^" p o Class _Lb_i5^03 Book Copyright N^_ ! O P COEmiCIiT DEPGSm HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Heart of New England By Abbie Farwell Brown BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY ^t)e Itiitierj^itie J^xe0 CambriOoe 1920 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY ABBIE FARWELL BROWN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED SEP 18 1320 0)CI,A597436 (^fje iBemorp of nip Slnceftor ^ar^ aileiton Cus?t)man %mt of tbe IBapftottjer fHxmi i t Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/heartofnewenglan01brow Thanks are due the publishers of various mag- azines for courteous permission to reprint poems that first appeared in their pages, as follows : The Atlantic Monthly, Harper's Magazine, The Bookman, The Bellman^ Contemporary Verse, The Delineator, The Designer, The Ladies' Home Journal, The Woman's Home Companion, The Smart Set, The Youth's Companion, The Living Church, The ChriS" tian Endeavor World, The Congregationalist, The New England Magazine, Life, Saint Nicholas, Rad- cliffe Quarterly, Boston Transcript, Boston Her- ald, New York Tribune, New York Times, The Old Farmer's Almanack, "The Rock of Liberty; A Pilgrim Ode," with music for Chorus by Rosseter Cole, is copyrighted and published in 1920 by the Arthur P. Schmidt Company, of Boston. CONTENTS East Wind 2 Names 3 Comforters 6 Pilgrim Mothers 9 Cross-Currents 11 Savages 14 Pirate Treasure 16 The Wall 19 Hampton Town 22 The Old Garden 24 Grandmother's House 25 Grandmother's Garden 27 The Frightened Path 28 Devil's Gold : A Hampton Legend 29 The Haunted House 32 Rose Perennial 34 Scarecrow 37 Inspiration 39 A Wasted Morning 40 Ciphers 42 Pine Music 44 Maids and Mushrooms 45 In the Dark 47 Garden Thoughts 48 ' IX ■ CONTENTS The Passer-By 49 Frost 51 Winter Song 53 Tanager 54 Song 56 The Knock 51 An Old- World Convent Garden 59 A September Birthday in Brittany 61 The Blazed Trail 64 But there are Wings m Safe? 67 The Up-Hill Street 68 City Smoke 71 Green Crosses 73 The Mystic Circle 76 Song of the Bookworm 80 The Books I Ought to Read 82 John Townsend Trowbridge 83 The Joy-Vender 85 The Sparrow 88 Sylvia 90 The Plume 91 The Woodsy Ones 93 The Wee Knitter 94 A Charm Said under an Oak 96 Fairy Ring 98 Dangerous Passing 99 The Dryad 101 [ X ] CONTENTS Fairy Wine 103 Webs 104 The Fairy Fort 105 Peace — With a Sword 109 The Cry 112 Crusaders 114 The Knights 115 From the Canteen 117 Crippled Soldier 119 The Flag Triumphant 121 Three Golden Stars 123 The Spring of the Year 126 Prayer for America 128 The Rock of Liberty; A Pilgrim Ode. 1020-1920 131 HEART OF NEW ENGLAND EAST WIND 7 dream of a languorous, tideless shore. Of azure light in magic caves; Of heathery hills with summits hoar. That wade knee-deep in northern waves; Of rainbow sails like butterflies That flutter to an Old World quay; Of where a buried city lies Beneath the sands of Brittany. Nay ! But my own New England coast. Pungent with wild rose, pine, and bay; Brown marsh, white sand, gray rocks that boast The fiercest surf, the wildest spray ! Hoi For me. Where the white, white sails go flashing to the sea; And the sea wind is the east wind, as the sea wind ought to be I I dream of a castle-covered height; Of gardens with eternal flowers. And mossy fountains gleaming white; Of lemon groves and myrtle bowers; Of fairy glens and haunted halls. Where mystery walks to and fro; Of palaces on gay canals; Of English green, and Alpenglow. Nay I But New England's apple trees. Her homely houses, square and plain. The simple gardens loved of bees. The maple groves, the firs of Maine t Ho ! For me. Where the spring comes slowly, like a play to see; And the sea wind is the east wind, as the sea wind ought to be ! Heart of New England • a a NAMES From Somerset and Devon, From Kent and Lincolnshire, The younger sons came sailing With hearts of steel and fire. From leafy lane and valley, Fair glebe and ancient wood. The counties of old England Poured forth their warmest blood. Out of the gray-walled cities. Away from the castled towns. Corners of thatch and roses. Heathery combes and downs, • With neither crown nor penny. But an iron will they came. Heirs of an old tradition And a good old English name. [ 3 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND A brooding silence met them On a nameless, savage shore; But they called the wild — "New England," For the sake of the blood they bore. '* Plymouth, Exeter, Bristol, Boston, Windsor, Wells." Beloved names of England Rang in their hearts like bells. They named their rocky farmlands, Their hamlets by the sea. For the mother-towns that bred them In racial loyalty. "Cambridge, Hartford, Gloucester, Hampton, Norwich, Stowe," The younger sons looked backward And sealed their sonship so. The old blood thrills in answer. As centuries go by. To names that meant a challenge, A signal, or a sigh. [ 4 ] NAMES Now over friendly waters The old towns, each to each, Call with the kinship in a name; One race, one truth, one speech. [5] COMFORTERS Raw April came. The snow was melting fast From the bleak Plymouth hills. The May- flower, Who had been fretting at her anchor-chains Through the unfriendly weeks of rain and snow, Flew like a homing pigeon out to sea. With treacherous captain and a sulky crew. But not one of the Faithful was returning. Iron of purpose, worn but undismayed By the fell winter, on a little hill That bedded half the flock in a long sleep. Pale Pilgrims watched the shining sails grow dim. With straining vision. So, the final link With home was severed now! The happy ship Was homeward bound to the beloved land. Where soon the may would blossom in the hedges [ 6 ] COMFORTERS Of Kent and Suffolk; while in Lincolnshire The friendly robin sang by flooding tides. "Never again to see the green of England Or hear that song ! " they murmured. "Never again! For us sad exiles on a barren shore. Sorrow and toil till death, uncomforted. Yet the Lord's will be done!" Running there came A little maid with treasure-trove in hand, A flushed and furry blossom. "Look!" she cried, "The first pink posy peeping through the snow Upon a sunny hillside in the wood! Is it not like the precious English may, But sweeter still.'^" "Behold, the mayflower!" The Pilgrims whispered. "God has sent to us A messenger of homeland and the spring!" The wistful shadow faded from their eyes. Their set lips softened. Came a little lad. Leaping and laughing. "I have heard a song! [ 7 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND A redbreast bubbling in the willow-tree Caroled 'Cheer up! Cheer up!' See where he flies With his bright feathers!" Eagerly they peered. Elder and Captain, man and weary wife, Orphans with little faces pinched and pale. Forgetting now the vanished ship, they cried — **The robin and the may flower are here! Now in New England shall we be at home, God wills it so." Thereon they shyly smiled, Straightened bent shoulders, and with lifted hearts Slowly departed; thinking more than speak- ing. In the old English fashion. [ 8] PILGRIM MOTHERS Now thank God for the women Who dared the perilous sea With our adventurous ancestors, To bear them company ! They sailed, they knew not whither, They came, nor questioned why, But that the men-folk whom they loved Without their care would die. Babes newly born they carried, And bairns with wavering feet; But never a cow was there for milk, And never a stove for heat. Through icy waves they landed, They washed in frozen streams; They shivered through the nights of dread With horror in their dreams. [9] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Through toil and want and danger High-hearted they could wait; They lived and died for the commonweal, And mothered a nursling State. They had no voice in meeting. No vote in pact or law; But of their flesh and blood is built Our strength for peace and war. Thank God for the brave women Of a hard three-hundred years! Have they not earned a nation's trust Through sacrifice and tears? [10 1 CROSS-CURRENTS Through twelve stout generations New England blood I boast; The stubborn pastures bred them, The grim, uncordial coast, Sedate and proud old cities — Loved well enough by me. Then how should I be yearning To scour the earth and sea? Each of my Yankee forbears Wed a New England mate; They dwelt and did and died here, Nor glimpsed a rosier fate. My clan endured their kindred; But foreigners they loathed, And wandering folk, and minstrels. And gypsies motley-clothed. [ 11 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Then why do patches please me, Fantastic, wild array? Why have I vagrant fancies For lads from far away? My kin were godly Churchmen — Or paced in elders' weeds; But all were grave and pious And hated heathen creeds. Then why are Thor and Wotan To me dread forces still? Why does my heart go questing For Pan beyond the hill? '^ ^ My people clutched at freedom, (Though others' wills they chained) But made the Law and kept it, And Beauty they restrained. Then why am I a rebel To laws of rule and square? Why would I dream and dally, . Or, reckless, do and dare? [ 12] CROSS-CUERENTS righteous, solemn Grandsires, O Dames, correct and mild. Who bred me of your virtues. Whence comes this changeling child? The thirteenth generation — Unlucky number this ! — My grandam loved a pirate. And all my faults are his. A gallant, ruffled rover. With beauty -loving eye, He swept Colonial waters Of coarser, bloodier fry. He waved his hat to Danger, At Law he shook his fist. Ah, merrily he plundered, He sang and fought and kissed! Though none have found his treasure. And none his part would take, 1 bless that thirteenth lady Who chose him for my sake. [ 13] SAVAGES The Heathen hailed us from the beach, Prayed the new gods to bless and teach. They worshiped us and gave us food. Sweet water and maize, nuts from the wood; Showed us safe harbor. Liquor and beads Got us broad acres for our needs; We set shrewd boundaries to the farms. Too generously we loaned them arms; Froward they grew and scorned our laws. They bared white fangs, unsheathed fierce claws. Haunts in the wilderness they made To spy upon our barricade. Our meeting-house and granaries. Coveting them with cruel eyes. One stole a heifer from our yard; We hanged the whelp; they scalped our guard; We shot their chief and eight tall braves. The devils swarmed from dens and caves, [14] SAVAGES And burned the roofs above our heads; Murdered the children in their beds! With righteous wrath we armed for war. Scouring the forest near and far, River and lake with uncouth name. All the fair region once their claim, Killing the Redskin fiends at sight. At last we rid us of the blight; We made the savage race to cease. And earned a Sabbath Day of peace. We walled the tilth and reared this town, O great Jehovah looking down, Reward our pious people still. Who set Thy temple on the hill [ 15 J TT^ PIRATE TREASURE A LADY loved a swaggering rover. The seven salt seas he voyaged over, Bragged of a hoard none could discover, Hey I Jolly Roger, O. She bloomed in a mansion dull and stately, And as to Meeting she walked sedately. From the tail of her eye she liked him greatly. Hey! Jolly Roger, 0« Rings in his ears and a red sash wore he. He sang her a song and told her a story; "I '11 make ye Queen of the Ocean! " swore he. Hey! Jolly Roger, O. She crept from bed by her sleeping sister; By the old gray mill he met and kissed her. Blue day dawned before they missed her. Hey! Jolly Roger, O. [ 16] PIRATE TREASURE And while they prayed her out of Meeting, Her wild little heart with bliss was beating. As seaward went the lugger fleeting, Hey! Jolly Roger, O. Choose in haste and repent at leisure; A buccaneer life is not all pleasure. He set her ashore with a little treasure, Hey! Jolly Roger, O. Off he went where waves were dashing, Knives were gleaming, cutlasses clashing; And a ship on jagged rocks went crashing. Hey! Jolly Roger, O. Over his bones the tides are sweeping; The only trace of the pirate sleeping Is what he left in the lady's keeping, Hey! Jolly Roger, O. Two hundred years is his name unspoken. The secret of his hoard unbroken. But a black-browed race wears the rover's token, Hey! Jolly Roger, O. I 17] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Sea-blue eyes that gleam and glisten. Lips that sing — and you like to listen — A swaggering song; it might be this one, " Hey IJolly Roger, O!" [ 18] THE WALL : " Something there is that does n't love a wall " Robert Frost "Not love a wall!" I sit above the meadow in the glowing fall, Tracing the gray redoubt from square to i square > That bounds the acres harvest-ripe and fair^ And wonder if it's true? Nay! Ask the sumac and the teeming vine That lean upon the boulders; The crimsoning ivy and the wild woodbine. Whose eager fingers clutch the stony shoul- ders; The golden-rod, the aster, and the rue. Ask the red squirrel with the chubby cheek Skipping from stone to stone ' By a quick route, his hidden hoard to seek, Making the little viaduct his own. Look where the woodchuck lifts a cautious head Between the rocks, close by the cabbage bed; [ 19 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND The honey-bees have built a secret hive In a forgotten chink; And there a gray cocoon is tucked away. Shrouding a miracle of mauve and pink To wait its Easter Day. The wall with pageantry is all alive. And I who gaze On the dark border here, Drawn like a ribbon round the pasture-ways, Embroidered with the glory of the year — What is the wall to me? Has it no beauty more than eyes can see? Lo, I remember how in days of old A grandsire toiled with weariness and pain To dig the clumsy boulders from the mould; Piled them in ordered rows again, Fitting them firm and fast, A monument to last Long after his own harried day was past. He cleared the rocky soil for corn and grain By which his children throve [20 ] TEE WALL To carry on the race. We live by his Hfe-giving. I see each stone, rough like his granite face — Uncompromising, stern, no slave to love, Dowered with little grace. Grim with the hard, unjoyful task of liv- ing; But strong to stand the wrath of storm and time. And bolts that heaven lets fall. Built of a patriot's prime — How well I love the wall! [21 ] HAMPTON TOWN The Hampton marshes to the sea Stretch out a colored tapestry; A woven, iridescent gleam, Patterned with many a sea-filled stream. Where dips the heron silently. Above the Hampton meadows soar Wisps of a quaint, forgotten lore, Wild legends of another day, Sea-born and salty, like the spray Flung from the great tusks of the Boar. And as I wander down the street Of Hampton Town with loitering feet, A fragrance breathes from gardens old. Drawn from the centuries of mould. Thyme, bleeding-heart, and bitter-sweet. The ghosts of lovely ladies rise. With terror in their haunted eyes; [ 22 ] HAMPTON TOWN Witches and redskins, soldiers grim; Pirate and Puritan — oath and hymn — All in a web whose threads I share. The Hampton pines these legends know, And gossip them in whispers low. They spin an eerie charm that twines About the lovely Place of Pines, To blood that throbs from long ago. r23 ] THE OLD GARDEN I CHANCED upon the little bowered retreat For the first time, and never shall forget The spell of tangled mystery! The wet Bejeweled leaves like fingers curled to meet My childish hand; the unimagined sweet Of briar, heliotrope, and mignonette; The tang of box, and quainter blossoms set By mazy paths for liliputian feet. High walls of hollyhock and morning-glory Concealed the ancient house with gables wide; Shut out the world of swift and merry hours. In the long silence of a fairy-story My heart stood still. Then, at a turn I spied My Mother, smiling at the other flowers. [ 24 1 GRANDMOTHER'S HOUSE Grandmother's house is far away. You take the train and you ride all day, Till you come to a meadow beside the sea, As green and still as a place can be. In a little white room is a little white bed; The pillow is sweet where you lay your head; And all around is the scent of rose, That breathes wherever Grandmother goes. Down in the meadow the crickets trill As if they thought it was daytime still; ^^ Cheep! Cheep! Cheep! Cheep! Cheepy, cheepy! Cheep! Cheep!" Oh, how can a body go to sleep? All alone you lie and hark To the curious sounds that come in the dark; For the wall says ''Crick!'* And the floor goes *' Creak!" Then out in the hall is a rustle and squeak. [ 25 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND A wee voice cries and is still again; Then Something taps on the window-pane. There's a whispering in the tree outside, And a sigh, that Grandmother says is the tide. Grandmother's house is nice by day, But at night you seem very far away. And the noise of the quiet is so loud. It bothers you more than the noise of a crowd. [26 ] GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN This was the garden that Grandmother made, Here in the filtering sunlight and shade. Here grew the delicate, old-fashioned posies, Columbine, larkspur, cinnamon roses. Balsam and lavender, briar and box. Pale mignonette and chintz hollyhocks; Neatest of paths for the tiniest feet. Wandering, wavering, all through the sweet. And there, quite the prettiest blossom of all. Mother went tiptoeing when she was small. This is the garden that Grandmother made — New buds to open as older ones fade. With her wee waterpot making the showers. My mother dallied with her mother's flowers; Quaint little figure with cheeks like a rose, Starched pantalettes and slippers with bows; Bonny brown hair and a bonnet of straw. And the merriest eyes that the sun ever saw. But for Grandmother's garden and all that was in it, Why, where should I be this blessed minute? [ 27 ] THE FRIGHTENED PATH The wood grew very quiet As the road made a sudden turn; Then a wavering, furtive path crept out From the tangled briar and fern. tc Where does it lead?" I asked the child; She shivered and shook her head. "It does n't lead to any place, It is running away!" she said. " It is running away on tiptoe Through the untrodden grass. To join the cheerful highroad. Where real, live people pass. "It runs from a heap of ruins Where a home stood in old days; But nothing living goes there now. And — Nothing Living stays!" [28] DEVIL'S GOLD A HAMPTON LEGEND The General rolled in a coach-and-four. His head held high in pride; And Mary, who should have married me, Cowered in silk at his side. The mud of the General's chariot- wheels Grimed me, plodding by; But I saw a doom on his pallid face. And met the fear in her eye. For well she knew — as I know now, As neighbors guessed full well — He had sold his soul for a bootful of gold To the Devil himself from Hell. He called from the hearth of his paneled hall To the Fiend on the chimney-crown; His jack-boot stood in the chimney-place. And the gold came pouring down. [ 29 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND The gold poured down in a tinkling flood, And covered the great hall floor; But the General roared to the Devil above "Nay! more! and more! and more!" For the great jack-boot was never filled Till the gold lay three-foot thick; The bargainer had cut the toe, And fooled the Fiend by the trick. But the lady shivered in the dark At the roar of the General's mirth; While brimstone flashes seared the roof. And the Fiend's wrath shook the earth. I read in the face of the smitten man As he passed me on that day. And in the haunted lady's eye — That his hour was near to pay. And when we bore the General's bier To his proud tomb up the road, Ten of the sturdiest lads in town Staggered beneath the load. [30 ] DEVirS GOLD Ten of the sturdiest lads in town Turned pale as lime-bleached bones When their burden dropped and the cover loosed; The coffin was filled with stones! My Mary fled from the haunted house To toil as a poor man's wife; For not one pound of her widow's wealth Would I suffer to curse our life. The only dower she brought away Was the terrible tale she told; And our children bred in a humble home Are marked with the hate of gold. [31 ] THE HAUNTED HOUSE Upon a little rise it stands alone. Dark and forbidding, where three cross- roads meet; The dim, fierce windows frown upon the street From walls with mould and mosses overgrown. Pink hollyhocks group idly at the door. And bend above the latch with prying eyes. Or shake their heads and whisper, gossip- wise. Secrets that trouble living hearts no more. The rusty hinges give a warning scream; The jealous panels shudder as they swing. About my face the dusty cobwebs cling. Soft as the shadow-fingers of a dream. There is a window looking to the sea; The small, cracked panes are blurred as if with tears. [ 32 ] TEE HAUNTED HOUSE Here long ago a young bride felt the fears That even now creep coldly over me. Here trembling still she sat, yet made no moan, But felt an unseen presence fill the door, And heard a light step steal across the floor. And shrank beneath a touch that chilled her own. . . . Once more I pass the hall, the dim oak stair. A sudden gust breathes down, a tremulous sigh; A silken rustle lightly whispers by; A fragrance as of roses fills the air. [ 33 ] ROSE PERENNIAL The worn gray slab yet lies before What once was a thrifty farmer's door; Now roofless cellar and scattered stones Show skeleton hopes with time-picked bones. Here backed against a crumbling wall Still blooms at bay, unpruned and tall, A soil-disdaining moss-rose bush. The delicate buds in faintest flush. Clutched by the brambles and woodbine, Whose envious fingers tear and twine. There was the huge barn; here the yard, Where the grim farmer labored hard From dawn to dark, and never knew A dream beyond the crops he grew. The stock he raised, the silver store Under the loose board in the floor. To and fro, to and fro, The feet of his little wife would go, [34] ROSE PERENNIAL All day long and half the night, Up a flight and down a flight; Pantry to kitchen, pen to barn, Cellar to garret with loom of yarn; In to the babies, out to the men, Down to the pasture and back again. Farms were never planned, you find, To save the steps of womenkind. One can trudge and drudge through a long life's course. If she discover a hidden source To seek when the spirit is faint and dry. Here was her rosebush growing high. That he never knew — for he never cared; This was her joy no mortal shared. Her hands were never too stiff or tired To foster beauty the soul desired; The first shy green, the venturesome shoot. Flushing sap from the sturdy root. Moss-veiled bud and passionate bloom; Scarlet hips for the winter gloom. [ 35 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Never too worn the busy feet. Never too dull the old heart's beat. For a furtive trip to the little shrine That made the moment a pause divine. Here by the bush one glimpsed the Hills, Where forests crooned and ran free rills; One breathed deep draughts from a wind- swept sky. Sunset, moonglow, mystery. This was her rosebush by the wall. Gone is the farmer, farm and all; Gone herd and crops and silver store. The children grown return no more To the hearth deserted, the loveless place. Haunted by one enduring grace; A dream of beauty, torn with briar. Clutched in vain as it reaches higher. [ 36 ] SCARECROW Rags and tags of what he was, Topped with straw and stuffed with hay; Balanced tipsily askew. It grins to scare the crows away. I saw Him first in that old hat — It seemed the crown of a king to me. I liked his careless swagger then; Lord! He was straight and fine to see. He courted me in that same coat — He could n't meet it now, I guess. That gay vest was the one he wore When I walked bride in my silver dress. He seemed as proud as I, those days. I never dreamed, when we were wed, I'd think the Scarecrow a better man. With a broom for a spine and a pumpkin head. [ 37 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Rags and tags of what he seemed. Mocking me in the field all day. What can I make a scarecrow of. To drive the hungry thoughts away? [ 38 ] INSPIRATION Life — Death in a drop of dew; And a prism to sift a sunbeam through. Fragile, perfect, briefly bright, A tremulous miracle of light; Beauty poised on a flower-tip; A whole round world for a Thrush to sip ! [ 39 ] A WASTED MORNING I WASTED a morning! Where? And why? I let swift hours go silently by, As I lay at the foot of an ancient tree. And let God's universe talk to me. Wind and shadow, cloud and bird, Spoke each to my heart a musical word. The little brown cone that fell on my cheek. The squirrel who mocked with an impudent squeak, The golden mushroom brimmed with death, The twin-flower blessing the air with its breath; Old spider spinning above my head A magical dream with her rainbow thread; The liliput vases of moss below; The sudden caw of a picket crow; The rhythmical green of a supple snake Quivering into a lair of brake; [ 40 ] A WASTED MORNING The grumbling bee, the whispering pine — What need had they for a word of mine? They Kved the poem; they wove the spell No tongue could utter, no phrases tell; And a human voice could but disgrace The eloquent stillness of the place. So I lay at the foot of the ancient tree, And let God's free verse sing to me. [41 ] CIPHERS Oh, to be a wonder-child And read the cipher of the wild! A starry-splintered alphabet In the ancient rocks is set. Spelling, if one held the key. All creation's history. Cryptic messages I trace Etched on many a flower-face; Graven symbols score the pines. The birches wear mysterious signs — Perhaps the wistful diary Of the Dryad in her tree. On the open page of snow Curious hieroglyphics show, Dots and dashes, twist and thrust, Carven in the crystal crust; Marks of furred and feathered things With furtive feet or startled wings — [ 42 ] CIPHERS Comic secrets of the dark, Silent tragedy and stark. Ciphers, ciphers everywhere, In the sky, the wave, the air! On the faces that one meets Adrift upon the eddying streets; On the near and dear, that change With h'nes inscrutable and strange — Pahmpsests that time has wrought With the signs of hidden thought. Dreams unguessed and griefs unsaid, Passionate yearning unbetrayed. Ah, could Love but find and own Nature's old Rosetta Stone! [ 43 ] PINE MUSIC A HUNDEED years I seek the stars Through tempest, heat, and cold; My body scarred by many scars. My spirit wisely old. Yet the eternal song I sing, From sun and shadow made. Is lisped as sweetly every spring By the least flowers that fade. [ 44 ] MAIDS AND MUSHROOMS Oddly fashioned, quaintly dyed, In the wood the mushrooms hide; Rich and meaty, full of flavor, Made for man's delicious savor. But he shudders and he shrinks At the piquant mauves and pinks. Who is brave enough to dare Curious shapes and colors rare, Dainties in peculiar dresses. Fairy-rings and inky messes? Something sinister must be In the strange variety. It is better not to know; Safer but to peer — and go. So the mushrooms dry and fade, Like full many a blooming maid. With her dower of preciousness Hid too well for men to guess. [45 ] MAIDS AND MUSHROOMS But the toadstools bright and yellow Tempt and poison many a fellow, With their flaunting beauty bright. The bold promise of delight. Taste and suffer, ache and burn; Generations do not learn! Nay, a little mushroom study Would not injure anybody. [ 46 ] IN THE DARK In the dark I lie and think Of the glory in a day; Of the sunshine and the shade. All the color soft or gay. I can see it better now As I lie with curtained eyes. Oh, the rainbow and the moon; Oh, the opal of the skies! How the poppies glow and thrill, How the pigeon-feathers shine ! I will weave them into dreams, I will make them ever mine. All the wonder of a wave, All the magic of a tree — I shall wear them in my soul When these eyes no longer see. [47] GARDEN THOUGHTS Some of us are roses, Some of us are weeds; All of us began in clay. Silent little seeds. Some of us are flaunting. Some of us are shy; All of us have roots in earth. Faces to the sky. Some give joy by living, Some leave fragrance, dead; Thorns and spines and ugliness May yield balm or bread. Twisted, seared and stunted. Radiant, sweet and glad; Who shall say that one is "good" And another "bad"? [ 48 ] THE PASSER-BY In the fragrant, moonlit night. Without a thought of fear, I wakened in my seaward room And felt a Presence near. The open window glowed, And suddenly I knew That Some One was out walking Above the summer dew. The tall pines held their breath, And the little cedar trees. With all the grasses in the field, Were kneeling on their knees. Beyond the dunes the sea Was like a silver floor, For Some One's holy feet to cross Out of a foreign shore. [ 49 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Then lo! Above the trees A halo, round and bright! No more I saw of One who passed All silent in the night. [50] FROST Hark to a call in the late September night, From the little garden-close crying — crying ! As the cold stars watch from their safe, un- troubled height. Faintly breathes the scented prayer — "Help! We are dying!" Who would invade the sisterhood of flowers, In their cloistered innocence fresh and gently gay? What so cruel foe would dare profane the hours. To fright the tender sleeping buds and steal their peace away? Hark! The wistful cry again! Wafted o'er the grasses Comes the trembling fragrance, a sigh from hearts of gold. [51 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Something sly and sinister in the shadow passes; Shivering draw the covers close, the blood runs cold! Lo, in the morning, the bleak and hoary morning, Desolate the garden where the white foe crept; Wall or moat no bar to him, come without a warning, Capturing the pretty ones helpless where they slept. Cruel was the touch of him, blighting was his breath. Beauty shrank before him, but found no place to hide. Fragile, piteous martyrs coldly done to death. Was there none to answer when your sweet souls cried? [52] WINTER SONG Because I sang in April With magic in the air,* Must I be sad and silent now When winter boughs are bare? My heart is not a songster That waits upon the spring. But while there is a blessed sky And friendly earth, I sing! For evergreen my joy is. Like any cedar tree; ' It makes a tune of ice and snow And whispers it to me. [ 53 ] TANAGER Scarlet bird! Whence have you fluttered into my green gloom. My sleepy solitude, on quiet wing, Your voice unheard? Why do you linger there upon the tree, And still forbear to sing, As if your message were a silent doom? O torch of fire; Enkindled at the flame of heart's desire. In some enchanted land! O winged rose. Blown from the living garden of delight! O flash of joy Deliriously bright, Escaping from the heart of some fierce boy, Or girl who thrills and glows! O dream incarnadine Out of the jeweled past; red rapture that was mine! Why sent to torture me? [ 54 ] TANAGER You cut the shadow like an open wound; The forest bleeds with your intensity. In a mysterious anguish unrelieved by sound. /^ And whei|(you lit away. Back to yote radiant realm, your vivid day, And shivering I shall gaze Down the dim alley empty of your blaze. The darkness will be darker evermore. The silence stiller than it was before. Then faded peace will brood — - A moment stirred In the transfigured wood, O scarlet bird! [55] SONG Oh, yes, I love you still, my lad. For that is woman's way; A whole life long of tenderness For the fancy of a day. I gave you golden loyalty And starry faith to wear. You gave me pearls that were my tears. And silver in my hair. You gave me something less than good, I gave the best I had. But yes — the man I thought you were, I love him still, my lad. [56] THE KNOCK Did you knock at the door, my Dear? Knock, and I fail to hear? Was I so eager to bind my hair, And fasten a flower to make me fair; Study a book that I might be wise. Or make you a song for a sweet surprise? Mixing a cake. Saying a prayer, All for your sake. All for your care — So busily happy I did not hear When you knocked, my Dear! Will you pass to another door. And knock at my own no more? Shall I listen and wait and long. No more laughter, no more song? [57] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND But still with the faded rose in my hair. Still on my lips the tremulous prayer; Till the fire goes out To a single spark. Ending the doubt; And in empty dark, Shall I sit and hear The knock, knock, knock of my heart? My Dear! [58] AN OLD-WORLD CONVENT GARDEN Walled quiet from the din. So near, of worldly strife; A cloistered peace within, A life apart from life. Shrines bowered in roses sweet, : And in a hidden dell Worn by accustomed feet, A holy well. Along the ancient wall Fruit basking in the sun; Flowers radiant and tall — A coquette every one. Bees busy on the stalks, Birds mating in the weeds — Here a pale Sister walks. Telling her beads. High walls to shut aside The world's dear bliss and care! [59] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND O Birds, your nestlings hide In sanctuary there. High walls to her, to me — But ah! to wings, how low; Blest little Birds, quite free To come — and gol [ 60] A SEPTEMBER BIRTHDAY IN BRITTANY FOR C. N. B. Who counts the foolish years? This Brittany of ours. With all her gathered hopes and fears, Her scroll of smiles and tears, Is young, amid her sweet, perennial flowers. About the lone, deserted shrines Carol melodious songsters of to-day; Weaving their modern spell Through Carnac's mighty lines The sun-burned children play, Knowing, perchance, the ancient secret well. Above the buried Ys, Stout fishers in their rainbow shallops ply; Gazing into the azure depths they sigh. Dreaming of fair Dahut, and brighter realms than this, Longing to feel her kiss. [61 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND But homely love is waiting them ashore; Soon they will sigh no more. Joy of the present, full of light and life, Faith of the future years, with promise rife — Beloved of the sea. How young is Brittany! Who marks the months' retreat? It is not fall when roses are abloom. When strawberries are sweet, And snowy, great magnolias breathe per- fume. This bright September day. With radiant sky and balmy airs at play. Renewing joy in every living thing. Is Spring! Is Spring! And so with you, dear Mother! Heart of youth. Wise in your dreaming, soul of mystery. Tender in faith and truth. Lo, in your gentle hands you hold the key Of Spring eternal, of the spirit's prime; [62] SEPTEMBER BIRTHDAY IN BRITTANY You make a slave of time. With his malicious fears. And as this spring day brightly Clasps like a gem the threaded years You wear so lightly, Who shall seek to sum them, Admiring still how sweetly you become them? VitrS September 2, 1913 [ 63 ] THE BLAZED TRAIL Just when the path is lost to me, Bewildered wanderer in the maze, Upon some unexpected tree I spy the Woodman's blaze; A mystic rune of sight or sound, A message quick from sense to soul. That lifts the spirit from the ground And speeds it to the goal. A wind-flower nodding by an oak Has given assurance from afar; Once in the dark a fragrance spoke, And once it was a star. The silver fluting of a thrush; The bursting of a sunken flame; A sigh of wind, a sudden hush — Out of the depths I came. [ 64 ] TEE BLAZED TRAIL A burning challenge to despair Flashed from an idly-open book; A small dumb creature's silent prayer, A friend's revealing look; And all the doubtful horrors fade. The weary heart leaps up again. Through tangled thickets in the shade. The Trail shows broad and plain. \^5] BUT THERE ARE WINGS "How big it is, the Blueness everywhere!" Between two seas, her playtime scarce begun. Trembles the shy, bewildered little one. Above her roll the shoreless depths of air Reflected in her azure eyes; and there Close to her feet in thunderous fury run The crowding waters, peacock in the sun, That fling a salty threat upon her hair. "But there are wings!" They brood against the sky, A cloudy wonder; while upon the deep She sees them dip and flutter, far and near. "The same kind wings that shelter one asleep ! " So, drawing reassurance in a sigh. She digs the treacherous sand without a fear. [66 ] SAFE? If I but set my casement high Where none peer in at me, I shall look only at the sky And the fair top of the tree. I shall forget the sorry things The swallows do not tell; I shall not see the wounded wings Of the little bird that fell. And if below there crawls a road. Where dusty travelers go. Groaning beneath a weary load — Why, I shall never know. I can pretend there is no sin. No pain and misery. If I gaze out where none look in To read the heart of me. [ 67 1 THE UP-HILL STREET There's a lane through grassy meadows. There's a turnpike to the sea, There's a trail across the mountain Which is very dear to me. There's a shady, quiet roadway On the border of the town; There are footpaths going blithely Up the little hills and down. And oh! I love the highroads My happy feet have pressed. But walk at evening, walk at morn, There's one I love the best. It is a narrow city street That clambers with a will Between two ragged cliffs of brick Upon a windy hill. I see it from my window, I watch it every day Slope to the level sky- verge Whereon it melts away; [68 1 TEE UP-HILL STREET While etched across the picture Stands straight and strong and tall. The oak tree that I planted When I was very small. Above, a narrow sky -way The houses frame for me; Beyond, across the city — Though I can hardly see — I know the blue bay opens, With towering blocks between; I feel, I smell, I hear it When winds blow east and keen! And I have dwelt here always; A child I saw it climb, The quaint, forgotten byway. Unmarked by change or time. How often have I trod it! Each brick and stone I know! Each little rise and hollow Though hidden under snow. And looking from my window I almost think to see [ 69 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND A childish figure cKmbing — The Httle shade of Me. But as I watch her, smiHng — The child who once was I — My Fancy chmbs the little hill And merges in the sky. [ 70] CITY SMOKE Oh, the smoke of the city ! Pouring in columns black and thick; Swooping, a nightmare bird of prey. From a hideous eyrie of iron and brick. Obscuring the day; Sinister, greasy, noisome, vile. Spoiling the delicate, fouling the pure, Creeping like sorrowful sin or guile Through tiniest cranny and lock secure. The rosiest chamber reeks with its breath, And the dens already besmirched with death. It broods impartial, sullying all, Palace, tenement, hovel and hall; Beauty's ruin and Nature's ban. Price of the fierce, packed struggle of man. Grim smoke hovering without pity, Over the city. Oh, the smoke of the city! Rising and rolling a magical stream. Spreading and wavering higher and higher; [71 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Bright with the opaline colors of dream, A torrent of beauty, a cloud of desire. Delicate gossamer rags float free, Drifting into eternity. Washed with radiance, purged and clean, All-escaping, ethereal, new; Vision of poets sublime, serene, Etching the blue; Life transfigured by hope again, Prize of the dear, near loving of men. Glorified smoke, like a halo of pity, Over the city. [ 72 ] GREEN CROSSES At the back of the pompous houses. Above the beautiful river-way, A row of squahd barrels Blush at themselves in the morning light. From one grotesquely leaning, Dusty and scarred Amid the dead, forgotten slag and ashes, A fir-tree thrusts its live, protesting fingers — Crosses of green. About it still cling a few silver cobwebs. Rags of its brief splendor. It was the Christmas Tree That graced the cheerful drawing-room A little while; That blessed the comfortable house with its fragrance, And with its symbols of love. The small green crosses. A pinched, pale child with hungry eyes. Ragged and wolfish, but with wisps of glory [ ^/3 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Still haloing her hair. Comes with her bag of rubbish. Her eyes brighten; She sets down her heavy burden, She forgets the cold as she picks at the little tree, Plucks eagerly at the fragile cobwebs; They are so silvery few! But they do not go into the heavy sack. Her thin, blue fingers snap one of the green crosses; She twists the tinsel thread about it, And sticks it in her breast. Then she shoulders her bundle of trash. And stumbles away, smiling. The green crosses, ahve in the dust! The Christmas Tree! The evergreen tree whose roots are cut — On the dump it will die! The Christmas Tree! What if this ornament of brief holidays, I 74 ] GREEN CROSSES This plaything of a favored few. This strong, slow-murdered creature of pure woods, With its green crosses, Were really growing! If it were rooted in the hearts Of Christendom! How different a world would see this sunny morning ! No war; no hate; No want nor selfishness; No ragged children, starved for tinsel joys. Furtively clutching at rejected beauty On a forgotten cross, The green cross of Love. [75] THE MYSTIC CIRCLE Eight lusty bell-ringers In the loft of the campanile; Eight quick-eyed, firm-muscled, clean-lipped lads. Forming a mystic circle, Poised a-tiptoe. Hands above heads. Waiting. Eight stout ropes mysteriously pending From the unreveaiing, dusty rafters. The bells are poised for the peal, Though they remain unseen. Waiting. The magic word is spoken by the leader — ''She's off!" (The unmistakable Enghsh accent.) The treble bell gives signal first. The racing merry scales descend. The cue is flashed from eye to eye; [76] TEE MYSTIC CIRCLE The Bob-major double. An intricate combination of sequences, A miracle of mathematics resolved into sound; A psalm of joy ! While the sturdy arms pull in ordered eager- ness. And the bright eyes shine. The Bells! Their tongues are loosed. The charm of the mystic circle has made them animate, Has lifted the enchantment of silence And given sound to their joy. In the tower above the young men, (So near, unseen,) They shout till the rafters ring; A revel of frank, untrammeled spirits. Like innocent children with clear, full voices. Merry, unrestrained, irresponsible, A somersaulting group of eight. Praises God in mirth. [ '77 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Still farther above, High in the vault of the church, Revealed in ethereal, vibrating overtones, Like the whirring of great wings. The heavenly choir chanting Te Deum Join in the song; The Angels of the Bells, Tender intermediaries between earth and heaven, Breathing holy gladness, singing ineffable praise. Above, above again. Far above the pointed spire. Above the seething city and the sinning world, Above the singing in the hearts of men. The clamor of bells, the choiring of angels — Silence. The eternal harmony of all sound, The caught-up commingled praises of cre- ation. Blended into quiet. The Silence that is God: [ 78 1 THE MYSTIC CIRCLE God listening; God approving; God the Father of Joy, Blessing His angels and His bells. Blessing the ringers with rapt faces. Tense, devotional, Who consummate the ritual of sound In a religious office. Eight young men In a mystic circle. Whose center is the center of the universe, God. [79 1 SONG OF THE BOOKWORM Who would long for wings to wander Over sea or mountains yonder? Who would hang on risky pinion, And become the breezes' minion, When the spirit, birdlike, hovers. Borne between two leathern covers? These are wings a fay might sigh for. Or a chubby cherub cry for ! So the dusty Bookworm quivers Into life; the cocoon shivers. Bursts into a world of glory. Borne on tinted wings of story. Poesy, romance or fairy — Wings of book-leaves thin and airy; Floats and flutters off, away. To Avonside or far Cathay, There is no land so strange, so far. From pole to pole, from star to star, [80] SONG OF THE BOOKWORM But he may visit passage free, No duty, fare or grudging fee. Hey for Egypt ! Ho for Arden ! Mowgli's jungle, Omar's garden! None shall limit, none can stay. When the Bookworm flits away! [81 ] THE BOOKS I OUGHT TO READ On dusty shelves in serried ranks they stand, Reproachful thousands, quaint, and grave and great. My guilty conscience hears their mute com- mands, Yet day by day — they wait. Their army grows more deadly every year; Their captain-names I cannot call to mind. A friend amid the order would, I fear. Be very hard to find. But to a corner shelf by most forgot, I steal, and to my conscience pay no heed. With boon companions dear. Yet these are not The books I ought to read ! [ 82 ] JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE FEBRUARY 12, 1916 Wizard of youth! How many years. Since first we felt the story-spell. Your name has thrilled the childish ears That knew your magic well. Dear noble head of snowy hair, Face with the sunglow; keen, kind eyes; Presence erect and debonair, Heart generous and wise. No more our Poet walks the land! Your mellow voice no more is heard. Oh, for the warm clasp of your hand. The friendly, precious word! But in the hearts whose love you share, In countless friends you never met. In the world's childhood everywhere Your life is singing yet. [ 83 ] JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE Your merry quips; your thought's pure gold; Your knightly quest and champion cry; The songs you sang, the tales you told — Their echoes do not die. They make a part of what we are, Of all the best we think and do. The land you loved is better far Because her youth loved you ! [ 84 ] THE JOY-VENDER Giovanni Carbone, lame and old, Has a struggling bunch of balloons to hold; Balloons like giant, luscious grapes, With shiny skins and the roundest shapes. They dodge and tug to get away, Like children, peevish at control. Early and late the patient soul Smihng and nodding keeps his stand. On a corner where the breezes play. And the child-parade goes by each day; For windmills whirl in his other hand. Petaled windmills of every hue Known to his native, opal land, Busily, dizzily whiz and whir, Making rosettes of rainbow blur, Too bewildering to be true. Giovanni guards the corner well; A kindly wizard, ready to sell For a tiny bit of sordid money A gaudy joy, when the day is sunny. [85 ] HEART OF NEW ENGLAND Flimsy joys ! Just pretty toys. Fragile and useless anywhere; Except to little girls and boys Empty and meaningless as air! How babies love the foolish things ! Their chubby, mittened hands they reach, Pout rosy lips in lisping speech, Coaxing the wizard with wrinkled face To part with his treasure. The joys that have wings. He is willing enough, for a nickel or two — And what is a nickel to me or you? He grins and nods with an artist's grace. Pleased with the little ones' guileless pleas- ure. He airily pockets the proffered pence, Tethers his wares to the iron fence. With gentle fingers he ties the strings To proud small buttons; he thrusts a wand — A fairy wand — in a baby hand. ''Vabener' Off to a Wonderland! [ 86 ] TEE JOY-VENDER Giovanni Carbone ! No wonder you grin. With your burning eye set in parchment skin; Purveyor of dreams for the innocent; Maker of laughter rather than pain; Vender of perfect, rounded content. I envy you again and again Your job and your bit of wonder-money, And your breezy stand, when the day is sunny. 187] THE SPARROW Little bird of dusty brown. Why do you stay here in town, In the noise and dirt and heat Hopping in the ugly street? Other songsters choose to go Where the grass and clovers grow. Where the dew is on the hill And the shady woods are still; Where the baby rivers skip, And the cool green mosses drip. There to-morrow I shall be! Sparrow, do you envy me? Saucy bird, alert and quick. Lingering on stone and brick — Little children linger too. Who perhaps are fond of you; Pale and pitiful to see, Sick and sorry too, maybe. They can dream, but never stray Where the ferns and daisies play. [88] TEE SPARROW All the sultry summer through They will hear no bird but you, Cheap and common, sharp and shrill. Chirping, chirping, chirping still, Picking bugs and crumbs and things. Yet — you have the gift of wings! They can see you dart and fly Free and high to tree and sky — Only little comrade given Who can bring them news of heaven! Sparrow, though I run away. Is that why you choose to stay? [89] SYLVIA Sylvia is always gay. When she winged to earth one day, Through the wonders of the sky. She caught a star as she flew by, Green and gold and amethyst. In her tiny baby fist, And hid it in her little breast As a secret unconfessed. Like a jeweled lantern she Shines for all the world to see. In her eyes the sparkle beams. From her burnished hair it gleams; Radiant all she does and says, All her pretty, twinkling ways — Just because she dared to leaven Lifetime with a bit of heaven. Sylvia! Without your spark. Oh, the journey would be dark. [90] THE PLUME **Here is a gift," the Brownie said, As something fell on the little maid's head — *'A golden feather with silver bars Of the Faraway Bird who sings to the stars; A beautiful plume to use as you will, Fortunate friend on top of the hill ! Fasten it into your curly hair; Love will follow and fin