERE. Of all the questions that perjDlex The sages since the world's creation, There's none that seems so much to vex As "What is woman's proper station? " Astronomers have studied space To distance that seems superhuman, But never yet have found a trace Of that strange orb, the sphere of woman. 140 WAYSIDE WAIFS. Our scientists can now unfold Nature's deep secrets, and the mixer Of medicines, so we are told, Has found the long-sought life elixir. But far beyond their skill or wit, Or all the subtle laws of science, Our damsels still capricious flit, And set the doctors at defiance. In brave old Spartan days they thought Their proper sphere was to be mothers Of sons in hardy virtues taught, Their country's pride, — the dread of others. In later and less feudal times Their heads were filled with lighter fancies; They turned from sterner deeds as crimes, And figured better in romances. Our mothers taught our sisters well In useful arts and homely duties. To cheer and charm some humble dell, Nor seek to shine as idle beauties. In recent years it seems their plan To quite neglect their dough and stitches. And scheme to catch the simple man Whose worth, at least, is in his riches. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 141 And now that lovely woman flies From cares domestic to commercial, She deems her sphere shall proudly rise To heights that would perplex a Herschel. In politics she's quite at home, On woman's rights a constant talker. And dreams the time will surely come AVhen she can vote — for Mary Walker. Now maids escaped parental rule, With youths in search of glory mingle ; And pretty misses fi-esh from school Write law or physic on their shingle. In shop, in ofhce, m all trades We see them day by day supplant us, And relegate us to the spades, Or any slavery they may grant us. But much I fear this business life. In which they're striving to outdo man, Will soil the charms of maid and wife. And dwarf what we admire in woman. For mingling with us in affairs In which they scarce can hope to mould us. They'll surely lose their sweet, shy airs. And then how can they hope to hold us? 142 H^AYSWE WAIFS. But since their hearts are given to range, Kind Heaven, grant some new attraction ! For should there come no timely change Our homes will all be in distraction. For woman there's a noble sphere, And she's exotic in another ; There man will hold her ever dear In maiden, sweetheart, wife and mother. LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG. We once were lovers, Maud and I ; She was a little fairy I had been courting three years, nigh, And was about to marry. Her pa was rich and I was poor, She was his only daughter ; My fortune would have been secure If I had only caught her. Our wedding day was set in May, Our nuptials would be floral ; But when it wanted but a day We had a lovers' quarrel. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 143 For why? Maud had a Uttle dog, The cutest little collie ; But I grew jealous of the rogue, And wanted her heart wholly. And oft I wished I was the cur, And oft the wretch was barking, As envious of my love for her, While nightly we sat sparking. Desperate at last, I gave the pup Unto a passing lady. Deeming my love would make it up Upon the coming May day. Wildly she grieved and sighed and moaned, So I confessed my folly ; And now our wedding is postponed Till I return the collie. 144 WAYSIDE WAIFS. CASH. If the passion for gold, as the wise man hath said, Is ti-uly the root of all evil, Then really our times give us reason to dread We are all going fast to the devil ; For the man most admired and the lion of all, Who cuts in the world quite a dash, Is he who in business, at church or at ball Comes handsomely down with the cash. There once w^as a time when the armor-clad knight Sought fame through his prowess in strife ; When sages traced glory in plain black and white, And a name was far dearer than life ; But now would you seek in high thoughts and brave deeds For preferment your friends call you rash ; For gold with its glitter to glory succeeds, The highest who has the most cash. If you've mixed up in politics, you are aware How gold your preferment can win ; How placemen all count on a lion's full share As soon as they squeeze themselves in ; Our fathers took pride in the service they gave, And counted the spoils but as trash ; For freedom and union would lie in their grave Had patriots counted on cash. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 145 In religion you'll find it much the same way, The shepherds who care for the fold Are often themselves, like their flocks, prone to stray When tempted by offers of gold ; But did they but practice the half that they preach, And their hands of vile avarice wash, The hearts of the world they more surely would reach By sermons not spoken for cash. Have you been a fond lover and learned to adore A maid that seemed worthy your love ? Have you toiled to increase for her pleasure your store, And dreamed that she constant would prove ? Then, oh ! how your heart has received a sad thrust. When she makes what she calls a '* rich mash," And shows you a heart that excites your disgust, — A heart on the market for cash. Society 's vain and is ready to lock its Proud doors with disdain in the face Of the genius with brains, but with quite empty pockets, Ere fickle fame deigns him a place ; 146 WAYSIDE WAIFS. If he prospers in goods, he has friends by the score, But his failure their love would abash ; For misfortune will teach what he knew not before,— How many have loved him for cash. But Death mows all down, as all flesh is but grass, And makes our estates at last even ; Though priests, it is said, will have trouble to pass Some very rich souls up to heaven ; The proud millionaire who in opulence dies, His teeth in dire torment must gnash, While to heaven the soul of the vagabond flies, Not being weighed down by his cash. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 147 THE OEIGIN OF SNOBS. When Darwin essayed to explain to the race How man from the ape had his origin taken, The snobs were quite shocked by his views in the case, Their genealogical tree was so shaken. Although not a flattering deduction, I think The sage had in mind, his opinion when shaping. The snob, whom he took for the true "missing link," As his "beastly" extraction was shown in his aping. The naturalist erred, in my judgment at least, On the ancestral roots of our snobs as a class ; I am free to admit that they sprang from a beast, But the creature instead of an ape was an ass. 148 WAYSIDE WAIFS. LOVE AND LUCEE. There is a nymph we all have wooed, One of those coy, cold-hearted creatures Who fly when e'er they are pursued, Yet have some mercenary features ; Her voice has a sweet, silvery ring ; Her locks are gold, her smiles are sunny ; Her charms ten-thousand lovers sing, — Who can resist the charms of Money ? Young Love, the rogue, had sworn his heart Should beat for none but rosy Beauty ; They scarcely yet were seen apart, So faithful was he to his duty ; Till he met Avarice one day Who turned his head till he forsook her. And sought by smiles to win his way Into the fickle heart of Lucre. He sped his light shafts at the mark, Attracted by her glow and glitter ; But yet seemed shooting in the dark. As every arrow failed to hit her. Her haughty moods distressed him sore, For all his smiles and words of honey Could never move her to adore, — Love really was no match for Money. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 149 He changed his tactics then and shone A genius, talented and skillful, And deemed his prize was surely won, But no, the damsel still was willful. A benefactor he became, Hoping in this guise to rebuke her; But Lucre shunned him still the same, For Kindness was no match for Lucre. Then Love went wooing as a saint, Looking so wonderous good and holy, And yet withal so very quaint. That Lucre laughed to see his folly. Next he bethought him of the charms Of youth— the face he oft has shown us— And thought to surely win her arms While suing as a gay Adonis. But still coquettishly she spurned His fond attentions and advances, So that his heart within him burned To see her slight the best of chances. At last in sheer despair he stole Away for comfort to his mother. Who bade him try the " title role," Since he had failed in every other. Love took the hint ; he knew a duke,— A broken, worthless, spendthrift fellow, Whom Virtue long ago forsook. In vears and sin extremely mellow. 150 WAYS/BE WAIFS. "Ah, well ! " sighed Love, " here is no catch, The sight would thrill the maid with horror, But since she still disdains my match. Why should I now show pity for her? " So as a duke he sought her hand, And talked of castles, rank and titles, Which made Miss Lucre smile so bland The sight chilled poor Love to the vitals. To pride and flattery a prey. To Love at last she condescended, But rudely thrust the boy away The moment that his part was ended. Then swore Love by th' Avenger, dread, Eemorse and Lucre should be neighbors ; That all who 'gainst his dictates wed Should find but sorrow for their labors. He left her in her lonely towers, Pining for that dear charm that blesses ; While he returned to Beauty's bowers. Content henceforth with her caresses. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 151 THE KNOT OR NOT. How many poets sing their ditties Of lovely damsels, gay and sunny ! But seldom chant, (a thousand pities), A single lay on matrimony. Our great romancers spinning novels, By habit, custom or intention, Paint marriage in the lowly hovels, And love, the jewel, in a mansion. As if the wooing were love's glory. And wedlock something to be dreaded, The hero of a modern story Is left as soon as he is wedded. He goes a victim to the altar. Blindfolded for the sacrifice. Where Hymen's knot becomes a halter. And Love by his own bowstring dies. Then not another word is said Of twain with but one heart and noddle But hint and jest infer, instead. New chapters for the " Life of Caudle. ' ' 152 WAYSIDE WAIFS. There rarely would be cause to grieve That wedded pairs are at a deadlock, Did they not, like our authors, leave The lovers at the door of wedlock. LOVE AND BUSINESS. We have no time for love apart. We rush along with such a dizziness, And so we teach the head and heart To mingle love with toil and business. Now damsels share our daily task, And while we labor we adore 'em ; Their love for love we need not ask, They're sure to tax us ad valorum. You meet a maiden of good birth, Rich and in virtue quite invincible. You love her for her sterling worth. She takes an interest in your principle. Does rosy beauty win your eye, At sight and all her charms enthrall you, Although her price is rather high, 'Tis but her market or face value. But if the maid you seek has love By love of lucre ne'er surmounted, At once your warm attachment prove, True love should never be discounted. WAYSIDE WAIFS. 153 Are you a lawyer with a choice? A plea for an assurance send her ; Are you a merchant? Ask in voice, And take love's bond as legal tender. Does realty your line comprise, And Mary hold you in abeyance, If you in woman's arts are wise, You'll call around with a conveyance. Perchance by powders and by pills You set Ann's heart a palpitating ; Then tell her for a spinster's ills Your remedy is Anna-mating. A jeweller with open face Has surely no cause for alarm, For he has quite a golden case, Since he can chain a maid and charm. A preacher, whatsoe'er his text. In hell, I'm sure would rather blister For love on earth, for in the next World woman loves but as a sister. But having formed with her a trust, No silent partner you'll discover; Divide your crust and share your dust. And to the day of judgment love her. 154 WAYSIDE WAIFS. TO DR. BROWN-SEQUARD. The alchemists vainly endeavored to find Through science the secrets of life's true elixirs; And also a short way to wealth were inclined, As oft is the case with you medicine mixers. That fountain of youth they have failed to unfold, As flesh still continues to go as the grass, But we moderns know how to convert into gold, Through practical methods, our surplus of brass. Though now they inform us, dear doctor, that you, By pondering long over our health and your gains, Have discovered a process our youth to renew By injecting a guinea-pig into our veins. But who, my good sir, save some dotard or ninny, The prey of the priest or the potion-concoctor, Would care for his youth thus renewed by your guinea, When all of his guineas had gone to the doctor. Your efforts among the dispensers of pills Is certain to meet with a strong opposition, For with youth and immunity from death's dark ills. To what use, pray tell, could we put the physician? WAYSIDE WAIFS. 155 You doctors in dealing with death and with men Are often a trifle presumptuous and priggish ; Could your guinea prolong our three-score years and ten, The means and the end were decidedly piggish. IN THE WOODS. Suggested by the announcement that since his retirement from public office, Gladstone has been occupying his time felling trees in the Hawarden Woods. The " Grand Old Man," weary of state affairs, Debates, intrigues, and diplomatic feuds, Resigns at last his high official cares. And for diversion hies him to the woods. Well has he hived his wisdom for his age, Seeking, unvexed by men and worldly moods, Seclusion to indite life's final page, And meditate the end in the calm woods. A fitting end to glory's high career, When sated with its wealth of fame and goods, And life is in the " yellow and the sear," To find a blest seclusion in the woods. 156 WAYSIDE WAIFS. Better the vigor and the peace he'll find Hacking away amid these solitudes, With but a woodsman's honest axe to grind. Ah, placemen, if you only knew the woods ! Blest sanctuary that no strife profanes ! Asylum of the heart where none intrudes ! Let me but get my mead of fame and gains, I'll lose no time in getting to the woods. MOODS IN MEDITATION. To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion ivith her visible forms she speaks A various language. — Bryant. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 159 MIDNIGHT CHIMES. I love the wood with its solitude, And I love the shore with its roar ; I love the musical words of the birds, And the low, soft dip of the oar ; I love the dawn on the dewy lawn. And the sunset glow on the hill ; But dearer the time of the midnight chime When the voice of the world is still. I love the morn with its hounds and horn. And the glowing race in the chase ; And the quiet eve is mine to grieve, Or to meet with a friendly face ; But the calmest season to muse or reason, To poets and sages dear, Is the quiet time when the midnight chime Breaks solemnly on the ear. Oh ! some are bold in their search for gold. And some have a passion for fashion ; And some find a greater treasure in pleasure, And some in the tender passion ; But give me a book in a quiet nook, — Some volume of lore to peruse, Or the poet's pen in his midnight den To follow the flights of his muse. 160 MOODS IN MEDITA TION. 'Tis sweet to trace in the fields of space The silvery bars of the stars, And to open our ears to the "music of the spheres," Thrown down from their rolling cars ; There are truths to learn where their bright orbs burn, And thoughts that are high and sublime ; There is much to feel and much to reveal In the hour of the midnight chime. 'Tis the hour w^hen sages light up their pages With thought that glows as it grows ; And truths are lighted and wrongs are righted When the world is lost in repose ; And the mellow chime of the poet's rhyme Eings out in its fullest power With the inspiration for bright creation That is born in the midnight hour. 'Tis the time to brood in our solitude On the ills that are rife in this life ; To banish our cares in whispered prayers, And prepare for the morrow of strife ; 'Tis the time to sleep, 'tis the time to weep, 'Tie the time to calmly lie And patiently wait the decrees of fate, — 'Tis the quiet time to die. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 161 A WISH. I wish I had a snug retreat Within some quiet, rural glen, Far from the city's noisy street. Where I might lose all thoughts of men And business cares, and feel again My boyhood's freedom and the sweet And healthful peace that I knew then, Before I thought them incomplete. There I would build a pretty cot Upon a knoll that overlooks A flowery mead, and near the spot Where meet two pretty, babbling brooks; And I would fill its coziest nooks. And garnish to befit my lot Of rest and peace, with flowers and books. With love's delight my constant thought. And I would waken with the lark, And see Aurora's blushing face, Undimmed by city's smoke and mark Young Nature in her vernal grace ; And in her very aspects trace Joy's purer spring ; life's brighter spark ; And with a calmer, steadier pace. Stroll on when Fortune's frown grew dark. 162 MOODS IN MEDITATION. There, in companionship with flowers, And birds and books and those I love, How light the footsteps of the hours Would fall in that enchanted grove, From which I could not wish to rove ; Nor wealth, nor grandeur, with their dowers Of care and ennui, e'er would prove Temptation to desert those bowers. I love the rustic solitude ; The simple, unpretentious mien ; Freedom from rivalry and feud ; Pursuits that leave the heart serene ; The ever-varying, glorious scene ; The independent, peaceful mood ; Where thoughts and deeds to virtue lean. Nor fashions fret, nor crimes intrude. MOODS IN MED J TA TION. 163 IN WOODLAND WAYS. In woodland ways, When Spring bestows her balmiest days, How sweet the life that throbs anew Through buds, and quickened pulses, too ; When violets from beds beneath Are wakened by the South' s warm breath ; And mating birds in boughs above Renew their annual vows of love, Waking the echoes with their lays In woodland ways. In woodland ways. When Summer in her fuller blaze Doth to the glowing solstice run To meet the warm glance of the sun. How pleasant, 'neath the welcome shade Of boughs, by gentle breezes swayed. To lie and listen to the words Of loved companion, or the birds! Or, arm in arm, to thread the maze Of woodland ways. In woodland ways, When Autumn wraps the hills in haze, And mellower tints the woods assume, Prophetic of their coming gloom, Oh ! it is sweet to wander then Afar from scenes of care and men ; 164 MOODS IN MEDITATION. To meditate in pensive mood In dim retreats where none intrude ; To talk with Nature, face to face, In woodland ways. In woodland ways, While sitting hy the cheerful blaze, And old-time memories haunt my mind, I hear the melancholy wind Through naked branches sigh and moan O'er leaf and flower and song-bird flown : How sad 'tis then to ponder o'er The dreams that can return no more, — The hopes, the joys that had their days In woodland ways. MINNEHAHA. Dancing on, through shade and sun. Comes the rippling, laughing river ; Leaps the boulders, one by one, Makes the hanging branches quiver ; Whirls her eddies in the pool ; Lingers in the shadows, cool ; On the pebbly shallows chattering; Banks of nodding flowers bespattering ; Breaks the silence with her "ha ! ha!" Laughing, singing Minnehaha. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 165 Now she nears the rocky ledge ; ^ Hastens from her leafy cover ; Poises on the boulder's edge, Then goes leaping, laughing over ; Gleaming in the summer air Like a maiden's golden hair ; Chatters on the rocks beneath ; Weaves a rainbow for a wreath ; Wakes the echoes with her "ha! ha ! " Noisy, mirthful Minnehaha ! From the foamy pool emerging. Singing, on again she mshes ; Through the narrow channel surging ; Peeping through the clustered bushes ; Till she hears the waters falling ; Hears the Mississippi calling ; Hastens on her way to meet him ; Sends a rippling laugh to greet him; Falls upon his bosom, sighing. While the echoes, near, replying. Whisper faint her smothered " ha ! ha ! " Wild, coquettish Minnehaha ! 166 MOODS IN MEDITATION, ODE TO WHITE BEAR LAKE. Around thy shores, enchanting lake, How softly sth's the breath of spring, Where violets the earliest wake, And mating robins soonest sing ; O'er waters bright with mellow light In dreamy radiance falls the day. Where fluttering sails, all snowy white, Bear crafts of pleasure, light and gay. Far 'round the grassy hills descend To kiss thy marge 'neath sheltering wood, Whose gentle whispers softly blend With the low lapping of thy flood ; Among the copse on flowery slopes The perfumed zephyr softly plays. Where youth is breathing love and hopes. And age in meditation strays. Here Nature in profusion showers Her beauties for admiring eyes, — Blue waves, green trees, a wealth of flowers, And the soft tints of summer skies ; Here children rove about the grove, From flower to flower like wanton bees ; And cottages, fit homes for love. Are nestling, snug, among the trees. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 167 'Tis sweet to wander on thy beach, Or under shady boughs rechne, Where Walton's spirit still may teach The young disciples of his line ; Or softly glide along thy tide When Luna smiles above the deep ; Or hear thy murmuring waves subside In the first hush of peaceful sleep. Far from the fretting toils of day, The jarring sounds, the dust, the heat. How blest at eve to flee away, And lose them in this calm retreat; To ease the heart some hours, apart From crowded city's stifled air; The noisy rabble of the mart, And haunts of mercenary care. Here in seclusion I would dwell, Shut out from every scene of strife, And learn within this quiet dell Those purer joys that brighten life; Here I would take, enchanting lake, Such peace and pleasure, daily given, Where scenes of Eden softly wake Round crystal depths, reflecting heaven. 168 MOODS IN MEDITA TION. HIDDEN TREASURES. Rich treasures lie in depths unknown, By darkness are the stars arrayed, And who can say from what deep shade The brighter things of life have grown? From caverns deep pure rivers flow, Great lives have low beginnings known, And kings have risen to the throne From hamlets once despised as low. In minds obscure great thoughts are bom That grow to precepts, creeds and laws ; And they who won in freedom's cause Were once the marks of haughty scorn. Upon life's surface proudly dwell The vain conceits of heart and mind, While truer, deeper passions find Their source with truth in her deep well. Great circumstances only trace For him a road to fame's proud hill. Who in obscurity were still As great, though in a humbler place. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 169 Then ne'er the humble good disown, But search well for life's hidden things, For who can tell from what small springs The greatest good to man has flown? WHAT IS MAN? At night when the heavens are bluest and calmest, And bright constellations the glorious arch span, My mind oft reverts to the words of the Psalmist, Who, watching the planets roll, asked: "What I see in the distance some nebula blending The rays of bright suns that are lost to our scan; But when I reflect that the mind, there ascending, Has measured and weighed them, I ask : "What is man?" With awe have I gazed while he chained Nature's forces, That shook the high hills as if vast Titans ran ; The lightning his thoughts to the nations discourses. Till Nature with wonder may ask: "What is man?" 170 MOODS IN ME BIT A TION. From darkness and error behold his advances To knowledge with science and truth in the van; The master of destiny's dark circmnstances, The fates bow in homage and ask: ''What is man?" Yet oft are his paths the dark scenes of transgression, When, departing from Nature's and equity's plan, He scatters around him death, crime and oppression, Till fiends turn their faces and ask : ' ' What is man?" But stand at tlie tomb when he settles with Nature The debt that has run since existence began ; When dust claims the ashes of earth's noblest creature, And e'en the worms waiting him ask : ' ' What is man ? ' ' MOODS IN MEDITATION. 171 PASS IT ALONG. If the fates have been kind with the gifts they bestow, And have favored you more than the average lot, Don't think that you merit the kindness they show More than the poor wretch in the lowliest cot. Men oft are recipients of favors designed To serve but as blessings when shared with the race, And those to whom fortune has deigned to be kind. Whatever the gift, do an act of good grace To pass it along. Each soul is endowed, be it ever so poor, With talents not meant to be buried in self; It may not be schooled in philosophy's lore. Nor hold at command the persuasion of pelf ; But none is too poor to lodge kindness of heart. The sunshine of love and a purpose for good ; And though but a pittance the gift you impart. Through motives not always by man understood, Yet, pass it along. 172 MOODS IN MEDITA TION. "We are apt to consider too harshly the wrong, Too ready to censure unfortunate souls Whom nature, stern circumstance, impulses strong Have driven to wreck on life's treacherous shoals ; We seldom reach out to the 'fellow who needs ; Distrustful we watch his endeavors to rise ; One error obscures a whole life of good deeds, Yet if Christian charity in your heart lies. Please pass it along. We dwarf in our natures the growth of the good By miserly shutting it out from the light ; We might add to the sum of earth's joy if we would But each of his portion contribute a mite ; The sage who in nature a new truth discerns Ne'er thinks in his bosom to bury the fact ; But thanks from a grateful humanity earns, Nor lessens its worth by so gracious an act. If he pass it along. There's much in existence that's worthy and grand That we in our sordid ambitions forego. And blindly reach out with a miserly hand For treasures of gold and the phantoms of show. MOODS IN MEDITA TION. 173 When bread -famished poverty pleads for a crust, And coffers are bursting with gold not in use, All nature protests against laws so unjust ; Yet hoarders of wealth might correct its abuse Would thej^ pass it along. PEESENT OPPORTUNITIES. Act, act in the living present. — Longfellow. Let's love to-day ! Perchance to-morrow May wake our hearts to deepest sorrow ; Let's banish care away ! AVe have no time for melancholy, And though the world declares it folly, Our hearts as firmly answer : * ' Nay !' Let's love to-day!" Laugh on to-day ! It is not wise To murmur at the lowering skies ; Somewhere the sunbeams play. Truly despair is merelj^ madness When joy is just as free as sadness ; Then do not chide the free and gay ; Laugh on to-day ! 174 MOODS IN MEDITATION. Hope on to-day ! The present hour Is full of blessing that will shower On him who as he may- Buckles his armor on in hope, Goes forth with destiny to coj^e, And looks to his right arm for pay. Hope on to-day. Do good to-day ! A word or smile Some mourner's anguish may beguile ; Some act may smooth the way And ease awhile the painful load Of pilgrim on life's weary road, And shed along his path a ray. Do good to-day ! Be wise to-day ! Our time is brief For love or labor, joy or grief ; So fast the moments stray, That we must use them as they roll. If we would win a higher goal ; Must act and labor as we pray. Be wise to-day ! 1 MOODS IN MEDITATION. 175 THE POPULAR CREED. We live too much by line and rule, Too much by cold and studied art, And narrow down the generous heart By lesson in self's sordid school. Through selfish hopes our faith grows strong; We worship where we think we gain A thornless pathway, free from pain, — A road to heaven built of song. We deem our lives are broad and good ; We show no love for meaner things ; We plainer hear when church-bell rings Than when the beggar asks for food. We see afar some purpose grand. Yet overlook life's duties near ; We cannot see the heathen here, But only in a foreign land. We bow before the shrine of pelf ; Humanity's world-circling shore We catch a glimpse of— nothing more — Over the growing mountain — self. 176 MOODS IN MEDITATION. Oh ! could we learn our lives to school In noble, charitable arts, Put self and pride from out our hearts, And let the good within us rule. COULEUR DE ROSE. This life at the best is a changeable dream. And checkered with sunshine and shade ; Where glories are seldom the treasures they seem ; Where pleasures illusory fade. Like the varying forms in the kaleidoscope Are mingled our joys and our woes. Where the shadows are softened and brightened by hope To a beautiful couleur de rose. A part each must act on the stage of the years; A w^onderful drama is life ; Light comedy now with its laughter appears, A tragedy next dark with strife : The ballet-girls, pleasures, seem gayest of queens While twirling on joy-spangled toes ; But if you but take a peep back of the scenes, You'll find not all couleur de rose. MOODS IN MEDITA TION. 177 The glamour of riches and glory and power, The glitter of fashion's gay tide, Attract and amuse our ambitions an hour, While swayed by our passions and pride : Eeality punctures each bubble of hope, To air in an instant it goes ; And sorrows our visions of bliss interlope, Scarce leaving their couleur de rose. The future has prospects, alluringly fair, And fancy illumines the goal ; We see the bow promise sets hopefully there, And chide the fleet years as they roll. We follow some phantom of pleasure or fame. And blindly rush on where it goes ; And though eager fingers the cruel thorns lame, We grasp at the couleur de rose. Faith leads us to wander in star-studded space For some fancied region of bliss, O'erlooking too oft in a humbler place The duties and pleasures of this : The victims of dogmas, of doubts and of fears. That reason and truth must oppose, We blindly reject the best fruits of the years, And grasp at the couleur de rose. In worlds that illumine the bosom of night We picture Elysian bowers. But science divests them of mystery and light, And shows them just planets like ours : 178 MOODS IN MEDITATION. So earth with her shadows turned 'way from the sun, A heavenly face must disclose, Which could it be seen from a distance by one, Would beam with the couleur de rose. Thus Nature through all takes an optimist's view, — Her sunniest aspect she shows ; And man out of error evolving the true, Is learning to cope with his woes. Ah ! wretched, indeed, were that mortal in life, Who buffets adversity's blows, And finds not some pleasures to brighten the strife, — Some glimpses of couleur de rose. WHEN THE TIDE COMES IN. A fisherman laughed as his little craft Put out one day on a stormy bay, But his wife stood by with a tear in her eye. And mournfully watched as he sailed away * ' Oh, stay with me, tempt not the sea ! There is much to lose and little to win ! ' ' But he only said, with a shake of his head : ''Don't look for me till the tide comes in." MOODS IN MEDITATION. 179 There are babes to feed, there's a wife in need, So he heeds not the breakers white with foam, But spreads his sail to the driving gale, While his anxious wife goes sorrowing home. And all day long with a plaintive song She hushes her babies and tries to spin ; But she hears the roar of the surf on the shore, And sadly waits till the tide comes in. There are seas to ride, there are barks to guide. There are hearts to dare, there are hands to do ; There are desperate needs and valorous deeds, And courage for all the dangers too ; But the saddest part for the troubled heart. When dangers threaten and storms begin. Is to idly wait the decrees of fate. And hope and fear till the tide comes in. The night comes dark, and she listens; hark! Was it the wind or the moaning sea? Then she clears her sight and sees a light. And says to her heart, "It is surely he ! " But a sound of fear breaks on her ear. With the rush of feet and roar and din ; And pale and cold, her fisherman bold Was laid in her arms when the tide came in. How little we guess in our happiness. In our wealth of pleasure, content and peace, How many lives and sorrowing wives Have paid too dear for the purchase of these! 180 MOODS IN MEDITA TION. There are seas to cross for a gain or loss ; There are mines to delve for the gold or tin ; And some are glad, but many are sad At the close of the day when the tide comes in. Oh ! the sea of Life, with its changes rife, AVith its waves of sorrows and tides of woes ; With its storms of hate and breakers of fate, 'Twixt the shores of eternity ebbs and flows; And many stand on the desolate sand. Clasping dead hopes and joys that have been, For the sea is deep and the tempests sweep. And many must weep when the tide comes in. And little we know as on we go O'er this restless sea with its changing tide, What vision of bliss or dismal abyss Awaits for us on the other side ! Though we face the wave with a courage brave, With a faith to buoy and a hope to win, We pause and shrink from the cold, dark brink. Where we all must sink when the tide comes in. MOODS IN MEDITATION-. 181 EXTRA L REFLECTIONS. Thrice happy he who by some shady grove, Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own. — Drummond. Far from the clangor of the busy street, The din and dust of traffic's rushing wheels, Where noisy commerce draws the jostling throng With sounds of discord to the crowded mart ; From smoke and vapors that obscure the sun ; From odors that pollute the breath of heaven ; From pomp of grandeur and the rags of want ; The glare of fashion and the swell of pride ; From ceaseless cries that vex the ear of rest, And prey upon the quiet hours of peace, I stray to-day, and find among the hills Surcease of turmoil and obtinisive care. Around me rise their venerable peaks. Against whose fronts the storms of centuries Have hurled the fury of the elements, Yet here they stand in their primeval mould, — Nature's firm sentinels. The hands of time And man dire change through cities sweep, The woods, the plains their rueful ravage tell. And tides their rocky barriers do wear down ; But the hills are eternal. Let me lay My ear, dear Nature, to thy throbbing breast. 182 MOODS IN MEDITA TION. That by the beating of its mighty pulse I may attune the music of my soul ! Here on this rock that overlooks the vale, Thy glowing aspect, goddess, I survey. And in the rapture of this solitude Once more you wrap me in a fond embrace, And breathe upon my heart a secret peace, Till it forgets we e'er have been estranged ; And in the banquet thou hast spread around I feast my happy eyes, and dream away All painful recollections of the past. What memories of other days return And people fancy with the cherished forms, And fond associations of my youth ! Each object how familiar ! Rock and stream Seem old companions, seldom met of late ; Few friends so proof to change. The bleat of flocks. The tinkling sound of bells, the blackbird's note, The robin's matin and the frog's hoarse croak, Come like refrains of some old melody. But half remembered through the roar of years ; Some song whose cadence echoes in the heart, In quiet hours, and links us with the past. The air is soft and balmy, such as hints Of coming showers and newly opened buds, Of violets, coaxed by the genial warmth From sunny hill -sides, — sweet anemones And crocuses, — the welcome harbingers Of Flora's lovely train. Upon the mead, MOODS IN MEDITATION. 183 Spangled with flowery stars and redolent With nature's sweets, ambrosial, now walks The pretty May-queen and her satellites, Decked in a richer purple than the kings Of the hue-loving orient put on When they would awe their slaves. Their merry songs. Artless and free, the happy echoes wake. And vie with the winged choristers to make The season feel its welcome back to earth, After the days of gloom. From cloudless skies The genial god of day dispenses cheer. Restoring life and beauty to the fields ; And happy nature, like Pygmalion, stands With growing rapture as each lifeless form By love is vivified ; and I, whose heart Is but a throbbing atom of the whole. The general wakening in my spirit feel, And swell the tide of irresistless song. Far from the busy w^orld, here let me hold Dehghtful intercourse with her who set Her gentle thrall upon my youthful heart ! Here all oblivious of the noisy throng Who trample one another in the dens Of avarice and care, grant me to breathe, Heedless of rules that custom may decree,— Here fashions do not change ! Here Flattery's voice Can weary not mine ear, nor Fame mislead 184 MOODS IN MEDITATION. Isly pilgrim heart. Here Fortune's sullen frown Is tempered by the radiant smiles of peace. Here simple Pleasure Meanders hand in hand With Health and sweet Content, and Virtue wears On her fair cheek the blush of innocence. Here may the heart, by vanity suborned, Cast off its mask ; the mind its franchise claim; The tongue forget its guile and each sense teach Some lesson that the "mighty mother" shows In every aspect of revolving change, And infinite variety : see truth, Beauty and love in all the visible world, And in all things Nature's munificence ; Hear in the inner and external sense The voices of the seasons — the refrain That mystic Force to pregnant Matter sings In motion, heat and light, and potent life : — The speaking cloud, the tempest's awful rage. The cataract's roar, the ocean's monotone. And the sweet undertones that throb and beat In measures musical, — the laughing brook. The sighing zephyr and the dove's plaint song. The whispering leaf, and breathe in consonance, Making the summer day a dream of love. Let others pleasures seek in distant climes, 'Mid old historic scenes ; in palaces, The favorites of monarch's fickle smiles ; In stately halls where Wealth her pomp displays? And flaunts her gewgaws to gaunt Poverty ; MOODS IN MEDITATION. 185 In Fashion's giddy whirl and phantom joys ; Or treasure seek in mines, on stormy seas, In crowded cities ; or chase after Fame Down the long avenues ambition leads To fallow fields ! Give me the quiet life In humble cottage under shady trees, By crystal brooks that flowery gardens thread, In snug retreat, where many a well-thumbed book May care divert, and still to friendship leave An hour for pleasant intercourse, and I With these shall be more blest by far than they Who scale the dizzy heights of wealth and power. Few were my cares; Contentment, Peace and Eest AVould be my guests, and in seclusion there, In fellowship with nature, and at peace With all mankind, pass the allotted time, Enjoy the pleasures and endure the ills On life attendant, and in solitude Lie down to rest, when the brief span is o'er. 186 MOODS IN MEDITATION. DECEMBER. Coldly, palely, Sinking daily Southward from the equinox, Phoebus' glimmer, Growing dimmer. Faintly lights our northern rocks. Sunsets redden. Skies grow leaden. Crisp the air with snowy flakes ; Lake and river Shrink and shiver While old Boreas soundings takes. North wind urges Mournful dirges Through the woodland haunts of gloom: Bush or postcap With its ghost cap In the twilight seems a tomb. Flocks retreating, Lowing, bleating. Seek the shelter of the fold ; For the wizard Of the blizzard Warns them of the coming cold. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 187 Nights are weary, Long and dreary ; Days are cheerless, brief and cold ; But the fireside, Loved ones by our side. Brings us back our joys of old. Winter's boisterous, But we cloister us, When 'tis bleak o'er all the earth, Where December's Frosts make embers Brighter glow upon the hearth. There we measure Out the pleasure Of the fireside and home ; And no coldness Has the boldness Through our quiet joys to come. 188 MOODS IN MED IT A TION. TWILIGHT. It is the hour when through the grove The orb of day, dedining, shines ; It is the hour when zephyrs rove On light wings through the whispering pines; And TwiHght in her mantle, gray, Walks 'twixt the shadow and the light, And for the sunny smiles of day Bequeaths the dewy eyes of night. Now, mellowed by the sun's last beam, Those clouds upon the verge of day Seem like the landscape of a dream. Fading reluctantly away. Dim grow all objects to the eye Where shadows over nature stray. Save where the hill-tops pierce the sky To catch the sun's expiring ray. In undulations, soft and low, Sweet woodland music stirs the air, While Nature's voices, blending, flow. And utter forth her evening prayer : The oriole's high-warbled note. The swallow's twittered homeward lay Commingle with the owl's lone hoot. And whip-poor-will's plaint melody. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 189 The placid lake is echoing shrill, Where frogs their evening concerts hold; The wolves upon the distant hill Answer the tinkling of the fold ; The bat amid the gathering gloom, Above in wide gyrations flits ; And, sending forth his notes of doom. The owl in woodland shadows sits. From meadow-lands and green-wood bowers The zephyrs, rustling scarce a wing, Ladened with odors of wild flowers. The fragrance of the hay-land bring ; Where transient fires the dews ne'er damp Like winged meteors flit about. Till Luna lights her golden lamp. And puts their tiny candles out. Now distant sounds die soft away, And nearer echoes faintly roll. Till darkness triumphs o'er the day. And silence broods above the whole ; Till like a child, grown tired of play. Its head upon its mother's breast, Soothed by a gentle roundelay. Tired Nature sobs herself to rest. Sweet twilight hour ! thou bring' st reprieve From labor and corroding care, And in the quiet season leave A blessing for the toiler's prayer. 190 MOODS IN MEDITATION. Beneath thy dusky mantle Ues The influence of peace and rest ; And from o'erflowing hearts arise Thanks for the hour that makes them blest. Season of holy solitude ! I love to stray from all apart, And in the paths where none intrude Commune with Nature and my heart ; *Tis sweet to linger when the skies Assume a deeper tint of blue, And opening their thousand eyes, Seem smiling on the world and you. A DAY IN AUTUMN. The hills, embrowned by autumn's waning sun. Else dim through hazy light ; the woods are still, And sober Nature, clad in russet robes. Sits dreaming in her woodland solitudes, And in the shadowy mirrors of the brooks Surveys her blushing face. The sun and frost. The artists of the season, are abroad And prodigal of color— glorious tints— The glow of sunset skies on forests caught By early frosts to deck with livelier hues The cradle of the Autumn. Pleasing scenes. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 191 By ever-varying Nature's changeful moods In prospects dressed anew ! What pen can j3aint? What pencil reproduce? The world reflects, DiflTused through all her visible designs, The transitory nature of all things In lights and shades,— creation's certain law, — Immortal change. Calm is the brow of heaven ; A dreamy radiance filters through the blue, Shedding a glory o'er the quiet day ; On the brown hills Time, stooping, hangs his scythe, Folds his tired wings, his ruffled plumage smoothes, And looking down the vistas of the year, Eecounts his triumphs. From o'erflowing horn. He bade his steward. Autumn, bounties pour In blushing Nature's lap ; then speeds away, Shaking the snow-flakes from his frosty locks. To rule the seasons and to guide the spheres. O'er all the land the generous goddess spreads For life her annual banquet ; pausing here. She takes a retrospection of her days. And like an almoner, dispensing gifts. She lavishes her treasure. Ere she goes, Our common mother bares her ample breast. And life is satisfied. Pomona walks Through bending orchards, and from bough and vine. At every whisper of .Eolus drops 192 MOODS IN MEDITA TION. Her offering in the hands of honest toil ; And laughing Ceres, with her golden sheaves, Goes tripping through the waving harvest fields, And, arm in arm with Plenty, showers her wealth, The recompense of labor. From the corn The happy song of the glad reaper floats. As with light heart he plucks the yellow maize, His summer's hope and care, and laughs at want From out his garnered store. Blithe Echo wakes And mimics in her woodland fastnesses The shout of school boys, and the chattering cries Of squirrels in the hickorj^ and beech. Protesting the invasion of their stores, While, heedless of their rage, their tyrants mount The loftiest boughs and shower down the nuts From newly-opened burrs. The mournful dove Gives voice unto the feathered songsters' woe. Where in the solitude the choristers. That waked the echoes all the summer day, Have ceased to warble and from bush to bush Flit, calling to their mates in tree or hedge. In plaintive notes, till warned by nipping frosts, And falling leaves, they quit the cheerless scene For groves of sunnier climes. Tlie flowers are dead ! Sweet Flora's perfumed offering to the year, Stripped of their hues and fragrance, bend to earth, With drooping heads and sear and withered leaves, And to the sod consign the precious germs Of bud and leaf in summers yet to come : MOODS IN MEDITA TION, 193 And seeking here their nectar, come no more The roving bees that sipped their summer dew, But Hnger fondly by their sweet supply, Thriving by the industry of the past. The drowsy hum of insect tribes has ceased, Save where the cricket chirps his ancient lay Amid the falling leaves that fill the world When J^olus awakes with sonorous breath. And makes his influence felt amid the grove. Through evening mists the lurid sun descends Behind the curtain of the flaming west, Burning into the bosom of the night, Beyond the shadows. Up the northern sky The borealis rays in streams ascend. Like sudden flashes from celestial fires, Piercing the cold, blue solitude of heaven, Then fade away and leave the sleeping earth In silence and in darkness, till the moon Showers her silvery shafts athwart the grove. And from his haunt in some deserted tower. The ancient owl proclaims his doleful reign. And makes the solitude more solemn still. A stillness creeps o'er Nature's gentle breast, A painful quietude that awes the heart. And lifts the soul midway 'twixt earth and heaven ; A silence solemn as when Death does come Into the hall with unexpected tread. Lays his cold, pallid hand on Beauty's breast. Then stalks away and leaves us with the dead. Dead, but so much of beauty still remains. 194 MOODS IN MEDITA TION. So calm, serene and tranquil the pale brow, And so divine the fixed expression there, That love while ministering its last sad rites. Might doubt if Death a victor yet had been. Thus on the freshness of fair Nature's charms, Just when her beauty rounds to fuller grace. There comes a silent influence in the night, — A specter grim that walks the unseen shores 'Twixt life and death to touch with blight and change The glory of the summer — change sublime. Dear, pensive Autumn, 'mid these varying scenes. These glorious vistas of the riper year, I love to linger where the eye dilates "With rapture and with wonder, and the mind Finds food for contemplation in those paths Where Nature spreads her page of glowing truths. With thee, fair goddess, let me here commune. And set my heart and mind in true accord Witli the great pulse-beats of the fount of life ; Here contemplate the mutability Of all material things, and find in change Stern lessons from the leaves of life and death ; Hear in each rustle of the falling leaves Sad truths that find an echo in the heart, Whose intimations of mortality Thrill us with sober thoughts of what we are ; Strip pride and folly of their gaudy wings, And make us feel our kindred to the clay. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 195 APEIL'S CONQUEST. The blustering bully March strode o'er the land, With challenge to the South wind and the Sun, And timid Spring, for rumors had begun Of an invasion for his conquest planned ; Chiding himself for having been too bland, And dallying recklessly with bright-eyed Day, Who, like Delilah, shore his locks away, And with them half the terrors of his hand. With horrid frown upon the hills he stood. Darkening the heavens with his growing rage, While April, tripping lightly as a page, Came on to meet him in a joyous mood ; He bent to strike her with his icy spears, But dropped them, for she stood all smiles and tears. 196 MOODS IN MEDITATION. LEAVING THE FARM. Well, Tom, I suppose you are ready- To bid a good-bye to the farm : I've sent John to harness up Neddy, And you'd better take something warm ; 'Tis quite a long ride to the city. And rather a blustery day ; But, Tom, we just think it's a pity You're bent thus on going away. There's enough on the farm for us all, Tom, There's plenty to eat and to wear ; 'Tis true that our profits are small, Tom, But we shall be willing to share. There's little amusement or pleasure, — Farm-life's a monotonous round ; But contentment, my boy is a treasure That's more often sought for than found. You see, Tom, I'm losing my vigor ; I can't swing the axe or the hoe. Or cut in the harvest the figure I did twenty-odd years ago : And when I have fretted and hurried. Your mother would cheer me and calm By saying : " Now, pa, don't be worried ; You soon can depend upon Tom." MOODS IN MEDITATION. 197 Last night she was up till near morning, A mending and packing your clothes ; Your stockings, she said, needed darning, They were out at the heels and the toes : I didn't feel, somehow, like sleeping, And so I just stayed awake, too. And tried to keep mother from weeping, — You know, Tom, she's anxious for you. We talked of your new undertaking. Your hopes and ambition to win ; And the thought set our two old hearts aching, For the struggle you'll have to begin: You're young, you know, Tom, and there's danger ; You know not the ways of the town ; There's many a snare for the stranger,— There's many a cold word and frown. Should you win by a manly endeavor A full, honest meed of success ; And the world call you noble and clever, Perhaps you may think of us less : But though they may flatter you, Thomas, With honors, there's no praise so warm As the blessing that we shall send from us,— From the lonely old folks on the farm. But, Tom, should you meet with reverses, And fail in the stmggle to rise. And instead of kind words get but curses. Don't seek for amusement in vice: 198 MOODS IN MEDITATION. Keep trying, my boy, for temptation Leads ever the idle to harm ; And know, Tom, without invitation, We'll welcome you back to the farm. But here you are waiting, and ready And anxious to be on your way ; And John has just brought around Neddy Hitched up to the new Portland sleigh. There ! do not take on so bad, mother ; I'm sure you need have no alarm, For if Tom will be Tom and no other, We'll soon see him back to the farm. Don't let what I've said set you grieving ! You're young and must make your own way; The time-beaten parents you're leaving Have not long behind you to stay : So we'll plod along uncomplaining, Though robbed of our comfort and joy ; Our duty may set our hearts paining. But we'll bear for the good of our boy. What's that, Tom? You've given up going? AVell, if it's your pleasure to stay. You surely will do so in knowing Your folks haven't stood in your way: But since Neddy's fixed in his toggles, And a brisk sleighride still has a charm, Suppose we drive round to Squire Goggles', And draw you a deed for the farm. MO ODS IN MED J TA TION. 199 BE STILL, MY HEART. Be still, my heart! why this unrest? Still wouldst thou seek the lists of love ? Of what new raptures now in quest Would'st thou with youthful folly rove ? Why further tempt upon the field Love's arms in now unequal wars? Thy shafts are blunt, thou hast no shield, Save thine old, pitiable scars. Thy fires from dying embers glow ; Why wouldst thou fan the sickly flame? Its light can only serve to show How Time can mightiest passions tame. Beauty to thee may still seem kind ; 'Tis deference for thy silver hairs ; Ah ! Love with age grows doubly blind, And more than youthful folly dares. Seek now, my heart, some sage pursuit. Leave tender conquests to the young ; Let not the world to thee impute The doting mind, the senile tongue. 200 MOODS IN MEDITATION. FILL UP THE BOWL. Phillip, fill up the sparkling bowl ! There's madness lurking in my soul ; No longer can I dare to think ; Oh ! let me drown all thoughts in drink ! My choice is now a drunkard's grave, Or live in lunacy and rave. And after all the glass may prove Less dangerous than a woman's love ; For though it steal away my brain, 'Twill also numb my sense of pain ; Soothe the sharp pangs of vain regret, And teach me Phyllis to forget. Then fill the bowl ! I must not brood On love or woman's fickle mood; The rich blood of the purple grape Is cure for ills in any shape, For let the worst come that may come, It brings a blest delirium ; And who the rosy nectar quafi" At care and sorrow still may laugh. Yet once again ! I love to see The ruby liquor sparkling free, The beaker foaming to the brim, The pledge of joy when hopes grow dim ; The precious boon then let me seize, And drain it deeply to the lees ; Less bitter far its dregs will prove Than those that lie in woman's love. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 201 THE PAST. Into the vast, Illimitable past Lead gently, Memory, for my heart is groping, Clinging amid the night To ruins of delight. The airy castles once so bright through hoping, Ere Time brought change too dark for mortal coping. Among the stones It seeketh here the bones Of proud ambition, fond hope, holy feeling, — The skeletons of joys That ruthless Time destroys. Whose ghosts as midnight visitants come stealing, The losses of those tender yeare revealing. Those martyred saints. Whose faces Fancy paints 'Gainst the dark background, winged with thought, come trooping. How vivid and how real The joy and pain I feel While fond Remembrance cherished forms is grouping ! To clasp them there my foolish heart is stooping. 202 MOODS IN ME BIT A TION. TO THE MISSISSIPPI. Great ' ' Father of Water! ' ' Proud parent of streams! That through a wide continent pour'st thy broad flood, From snow-covered hills of our dark northern wood To vales where the sun showers tropical beams. The wintry winds sang in the pines at thy birth, Thy cradle was made in the snows of the north; A small babbling brook you at first wander forth, And grow to the mightiest river of earth. In vain to dispute thy advance the hills stood, Their proud, flinty barriers lie scattered around; Where primeval silence awoke to the sound Of Titans hurled down by thy conquering flood. The sounds of the chase and the harsh notes of war Have broken thy solitude ; many a brave Has found in thy blood-crimsoned waters a grave, Since man, nature's tyrant, thy shores came to mar. Now bright scenes of progress awake by thy stream; The loud voice of contest has long ceased to roar; Through civilization's wide-opening door The bright stars of peace and prosperity beam. MOODS LV MED ITATJOiV. 203 > To flourishing village or hamlet has grown The hunter's rude cabin, the pioneer's cot; And cities of thousands spring up on the spot Where erstwhile the campfire of savages shone. From mountain majestic, and broad, fertile plain. Through populous valley, by village and town, Thy deep, winding flood, to the sea sweeping down, Bears on with its tide stately ships to the main. The fleets of our commerce now darken your breast; The birchen canoe of the native is gone ; His name by our lakes and our rivers lives on, But the red-man has fl.ed to the hills of the West. Thy waters have called and a city responds ; Man comes with the footsteps of thunder and fire; The lightnings flash o'er thee on pinions of wire, And bridges stretch o'er thee their dark iron bonds. To-day all the echoes of woodlands and hills Resound to our busy life's thunder and jars, — The roaring of engines, the rumble of cars. The splashing of steamers, the clatter of mills. The furrows of years on their fronts the hills show; The plain and the forest pay homage to change; But thou still the same through thy empire doth range As when Time traced thy channel and bade thee to flow. 204 MOODS IM MEDITA TION. DISCONTENT. The chains of tyranny, the despot's rule, The spirit of oppression are no more ; Freedom has jostled monarchs from their thrones, And dimmed the halo of imj)erial crowns ; Eed -handed War, whose deadly thunders shook The w^orld with awful tempests, has swept past. And the bright bow of promise bends o'er earth, A covenant of peace. Fair Justice sits Above the crumbled dynasties of wrong, And in poised balance weighs to franchised men The glorious heritage of equal rights, — The patriot's legacy. The hideous night Of superstition, bigotry and hate. Has fled before the radiance of the dawn Of knowledge, love and human brotherhood. AVhat, then, portends this strange, this wild unrest. This wide commotion that awakes the world, And stirreth up the nations? From afar Resounds the tumult of the surging throng. And near the hurrying feet of millions wake The echoes on the mountains. The hills shake With the pulsations of some throbbing force, — Some Titan of the elements — newborn. Vast engines thunder over land and sea. And with the speed of thought Jove's arrows fly, — The messengers of men. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 205 The voice of Peace Kesounds where late was heard the battle-cry, And the reverberation of her tones In wide, majestic circles rushes on Into the solitude of savage climes, Breaking the silence of unpeopled shores. Yet whither tend we? Have we not attained The dream of all the ages ? Is not ours The glorious fulness of the promised day The sages have foretold ; to which all hearts With hope have turned,— the blest millenial time Of peace and rest and universal love ? No ! love may be and peace and brotherhood, But not supreme, for there shall still be wars, — Contentions that prepare the way for good. From the dark night of lethargy and woe, — Oppression's night of ages, starts agog The liberated world. To colonize The new-found realms of knowledge, peace and good. Men eager throng each unexplored domain. Plant field and mart and busy commerce ply. And move with winged wheels Progression's car. Across the chasm of belligerent creeds Blood-reddened hands are clasped in fellowship; The wolfish hate has faded from men's eyes. And Saturn's reign seems come to earth again. But in the shadow of Advancement's wing A restless specter lurks, in whose cold grasp Lie the grim skeletons of hopes and joys, By Disappointment in life's conflicts slain. 206 MOODS IN MEDITATION. This specter stands upon the borderland Of the untried, unknown, mysterious, The terra incognita of the soul, Contests each step of peace and joy and love. Moves to disquietude calm happiness, Palls sweetest pleasures, baffles fondest hopes, And turns the heart from certain present good To prospects still afar. O'erlooking death, And the soul's barrier of mortality, We face the vast infinitude — we feel Longings and aspirations to reach out From our poor eminence of fragile clay And clasp th' imperishable light of Truth. The mind shall tire not, nor shall the heart faint Upon the borderlands of unknown realms. Unto whose mysteries the golden key Is penetrating knowledge ; nor shall man Rest from his labors and declare them good While there remains beneath him unknown depths, Around him mysteries and above him heights, Unfathomed, unexplored. These energies Redeem us from the depths of savagery. And make us moulders of our destinies, — The forces that do compass fates of men. Take the broad wings of Knowledge and ascend, Explore the universe and weigh the stars. Hold converse deep with Nature, and unveil The awful mysteries of life and death ! Knowledge brings not contentment. Scale the heights MOODS IN MEDITATION. 207 Where Fame on throne, star-garnitured, doth sit, Bewildering with vague hopes and vain ambitions Her votaries, whom she draws forever on, Like the mirage upon Sahara's sands, To ruin ; or if some undaunted win Those cloud-girt peaks, 'tis but at last to tind Them but the foot-hills of heights still beyond ! Unlock the treasures of the richest mines ; Snatch from the sea her pearls and precious gems ; Buy every pleasure, purchase every power, And satisfy desire till the heart cloy ; In the drained cup Dissatisfaction lies. Chase now those phantoms that we mortals call By all the names of pleasure — gleams of bliss That charm us with their novelty and pall Upon our spirits from their emptiness ! To-day a wreath bedecks the brows of Love ; To-morrow withered garlands set with thorns. Thus life is all unrest, unsatisfied AVith the realities that take their forms And colors from past ideals. Thus in all And over all the restless spirit moves, That turns us from the fancies of to-day To new pursuits to-morrow. Thus the wheels Of Progress are moved round toward the goal Of human aspirations ; thus by change And Discontent shall we the good pursue, With hopes more lofty and to ends more sure, Riding the shifting tides and adverse winds Of fate and circumstance, till we attain The haven of our hopes — perfection full — Beyond the visions of mortality. 208 MOODS IN MEDITATION. THE NEWSBOY. Whistling along the frosty street, The wintry wind around him blowing, Bravely facing the cold and sleet, The newsboy on his round is going. Rents there are in his hat and shoes, And his jacket is thin, Buttoned close to his chin ; But he cheerily calls, ' ' Git yer Evening News ! All 'bout Russia expellin' the Jews ! ' ' Sunshine or storm he plods along, Bearing his papers, strapped to his shoulder, Humming the fragment of some old song. And hurrying on as the day grows colder. Now in pursuit of a passing car, To answer a hail He swings up the rail, With the cry of, ** Tribune! Here ye are ! All 'bout nihilists shootin' the czar ! " Before a window, bright with toys And childrens' faces with pleasure beaming, He pauses to watch the girls and boys At play by the fireside, warmly gleaming. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 209 But turning, he wipes on his sleeve a tear, Calling, '' Evening Journal! All 'bout Colonel Fitz-patrick's murder, down at the pier ! Only two cents ; git yer paper here ! " Now shivering by a sheltering wall, His meager supper he draws from his jacket. Ready to share with his comrades all. Should there be any who happened to lack it. From half-filled mouths the night is stirred With cries of, " News ! 'Bout shipwrecked crews ! " And now and then a laugh is heard More pitiful than sorrow's word. The rich man's dog has choicest meat, His horse looks sleek in well-kept stable ; But the poor orphan on the street Has scarce a crumb from ofi* his table. But he hears a gentle lady say That God is just. So he eats his crust, And leaves the good and the rich to pray For his soul, and plods on his hungry way. 'Tis a hard, stern school for the lad, I know. But I seem to see through his rags a spirit Of truth and worth, — the embryo Of manhood large and generous merit,— 210 MOODS IN MEDITATION. A spirit that o'er its barriers climbs ; And instead of the ' ' Times ' ' That rhymes with crimes, I hope in the future to hear the chimes Of the times that rhymes with dollars and dimes. "When you cozily sit by your cheerful fires, Conning the gems of news and story, That throbbing minds and pulsing wires Have gleaned in the world's great laboratory, Would it add a pleasure to your gazette To think what its joys Have cost the boys Who trudge along through the sun and wet? Ah ! Charity is but half-grown yet ! MOODS IN MEDITATION. 211 MEDIOCRITY. Oh ! be not mine the harsh decree of fate To drudge obscurely in a low estate, Slave of necessity, condemned to toil Like a poor earthworm, burrowing in the soil ; My meager recompense the means of life, That one day more I may maintain the strife ; Without one joy to quicken heart and breath ; Without one hope, — except the hope of death. Still would I, as misfortune equal, shun A giddy perch too near to glory's sun ; As eagles tempt too far the sunny sky, And suffer worst when tempests hurtle by; So they who climb, the cynosures of all. Must feel the blow the deeper, when they fall. Blest Mediocrity ! in thee we tind Man's best estate for health and peace of mind; The golden mean along which he may go. Unscathed by the extremes of bliss and woe ; Neither to rouse the goaded rabble's hate, Nor flourish in the shadow of the great. 212 MOODS IN MEDITATION. MEDUSA. Medusa, mth a look of hopeless pain, Gazing in silence on the billowy plain, Wandered, disconsolate and ill at ease, The gardens of the fair Hesperides. In vain she yearned to see one mortal face. And fly the fortunes of her deathless race. Longing amid the twilight of the grove For one dear look of pity or of love. Upon her lay of death the mortal doom. For which she tari'ied in the land of gloom, — A land of twilight, by the sun unlit, Where neither light nor shade the heavens emit, But one unchanging gloaming in whose haze She met none but the Gorgon sisters' gaze. Who with cold stare and apathetic mien, Augmented still the horrors of the scene. Knit with dark pain was her still beauteous brow. Her heart was heavy and her step was slow ; But still no tear lay glistening on her cheek, For she was brave, and tears are for the weak : And there are griefs that, burning through the years, Dry up the fountains whence flow mortal tears ; Leave all the channels of affection bare. And strew them with the wreckage of despair. Yet not was she \\dthout one ray of hope. That urged her still amid the shade to grope, — MOODS IN MEDITATION. 213 Through dull monotony where ages range, Nor bring the wearied sense relief in change. But there was none whom tenderness might move; No heart, save hers susceptible to love ; No bosom to be touched by human woe, No eye to light with joy — with tears to flow. The daughter of great Zeus she bespoke In pity her fell sentence to revoke, That she might look on human face again. And die amid the sympathies of men. Harsh was her fate, but harsher the decree Athene gave to swell her misery, When she imposed, with an avenging tone, The fatal beauty that transformed to stone. Yet uncorrupted by the goddess' art, She still retained, unchanged, her gentle heart ; Still felt those pangs of mortal tenderness, — Grief, pity, love— ah ! who would live with less? "Daughter of Zeus ! " she in triumph cried, "Hope in my bosom has not wholly died ; For though I suflfer, you may not deny The blest assurance 'tis my lot to die." Ah ! happy man, that from his loss below There springs no immortality of woe ; That though the gorgons of pain, hate, despair, Transform to stones the hopes we thought most fair, Their triumphs cease with the departing breath, One hope eludes them — 'tis the hope of death. 214 MOODS IN MEDITATION. MEDEA. Medea, still, with all her art, Whose sorcery all but rivaled Jove's, Had no palladium for her heart. And found her magic less than Love's. Her merest words had power o'er gods ; And mortal pain and human joy Obeyed her frowns, her smiles, her nods. All but the dear rebellious boy. The charms, the spells that baffled kings, And dragons tamed and firey bulls. Not long could chain his restless wings. When Hymen's mandates he annuls. With grief she saw her Jason rove. Who shunned her skill as superhuman. Bewitched by a more mortal love. Whose frailties are the charms of woman. She had the vengeance Helios Through gifts of dark enchantment taught her. Yet rued her power and sighed through loss To be as man's weak, love-blest daughter. And so through all the ages since. Though wealth or wisdom be her dower. Her noblest conquests still evince, — In woman's weakness lies her power. MOODS IN MEDITATION. 215 SCYLLA. When Scylla stole the golden lock, Pledge of the gods to good King Nisus, 'Twas all for love she dared to mock The fates and urge a nation's crisis. She paid for her perfidious art, When Minos, whom she hoped to wed, Refused to trust her with his heart Who had profaned her father's head. I think his judgment wise and fair; A timely moral's in the story. Which teaches us to shun with care The conquest wrung from tresses hoary. And still the Cretan's eloquence Some Magdalene may thus reprove : " Thy gift was above recompense, And thou hast paid too dear for love." When passion with absorbing flame Doth immolate its virtuous peer, And with it reverence, honor, fame. Like Scylla, don't we pay too dear? For virtue, like the lock of gold. Despoiled, no more its charms can prove And for whatever price 'tis sold. Has it a recompense, save love ? 216 MOODS IN MEDITATION. BE NOT THE FIRST TO THROW A STONE. Well spake, of old, the virtuous Jew, A wanton's fate hung on his tone, " He who is sinless amongst you. Let him be first to throw a stone ! " But we forget the lesson taught. And, in self-righteous pride and folly, Condemn the erring on the spot, And 'gainst her bosom shower a volley. With cold and Pharisaic mien The helpless fallen we pass by, And with a look to heaven, serene, Our little virtues amplify. Oh ! if some hand could sweep the mask, And of each heart the truth be known ; Then might we with the Nazarene ask, " Who shall be first to throw a stone? " And will we never learn, at length, That virtue on her unsealed walls May lack the beauty and the strength Of virtue that in battle falls? MOODS IN MEDITATION. 217 If love's a gift from heaven thrown, And we are tried in courts above, I feel that mercy will be shown To those whose hearts have erred through love. PAY AS YOU GO. 'Tis said for each blessing the gods give to man The fates will demand the full pay of each one ; So when at the height of the pleasures you plan. Don't be much surprised if they send you a dun. You take upon credit the good you enjoy, And long the account you are prone to let i-un ; But they come when their presence is sure to annoy. Stalk in like the coalman and hand you a dun. You may fume and protest at the length of the bill. And put off the payment till some future day, They are sure to return when you least think they will, And just at the time you find hardest to pay. Is love, fame or wealth by the gods to be l«t, You want a job lot to be paid for on time; A mortgage you give on you life for the debt. Which is sure to fall due while you are yet in your prime. 218 MOODS IN MEDITATION. You may dodge the fates long, but think not to escape, For time only adds to the ills you would shun ; And you'll find your affairs in a desperate shape When Death, the collector, comes in with his dun. And, if it be true that for each thrill of bliss You are sure to make pay in a pang of deep woe, The maxim experience would teach you from this Is : Be chary of pleasures, and pay as you go. PATRIOTIC P^ONS. ' 7\s liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume, And we are weeds without it. — COWPER. PA TRW TIC P^ ONS. 221 FREEDOM'S CORNER-STONE* Forced by oppression from kindred and home, Oceans to traverse and deserts to roam, Came Pilgrim Fathers, a resohite flock, And founded our freedom on old Plymouth Rock. CHORUS. Freedom forever from sea to sea ! Liberty ruling, unfettered and free ! High as the heavens, as broad as a zone, Her temple still rests on that old Corner-Stone. England's green valleys were smiling and fair, But persecution's dark shadow was there ; Bleak rose the rock from a dark wintry sea, Yet dear to the Pilgrims, because it was free. Lone in the gloom of the season they stood. Deserts before them, behind them the flood ; There dedicated to Freedom and God, And blessed the bleak rock that the tyrant ne'er trod. * The poems in this collection, with the exceptions of "Old Glory," "The Flower of Freedom," and <' Union," have been copyrighted and set to music by F. K. Belden, in "Echoes of Liberty," Oliver Ditson & Co., Boston. 222 PA TRIO TIC PyE ONS. Dark Revolution has shaken proud thrones, Kingdoms have fallen 'mid thunders and groans ; Freedom's firm structure survives the rude shock, Founded and built on that rugged old rock. Tyranny's annals shall soon be forgot ; Despots shall find in oblivion their lot ; In freemen's bosoms forever shall dwell The memory of those who built freedom so well. GOD SAVE THE PEOPLE. Let bondsmen sing, '* God save the king," And sue a tyrant's favor ; We freemen make the welkin ring With truer songs and braver. To Freedom's call and Freedom's cause Our fathers all were loyal, And made us all before the laws A brotherhood most royal. Oppression mocks the cries of hope ; The answer of the tyrant Has been the gun, the block, the rope, To liberty's aspirant. Rebellion crouches for a spring ; What sceptered hand can brave him? Well may they sing, "God save the king," There'll be none else will save him. FA TRIO TIC P^ ONS. 223 The chains that chafed the bondsman's heel The freeman's arm is breaking, And monarchs, terror-stricken, feel Their thrones beneath them quaking ; The despot on the palace wall Reads Freedom's burning letters, And sees his crown and scepter fall To mingle with slaves' fetters. Columbia, hope of the oppressed, The glorj' of the ages ! Sublime thy rule, thy sons how blest ! How bright thy history's pages ! Long may thy blood-bought freedom ring From every cot and steeple ; And, hoping God has saved the king. We'll sing, "God save the people ! " A CHAPLET OF ROSES. Weave for the hero a chaplet of roses, Garlands of glory let memory wreathe ; Far from the tumult of war he reposes, Wrapt in the baldric of freedom beneath. Blest by the love of his country he slumbers, Numbered among her illustrious dead ; Chant the low dirge and the requiem's sad numbers ; Let the warm tears of remembrance be shed! 224 PA TRIO TIC PM ONS. Come with no pageant, no vain ostentation ; Bring but a tribute to manhood and worth ; Due to the valor that saved us a nation, Set a race free and brought peace to each hearth. Prompt to her call when dissensions beset her, Strong in defense of his country he stood ; Broke from the arm of the bondsman his fetter, Washed out the crimes of oppression in blood. Martyr for freedom ! the hearts of reunion Smother the hatred the dark conflict gave ; Freemen in brotherhood's equal communion Meet and pledge friendship and peace by your grave. With you lies buried all bitter resentment ; Sectional discords through intercourse cease; Thoughts of rebellion are lost in contentment, Cries of dissension in whispers of peace. Hallowed the ground where our hero lies sleeping; Sacred the turf of the patriot's dust ; Give not his fame to the granite's frail keeping ; Stones fall to ashes and metals to rust. Deeply embalmed in his country's affection, Time shall consign him from father to son ; These shall not need the proud column's erection. Freedom shall tell what her hero has done. PATRIOTIC PyEONS. 225 WHEN COLUMBIA AROSE. When Columbia arose like a star from the ocean, And shone like a gem on the bosom of night, Earth's wise men beheld her with hope and devotion, And nation's oppressed hailed her beams with delight. Her heavenly refulgence, in glory transcending The radiance that fell from her bright sister stars, Shone far o'er the earth with a luster unending, And lit the slave's face through his dark prison bars. The hand of the despot was forging the fetter. The sword of the warrior was crusted with gore; They paused while the bondsman lisped freedom's first letter. Saw liberty's face and were tyrants no more. Blest shrine of the free and the hope of the nations ! To thee earth's oppressed from cursed tyranny flee; They come to thy altars through dark tribulations, And find in thy mild rule the boon of the free. How bright are thine annals ; how radiant with glory ! How grand is thy march on the crest of the vears ; 226 PATRIOTIC PAlONS. Thy sages extol thee, thy bards sing thy story, Thy progress the heart of the patriot cheers. Oh ! may thy advancement in endless progression Still lead the world on in the grand arts of peace; Till tyrants and bigots shall find no possession. And war's horrid thunders in love's music cease. FREEDOM'S PERFECT DAY. O, Freedom ! thou dream of the sages ! The restless world's hope and desire ; The bright star of peace to the ages ; The slave's guiding pillar of fire; From dungeons and chains of oppression, The call of Advancement obey, Find in nobler souls a possession. And shine to thy more perfect day. The martyr for human rights bleeding. Presaging thy liberal rule ; The statesman thy cause warmly pleading ; The sage teaching truths of thy school ; The patriot each omen discerning, Propitious for Liberty's sway ; The zealot with high purpose burning, — All hasten thy more perfect day. FA TRIO TIC PM ONS. 227 All men by thy suffrage now brothers, To fuller fraternity grown, Shall freely accord unto others The rights each may claim for his own; Now grandly their efforts uniting. Advancing in glorious array, The wrongs of the past ages righting, They usher thy more perfect day. No more shall our fellows enslave us ; No more shall the strong crush the weak ; The common rights just Nature gave us Unchallenged by force we may seek. The dictates of conscience and reason Henceforth w^e may freely obey ; And count every action as treason That hinders thy more perfect day. The cause of Humanity shielding, The warder of Progress advance ; Till Error and Prejudice, yielding, Shall kneel and disarm at thy glance. Truth, Justice and Mercy awaking, Shall follow thy vigilant ray. Till in brighter radiance breaking. Shall greet us thy most perfect day. 228 PA TRIO TIC P^ ONS. WASHINGTON. When Liberty from tyrants broke, And sought in wilds her fanes to rear ; Columbia rose, a welcome spoke. And gave the glorious exile cheer, Who deemed the land, yet chained by none, A fit abode for Washington. And stepping westward from the flood. She saw a world, vast, grand and free, Of boundless plain and stream and wood, And not one slave from sea to sea : She viewed the land from sun to sun. Then turned and fashioned Washington. She cast him in her largest mould Of heart and mind, a nature gave. Unswayed by lust of fame or gold. In impulse generous and brave. That Tyranny might fear and shun. And Freedom live through Washington. When Despotism's servile hosts Menaced her sons with slavery, Columbia's voice rang through her coasts. And bade one patriot rise to be Her saviour. Hopeful in her son. Then Freedom offered Washington. PA TRIO TIC P^ ONS. 2 And when his sword had saved his land From bondage and oppression's chain, Columbia sought as firm a hand To guide her sons in peace again : A million voices spake as one, And gave the rule to Washington. He shamed the t jTants who oppress ; His land became the patriot's home ; And grateful millions came to bless, And untold millions yet shall come: Fame on her dome keeps writing on, High o'er the rest, '* George Washington." And worthy souls in other climes Spell out the letters from afar ; Else strong against oppression's crimes, And freedom gain through righteous war ; Illustrious deeds have heroes done To emulate our Washington. 230 PA TRIO TIC PM ONS. THE FLOWER OF FREEDOM. Her emblems Britain proudly shows, — The rose and thistle on the same rock ; In vales of France the lily blows, And Erin twines her wreaths of shamrock ; Columbia, younger sister, fair, Though she in glory's chase may lead 'em, Still lacks, to deck her golden hair, That posy, emblem of her freedom. Yet hosts of rivals press their claims ; Now 'tis the corn and now the cotton ; The golden-rod and other names. Which happily are soon forgotten ; So thick they spring around her feet, The riot act she'll have to read 'em, For none she yet has chanced to meet Is quite expressive of her freedom. Yet, dear Columbia, there's a flower, (The hint I give is patriotic). That should adorn your every bower, Though 'tis as yet a fair exotic; Down in Tahuantepec it grows, Though you the plants might slip, or send 'em; Red, white and blue the blossom blows. Say, is not that the flower of freedom ? FA TRIO TIC PyE ONS. 231 OLD GLORY. Oh, glorious hues! may ye ne'er lose A single stripe or star ! Nor yet decrease in days of peace More than in storms of war ; Who can behold that sheet unfold, Nor feel his spirit start, Nor for his land his love expand, Has sure no patriot's heart. I love to see it floating free, Caressed by every breeze ; And think, with pride, those colors ride In triumph o'er the seas. Where'er it waves you'll find no slaves, For once they see it fly. Men swear to be from henceforth free, Or 'neath that emblem die. You who have roved from all you loved, Emblems of power to view. Did you not pain to see again The old red white and blue? And when on high it met your eye, You scorned each foreign rag. And joyful cried with tears of pride, " Long wave the dear old flag ! " 232 PA TRIO TIC PyE ONS. DON'T SCOLD THE BOYS. Don't scold the dear boys for making a noise! Cheer on, my brave fellows, cheer louder. And fire off your guns like patriots' sons ; For Freedom was born amid powder ! Shame, shame ! on us all, if we fail to recall Dear Liberty's glorious battle, Or frown on the zeal that young spirits feel, Because we're disturbed by their rattle. When Freedom arose, beset by her foes. Her cause had few patriots to back it ; The king told our boys he wanted less noise. Our forefathers made such a racket ; For they rang every bell with Tyranny's knell, And shouted out Liberty's fiat; So loud were their drums, so perplexing their bombs, The king found them hard to keep quiet. For Liberty gave to each a heart brave. Few cowards from duty were slipping; They were not the boys to make a great noise, And calmly take tyrannous whipping. They stood by their rights through stormiest fights. And asked but a musket to plead 'em; And when through the smoke Columbia's smile broke. They greeted her walking with Freedom. PA TRIO TIC P^ ONS. 233 Great Washington's fame with Arnold's foul name Would sink to oblivion blacker, Did people not find to waken the mind The snap of the boy's firecracker. So boast of your zeal for America's weal, And shout through the whole Declaration, But depend on the boys with their annual noise, For patriots to rouse up the nation. UNION. (tune — MARSEILLES HYMN.) Let factions cease their discord brewing, Upon the fires of party strife ; With malcontents those themes pursuing For which a nation poured its Hfe ! For which a nation poured its life ! Across the chasm, dark with slaughters, Let's bind the union, band by band. Where brothers clasping hand in hand. Pledge peace to all her sons and daughters ! The truce fraternal keep ; All dark dissensions fled ; Nor rashly rend anew the wounds From which our fathers bled. 234 PA TRIO TIC PJE ONS. Boast not with pride of martial glory- In triumphs stained by kindred blood ! While patriots shudder at the story Of fields where late in arms they stood ; Of fields where late in arms they stood. Hushed are the cries of orphans' wailing, And ceased have widows' tears to flow ; The nation rallies from the blow, With love and amity prevailing. Defenders of one land. One glorious brotherhood ! United may we ever stand, And guard the common good ! All honor to the men of daring ! To those who won and those who lost! For lofty purpose grandly warring, Ah! they of all men know the cost; Ah ! they of all men know the cost ; But, shame! to all the sordid placemen Who sectional aversion flame ; Make capital of wrong and shame Through prejudices that disgrace men ! One peoj^le and one flag, Columbia, be thy boast ; In union grand one glorious land, And free from coast to coast. PATRIOTIC PJEONS. 235 Our glorious prestige as a nation Can we maintain with all who come, If we but hide disintegration, And factions rend our peace at home ? And factions rend our peace at home? No ! save in concord, broad, fraternal, No hope, no safeguard have the free ; But on the rock of unity Shall Freedom stand, sublime, eternal. Then let us, South and North, Incorporate go forth, And make the land for which we stand The glory of the earth !