PS 3525 
 .P128 
 R5 
 1908 
 Copy 1 
 
Class J£S_1F 2.5 , 
 Book__^Ai^lJ5.i_ 
 
 Gopigtrtl^" 
 
 190% 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Rivulets of Song 
 
 BY 
 
 PERCIVAL D. McCALLUM 
 
 BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
 835 BROADWAY, ^ ^ NEW YORK 
 

 
 
 [uBftARY of OON^fiff^i A I 2» ^ 
 
 jUN 8 lyua n 
 
 Copyright. 1908, 
 
 BY 
 
 PERCIVAL D. McCALLUM 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Among the Flowers 24 
 
 An Evening Thought 39 
 
 Breakers, The 34 
 
 Beauty Must Fade 40 
 
 Bitter and Sweet 36 
 
 Broken Vase, The 54 
 
 Confession 31 
 
 Curate Talks, The 43 
 
 Dawn 10 
 
 Ecstacy 53 
 
 Evening 23 
 
 Exile, The 52 
 
 Faint Displeasure 32 
 
 Forest Fire, A 16 
 
 Friendship 14 
 
 Gleam, Gleam, O Sun 49 
 
 Grieving for Day 32 
 
 Heart- Vigil z'^ 
 
 Her Wedding Day 30 
 
 His Mother's Love 26 
 
 In Adversity 48 
 
 In Memory 47 
 
 In the Grove 30 
 
 I Still Have Cheer 51 
 
 Kentucky 7 
 
 King and the Rose, The 13 
 
 Lake, The 19 
 
 Lament, A 46 
 
ii Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Leaf, The 55 
 
 Lover's Thoughts at Dawn, A 37 
 
 Love's Unwisdom 33 
 
 Love the Fields 55 
 
 Millstream, The 22 
 
 Missing the Mark 50 
 
 Mist, The 2 
 
 Morning and Evening 41 
 
 Morning Hymn, A 22 
 
 Mountain Boy's Song, The 56 
 
 My Desire i 
 
 Old Garden, The 24 
 
 On the River n 
 
 O World 5 
 
 Pain and Power 3 
 
 Passing Eve, The 12 
 
 Picture, A 33 
 
 Re-Orient Love 34 
 
 Repentant • 42 
 
 Resolution, A i5 
 
 Silver Bars 3^ 
 
 Silver Boat, The. 43 
 
 Sleeping Infant, A i 
 
 Storm, A 8 
 
 Storm-God's Leer, The il 
 
 Stream, A 42 
 
 Summer Dream, A 38 
 
 Sunlight 35 
 
 Sunset 21 
 
 Ten O'clock 50 
 
 Thanksgiving i? 
 
 Thy Voice 37 
 
 To a Friend 48 
 
 To a Rose 29 
 
Contents Hi 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To Dixie 28 
 
 Tramp's Rest, A 20 
 
 Two Pearls 39 
 
 Unrest 31 
 
 Victims 12 
 
 Virtue 40 
 
 Vision and the Shell, The 41 
 
 Winter Evening, A 26 
 
MY DESIRE 
 
 To gather up some scattered threads of thought, 
 Aimless in the wide world, and weave a cloth 
 Of gold or silver texture, which no moth 
 
 Of time may eat or ages bring to nought: 
 
 To set full deep the gems life to me brought — 
 Precious experience in toil or sloth. 
 Tenderness, passion, sorrow, righteous wrath — • 
 
 In one chaste crown, of grace that art hath 
 taught. 
 
 So may my feeble hand find skill and plan ; — 
 It were enough if memory's gathered fruit, 
 Pierced by a sentient dart, might be a gain, 
 
 One jot more to the heritage of man — 
 If I may soothe but once with magic lute 
 His pulse of passion and his throb of pain. 
 
 A SLEEPING INFANT 
 
 The fairy car of sleep hath come; the baby's 
 
 eyes. 
 Those guileless stars of promise, close and 
 
 seems 
 The tiny soul soothed in an angel land ; it lies 
 A smiling seraph, such as grace our dreams ! 
 That pretty, rosebud mouth not yet hath learned 
 To utter silver speech, whereby the lore 
 
2 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Of worlds is made immortal; nor discerned 
 Those eyes the wreathing beauties we adore — 
 That garland earth. That frail life hath won 
 No comradeships of mind with mind at rest 
 In mutual understanding; there is none 
 Can still its peevish cry save she whose breast 
 Succors the frail form. This life is now 
 The little rivulet among soft moss 
 Of its beginning. It shall swell and grow 
 To the mad-rushing torrent, ruthless toss 
 Through rocky gorges to a moaning sea, 
 That never ceases to repeat the woe 
 Unhappy streams tell of their history. 
 Or through a fertile plain the increasing flow 
 May seek its course and bless until the smiles 
 Of man and his broad fields alike attest 
 The gratefulness of bounty and the wiles 
 Of opulence, that give our hands to rest. 
 
 THE MIST 
 
 From peak to peak the silver cloud 
 Loiters and looms ; and roaring loud 
 
 The cataracts play 
 
 In tumultuous way 
 And wear beneath the hard rock face, 
 And age-long toilings leave their trace 
 
 Among the woods that dream. 
 
 Still by the tossing stream. 
 
 At morn the veil of mist is gone, 
 And sun is poured by laughing dawn 
 O'er forest and rill, 
 
Rivulets of Song 
 
 O'er the rugged hill, 
 And dews alone in sorrow weep 
 That beauty to oblivion's keep 
 Passed, and forever fled 
 Is with the lovely dead. 
 
 Are you a wreath of mist to me, 
 Awhile to linger then to flee, 
 
 Retreating from sight 
 
 In the stronger light? 
 Nay! Let life ever broader shine. 
 Mind, heart enlarging — still be mine 
 
 Abiding like the stream, 
 
 Your sparkling soul agleam. 
 
 PAIN AND POWER 
 
 *Twas falling night ; he walked the street. 
 And wept to see a mongrel eat 
 
 The loathsome scrap he craved: 
 His half -clothed limbs were cold; the stones 
 Had cut his feet, and bitter moans 
 He stifled scarce, and braved 
 The storm of wind that howled and scurrying 
 
 bore 
 The lowering clouds from the tempestuous shore. 
 
 He saw a great house on the hill ; 1 
 
 The blinds were drawn ; but hoping still 
 
 For bread and cheer within. 
 He climbed the path and sought the door. 
 
4 Rivulets of Song 
 
 And knocked, while the fierce tempesf s roar 
 Made louder dm. 
 An old man flung the polished panel wide, 
 Revealing the bright warmth and light inside. 
 
 He made his plea ; the old man scowled, 
 Muttered a curse and snarling growled: — 
 
 ''Beggars enough had he:" 
 
 And though a girlish form he spied 
 
 Come tripping to the old man's side 
 
 And question pityingly, 
 
 The door was shut, and hungry, full of pain, 
 
 He turned away 'mid sheets of blinding rain. 
 
 II 
 
 At golden noon he rode in pride; 
 The village throng was at his side — 
 His white plume nodding free: 
 "This is the hero," all men said, 
 ''Who hath our arms to victory led ; 
 Receive him gallantly! 
 He comes to wed the sweet rose of our vale, 
 The fairest flower of spring in all the dale!" 
 
 His spurs were bright ; his charger light, 
 Resilient steps took up the white, 
 
 Broad pathway lined with bloom. 
 An old man met him at the door — 
 "Pardon," he said, "that once before 
 I would not give you room." 
 The hero said : "Locks as yon cloud so white 
 Are yours, Sire ; reck no past ; my heart is right." 
 
Rivulets of Song 
 
 "My daughter in the rose-bower waits," 
 The old man said. "This stir she hates : 
 
 She is a modest lass." 
 Thither the youth the greensward trod; 
 The poppies smile, the dahlias nod 
 To see him gaily pass. 
 Blue sky, fair day ; but bluer eyes he found, 
 And fairer form his arms in love clasp round. 
 
 O WORLD 
 
 Since thou didst tremble from the mist 
 
 Of chaos unto cosmic law 
 
 How many a hoary age has kissed 
 
 Thy brow farewell? Since thou didst draw 
 
 Thy golden round from nothing's well 
 
 By crux of alchemy sublime 
 
 How often in the silence fell 
 
 Aeonian beats of rhythmic Time? 
 
 O world, thy brow is old. 
 
 Rapt in the cycle of thy flight, 
 Far field of an ethereal race. 
 Thou, ocean, land, and day, and night 
 Still in the plunge bearest on thy face. 
 But steady through revolving years. 
 Not as it seems, thy course is run; 
 Companion of harmonious spheres, 
 Thy task is set, thy task is done. 
 O world, thy field is wide. 
 
 Thy cloudy peaks in grandeur leap 
 To the full stream of silver light; 
 
Rivulets of Song 
 
 Thy rivers thread the hills that steep 
 Their garments green and glimmer bright 
 With shower ambrosial, brake and bloom, 
 And fragrant mead ; and limpid song 
 And streaming odor, gorgeous gloom 
 And crimson splendor float along. 
 O world, thou art so fair. 
 
 O world, I see a miracle 
 
 In every quick when thrilling spring 
 
 Is budding, blooming, and the full 
 
 High-tide is rippling breeze and wing; 
 
 And I am singing with the song 
 
 Of crescent fall and murmuring tree, 
 
 Moved, like the million-natured throng, 
 
 To utter youthful fantasy. 
 
 world, thy heart is young. 
 
 Thy days are many, mine are brief, 
 Too brief to ask why thou art made. 
 
 1 catch my breath and summer's sheaf 
 No riper meets the glittering blade. 
 While some are old in endless quest. 
 The "why" and "wherefore" fain to give. 
 The voices of thy mighty breast 
 
 Speak, only whispering, "Thou must live!" 
 O world, I ask not why. 
 
 My arm is puny, thine so great ; 
 Thy moulding power hath marvels made 
 In sleeping form, or animate, 
 Evolving from thy prescient shade 
 Monster and pigmy, sense and soul, 
 Since thy divine nativity: 
 
Rivulets of Song 
 
 But one great force that shapes the Whole 
 Made both, holds both in sympathy. 
 O world, I love thee well. 
 
 O waft me with thee till I sleep, 
 World, in a hollow of thy hills. 
 Calm in the shade where roses keep 
 Their fragrant bloom, and sing the rills, 
 And skies are bright with sunny bars — 
 Except the thrilling trumpet shake 
 Celestial music to the stars, 
 And, trembling, thou dost me awake — * 
 O world, I shall sleep sound. 
 
 KENTUCKY 
 
 To her clothed in deep woods and pastures fair 
 
 Man came and broke the glebe ; and speedily 
 
 Arose earth's loveliest homes; she banished care 
 
 Mid opulence ; gave hospitality 
 
 Her regal seat. She poured into the ear 
 
 From glade and gloom sweet song, and flowers 
 
 bore 
 To please until her craft should grow and rear 
 Wealth's more voluptuous fabric, pleasing more. 
 Rich her champaigns ; but not alone her pride. 
 For, since her blood is pure, her female grace 
 Unrivalled, her sons hate of smirch and grime 
 Swift as her peerless steeds ; since side by side 
 Her sons take counsel with the great, her place 
 And fame still crescent, still she waits her prime. 
 
Rivulets of Song 
 
 A STORM 
 
 Hist! the wind is wilder moaning, 
 And the shaggy woods are groaning. 
 Groaning while the air is heavy 
 With the threat of coming storm; 
 Wraiths a-wailing throng a bevy ; 
 Sun beclouded, day is shrouded; 
 And appalling blackness falling 
 Bathes in ink each earthward form. 
 
 Helter skelter into shelter, 
 Women, children, herds are flocking, 
 For each larger bolt is shocking 
 Trembling earth to deeper strain 
 Till the skyward pile is rocking ; 
 And the earth is interceding 
 For her unthought wrong is pleading 
 And the sky frowns fierce disdain. 
 
 Lucifer his lurid fountains 
 Opens on the beetling mountains. 
 Splits with bolts their face of iron. 
 Nets the heavens with forked flame. 
 Louder echoing up the valley 
 Spurs the challenge, shouts the rally 
 Of the sky with earth contending, 
 Pouring forth abuse and blame. 
 
 Gilded dome and turret reeling 
 
 To the diapason pealing 
 
 Of the growing clamor flowing 
 
 Over city, over wild — 
 
 Gust and whirl and crash and eddy— 
 
Rivulets of Song 
 
 Till the brain distraught, unsteady 
 Shrinks, recoiling from the demon. 
 Demon, yet creation's child. 
 
 Rain is pouring, torrents roaring ; 
 Through unheard-of channels forging 
 Rivers deep their maws ingorging. 
 Sweep the slopes of all their kind: 
 Forest oak and garden flower. 
 Beast and burden, scythe and mower, 
 Wren and pheasant, house and peasant 
 Mingle in the tumult blind. 
 
 Wonders built in nature's fashion 
 And the work of mortal passion 
 Seaward hurling in the swirling 
 Are like fragile paper curled ; 
 And the raging and confusion 
 Waken mart from the delusion 
 That such hate in dire effusion 
 Would no more afflict the world. 
 
 Ocean billows shoreward rolling, 
 Tossing, foaming, past controlling 
 Shout to churning winds a-shrieking, 
 Torn by jagged rocks to pain; 
 Waters the bold ships are filling — 
 Oh! how weak is human willing 
 When the spiteful heaven is spilling 
 Wrath upon the rocky main. 
 
 Still the sky in madness howling. 
 Fighting, hissing, snarling, growling, 
 Hellish raving, fierce behaving. 
 
lo Rivulets of Song 
 
 Striking earthward clang on clang, 
 Grows in choler, mightier swelling, 
 Till it seems beyond all quelling, 
 Till the punished earth is yelling, 
 Writhing in her bitterest pang. 
 
 Then the sky's grim satisfaction 
 Won at last by earth's distraction, 
 Dire and awful, clouds are rifted, 
 And the sun looks on the main ; 
 Far the frowning clouds are drifted, 
 And upon the heels of riot 
 Follows heavenly peace and quiet, 
 Brooding o'er the earth again. 
 
 DAWN 
 
 The first grey trembles up the eastern sky ; 
 In dusk the doubtful outlines of the hills 
 Appear ; and, spectral hosts that turn and fly 
 Affrighted, through the trees and o'er the rills 
 The shadows sweep; the kine un fearing lie 
 Couched in deep sward ; a dawn-begotten breath 
 Sucks up the still-shed perfume, wafts it by, 
 Rocking but scarce the elms, and faints to death. 
 Bright grows the east; then crimson showers 
 
 fast 
 Of roses fall, preparing the sun's path; 
 The tall oaks kiss him welcome from the brows 
 Of highest knolls as up he springs at last 
 With that same smile, whose golden virtue hath 
 Blest for these years his nature-plighted vows. 
 
Rivulets of Song ii 
 
 ON THE RIVER 
 
 A moon and starlight ; a light skiff, and eyes 
 
 Love-lit to beam on me; soft, gentle stirs 
 
 Of night's hushed winds; a plaintive sound, the 
 
 bleat 
 Of wakeful ewes; a distant watchdog's bark; 
 A drifting dreamily adown the stream 
 Through summer hills and forms of shadowy 
 
 trees ; 
 The beauty of the night; a woman's face 
 In night's sweet mystery, love-glorified: 
 And all is silent save my beating heart. 
 
 THE STORM-GOD'S LEER 
 
 O blistering sun, contented let your eye 
 Be sightless for awhile! His sounding lyre 
 The storm-god sweeps and with his hands of 
 
 fire 
 Awakes a tumult in the sundered sky. 
 Sand-clouds and clouds of mist dark-bosomed 
 
 fly 
 Before the shrieking wind, whose raging dire 
 Thrashes the earth with rain till mud and mire 
 Choke in the desert's throat its thirsting cry. 
 'Tis rage ill-spent where never mortal pang, 
 Or thirst of beast, bird, plant, or seed is slaked, 
 O storm-god wild! But dost thou leer and 
 
 throw 
 One more hot brand, strike one more mighty 
 
 clang — 
 
12 Rivulets of Song 
 
 And dost thou say, "Thus oft have mortals 
 
 waked 
 Dire rage for nought"? — And I must say, "Yes, 
 
 so." 
 
 THE PASSING EVE 
 
 I hear a far-off bell, a drowsy clang 
 
 That tells the kme half-sleep in pastures green; 
 
 The cricket chirps beneath a moss-grown root ; 
 
 The still bird's twitter, and the lone owl's croak 
 
 Is softened ev'n to gentle echoes. Noise 
 
 Of day has ebbed, a far-retreating tide. 
 
 And left the landscape to soft sounds and me — 
 
 To watch the moonlight's fairy silver rim 
 
 Night-wandering clouds, till deepest peace has 
 
 filled 
 The world of field and forest, rocks and hills, 
 Of man and beast, and slumber locks the might 
 Of erstwhile active forces of tense day. 
 Such, O my soul, shall not thy passing be? 
 After the conflict, calm and dim-lit eve 
 Of low, sweet peace, and then, a restful sleep. 
 
 VICTIMS 
 
 The quarry screams, for cruel talons pierce 
 
 Sharp as a needle its soft flesh; the beak 
 
 Of the destroyer tears its vitals ; fierce 
 
 Keen maw, content with blood alone; his eyes 
 
 bespeak 
 Callous indifference; bead-like they shine 
 
Rivulets of Song 13 
 
 In the bright sun ; to strike, and life to draw 
 From the weak partridge is a feast divine: 
 This is the ravin hawk; he knows no law. 
 
 The poor man cries ; his lacerated breast 
 Crushed 'neath an iron heel ; his blood is drained 
 By leeches which the hand of wrongful quest 
 Draws from the pool of license ; if so pained 
 He struggles, the imprisoning giant's hold 
 Is tighter gripped, and with a hoarse guffaw 
 He beats his victim's head with sacks of gold. 
 And this is Greed, who knows, but heeds not law. 
 
 THE KING AND THE ROSE 
 
 A monarch saw a golden rose 
 Stand in a vase of silver ring: 
 "How far more fair thy glory blows 
 Than mine," he said, "though much a king; 
 But here we are alike — my crown, thy gold 
 Both perish soon with all of earthly mould." 
 
 "How care-free is thy happy smile ; 
 God make me pure and bright as thou : 
 O, that we kings knew less of guile 
 And more in honor's shrine would bow !" 
 And the meek rose shed forth its perfume rare. 
 Like an attendant incense to his prayer. 
 
 The king, the rose long years have gone : 
 But still abideth sympathy; 
 And thence we see spring many a dawn 
 Of soul-infused nobility. 
 
14 Rivulets of Song 
 
 For nought inspires as does its tender name, 
 A gentle oil poured on the spirit's flame. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP 
 
 I saw a youth deep-browed, deep-souled and 
 calm, 
 
 Who smote a river with strong, vigorous 
 strokes 
 
 And sped far onward toward a mighty sea. 
 
 His eyes bespoke a purpose fixed and bold. 
 
 And bright his boat leapt gold on rippling silver. 
 
 He passed an isle girt round with pleasant 
 groves. 
 
 Which bare ripe, wholesome fruits. There dart- 
 ing fountains, 
 
 Drenched, fragrance-laden zephyrs and great 
 palms 
 
 With fronded solace cooled the fiercest sun; 
 
 And sheltering crags out-braved the wildest 
 storm. 
 
 Out from the woods there piped a clear, sweet 
 
 call. 
 Bell-like and bird-like, pleasant as a dream; 
 And looki'^g, I beheld a lovely form, 
 Noble, maic.-.tic, of a mien most kind, 
 Inviting him to stay. 
 
 The youth passed by 
 With earnest gaze fixed on a distant star. 
 Somewhere above the sea, half -hid in mist, 
 That wound a sinuous wreath about the beams 
 
Rivulets of Song 15 
 
 And then unwound, in curious power to charm 
 ReveaHng and obscuring the bright light. 
 
 "Stay," cried the voice, "and I will teach and 
 
 guide. 
 You cannot reach the glorious light alone." 
 Enrapt the heedless voyager passed on. 
 A strange, deep sadness welled up in my heart 
 And rose with the sad moaning of the sea. 
 
 I watched the youth, and, peering down his 
 
 wake 
 Most eagerly, I saw a trail of mist 
 Enshroud his manly form. Full suddenly 
 I heard a shriek, and lo! the clouds uplifted 
 One moment, and the wreck of the bold craft 
 Sank by a rock, while I beheld the youth 
 Fight strongly in the waves, then sink and 
 
 drown. 
 
 Then said the voice in low, deep tones of pain, 
 
 "Alas, for those who scorn my happy isle 
 
 And its deep peace. Thus noblest souls will 
 
 drown. 
 But, resting here, a wisdom and a strength 
 Are gained to face the reefs and mighty sea. 
 That without fail the voyager speeds on." 
 
 A RESOLUTION 
 
 Let us who know the priceless worth of life 
 So live that when white lilies on our tomb 
 Garland but memory of earthly life, 
 
i6 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Men will weep forth the jewelled rain of sorrow 
 That we are gone, and only comfort take 
 That they can say in truth we lived as men. 
 And when all souls converge to that last goal 
 As argosies to their own ports return 
 From their long wandering in far-off seas, 
 Be it our lot to cast down at the feet 
 Of our great merchant-prince the fragrant bales 
 Of spices, and all precious gems and ores, 
 As grateful riches of a well-spent Ufe, 
 
 A FOREST FIRE 
 
 Around me only desert. Near me lie 
 The faithful shepherd dogs. Close in the fold 
 Lie all the weary sheep as once they lay 
 On far Judea's plains. No angel now 
 Comes with a startling message and the glow 
 Of sudden, supernatural light. But far 
 The eastward clouds are hanging sheets of red 
 Where the vast fire feeds on primeval woods. 
 And, though itself unseen, lights up the sky 
 And turns the night's deep dark to billowy crim- 
 son, 
 Far rolling an inverted molten sea. 
 Here all is still ; no hiss of flames or rush 
 Of eddying torrents, ashes, flame and smoke, 
 Nor groan of forest-monarch falling, nor 
 The cry of hapless bird or beast o'ertaken. 
 Breathless the silence ; not a single voice 
 To cheer me; no one near of humankind. 
 
Rivulets of Song VJ 
 
 THANKSGIVING 
 
 This day is fair that puts a summer bloom 
 Where soon a crown of pure white snow will 
 
 rest 
 Upon the brows of sobered earth. It gladdens 
 The inmost spirit with a bath of sun 
 Fresh, warm, delightful, though the branches 
 
 bare 
 Save for the scant dead leaves that still cling 
 
 fast, 
 Erstwhile bright green, now deepest brown, de- 
 clare 
 The season late. I see the morning frost 
 Vanish into the air and seem to add 
 Beauty to heaven's sapphire. As the hours 
 Broaden and shine with more effulgent light 
 Riders and various vehicles appear 
 And round the hills which skirt the valley pour 
 To the still country shrine. Through narrow 
 
 roads 
 From humble homes perched on the mountain 
 
 slopes. 
 From nooks and corners of the vales they come; 
 Aged, with silver hair ; the laughing faces 
 Of youthful, vigorous, country maids and men 
 Careful each for the other ; mothers, babes 
 Borne on their tender arms ; and men with brows 
 That bend to a paternal, duteous load. 
 When in the quiet church, their voices hushed 
 After much cheery greeting, they await 
 The morning's worship. Soon their voices 
 
 blend 
 In lofty hymns and sweet incense of prayer 
 
i8 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Wafts to the throne upon the earnest plea 
 Of the young minister, whose gifted voice 
 Falls on the ear in liquid cadences 
 Partly of native worth and part of peace 
 And harmony of soul. Then words of cheer 
 And comfort follow. Reverent worship o'er, 
 A joyful stream bursts from the staid, old 
 
 church 
 And gay hearts open founts of mirth and jests 
 Are passed around ; warm invitations given 
 Are favored or refused. The first to go, 
 A pair of lovers, mount their horses, bent 
 On being quite alone. And one by one 
 With much leave-taking and regret all turn 
 Their homeward way and in the trees and hills 
 Soon pass from sight. 
 Yet gladness does not cease. 
 Fragrance arises from the mould and field and 
 
 flood, 
 The sky and hills unite in one glad song 
 Of true thanksgiving. Even the leafless trees 
 Are glad that rigorous winter comes not yet 
 To freeze their sap and chill them to the core. 
 High on a precipice of rock there stands 
 A solitary cedar, dressed in green. 
 The light breeze stirs it and it seems to sing 
 This simple song : "Creator, God, to thee 
 Thanks, thanks for sunshine, rain, wind, frost 
 
 and snow — 
 Good gifts to please and hardship yielding 
 
 strength. 
 Thanks for the glorious seasons, but, o'er all 
 For this perennial greenness which I bear, 
 That, though not fairest, yet becomes to man 
 
Rivulets of Song 19 
 
 A symbol of the soul's Immortal flame. 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, again, agam I sing 
 For life, for joy; 'tis my delight to join 
 This praise to human voices and to swell 
 The heaven-aspiring peans of the day/' 
 
 THE LAKE 
 
 Above, the mountain's rim soft-showered in light 
 Of mystery poured earthwards by the moon, 
 Hanging bestreaked with floating vapor grey, 
 That floods with streaming silver where the beam 
 Of night comes glimmering through. Below, 
 
 the shore 
 Dipped gently in the lake, that pulses slow 
 To a night-roamer's languid-moving beat 
 Of noiseless oar. Lo, the boat gliding past ! 
 A fairy form whose rhythmic movement flows 
 To the red light aglow on yonder cape 
 Thrust in the peaceful water. Dim-lit trees 
 Of phantom shape around the cottage stand 
 And gossip to night's breeze : "Her lover comes ! 
 He slackens pace, for fear he comes too soon 
 On the appointed hour." Now at a knock 
 The door flies open, and the happy sound 
 Of rippling laughter upward borne to me 
 Fills me with ecstacy, for I am glad 
 That to its heart the silvery tone rings true. 
 Now he sits down enrapt of maiden eyes 
 And bound by subtle glances, while to sky 
 Of mellow splendor and to sleeping earth 
 I turn and dream my dream's imagining 
 To fufl content, heart-satisfied to be 
 In love with nature and a scene like this. 
 
20 Rivulets of Song 
 
 A TRAMP'S REST 
 
 Fair evening has kissed farewell and flown : 
 Her golden hair streams far. In the still air 
 Twilight descends. Home come the lowing kine, 
 And drowsily they ford the clear, smooth stream : 
 Pausing awhile they lave their knees and drink. 
 Then down the green bank to the patient herd 
 The milkman goes ; he pipes his mellow call. 
 And blinking beasts respond. A butterfly 
 Flits wearied past, bright flowers and scenes 
 
 forgot. 
 The pool beneath the willow-tree is passed ; 
 Then in the trim-kept garden hovering 
 Few moments, 'neath the cottage, by the wall, 
 It seeks a twig of fragrant heliotrope, 
 And goes to rest. The last long, golden shafts 
 Of sunset strike its brilliant, folding wings. 
 And sleep swims o'er it in a deep, sweet bath 
 Of rich perfume. 
 
 Thus I, a tramp would rest. 
 When night, black-browed, ascends the yielding 
 
 east: 
 Thick leaves my bower; the moon my glowing 
 
 lamp ; 
 My breath of fragrance mixed with falling dew; 
 The stars my watchers, and night's balmy air 
 Weaving soft slumber's spell of happy dreams; 
 Protected, soothed, refreshed, I would recline 
 In full content, the envy of all kings. 
 
Rivulets of Song 21 
 
 SUNSET 
 
 The evening breeze is blowing cool 
 Beneath the stirring maple trees ; 
 It fans my brow and smites the pool ; 
 It seems to whisper fantasies 
 Of peaceful hours imagining, 
 Of many a gay and pleasant thing. 
 
 The flitting bird is homeward bound. 
 And chirps a plaintive vesper hymn ; 
 His song seems of a sweeter sound, 
 And richer glory rests on him 
 Than on the chief of surpliced choir. 
 Who sings the strains of mortal fire. 
 
 This bower of leaves is grander roof 
 
 Than ever towered castle bore ; 
 
 This green, deep grass supplies me proof 
 
 No richer carpet hides the floor 
 
 In palaces of rich and great. 
 
 Where pomp holds her most splendid state. 
 
 This brook that wanders offers clear 
 
 A sparkling drink more sweet than wine 
 
 Matured in vats a hundred year, 
 
 And by a monarch called divine. 
 
 And in the apple-orchard nigh 
 
 A bounty unsurpassed I spy. 
 
 The homeward-going harvester 
 Is singing merrily a song 
 Of love; the harvest great, no care 
 Rests on him ; proud he walks along. 
 
212 Rivulets of Song 
 
 And like a king in arms of gold. 
 The sunset rays his form enfold. 
 
 I know that thus I do not dream, 
 
 Nor is my fancy wanton free, 
 
 Sweet evening breath, for sunset's beam 
 
 Has glorified reality: 
 
 And there is nothing else more real 
 
 Than these poetic joys I feel. 
 
 THE MILLSTREAM 
 
 The mill-stream drones and murmurs all day long 
 And in the night swells loud. It leaps the shelf 
 Of broken rocks, and tumbles in cascades 
 Past the old-fashioned mill, a tireless stream! 
 How like this busy onward-rushing life, 
 Which doth compel us ever to some goal — 
 We know not where. For we are bound to move 
 In those same channels which by time and fate 
 Are made our own, oft wondering what law 
 Draws irresistibly, what purposes 
 Are thus fulfilled ; yet well content to run 
 Life's course, if thus the mills of God go round. 
 
 A MORNING HYMN 
 
 The pulsing world is now awake, 
 And motion sweeps it like a tide ; 
 The light is quivering o'er the lake, 
 And day comes on with giant stride. 
 The feathered songsters dash the dew 
 
 
Rivulets of Song 23 
 
 From yielding twigs and chirp their songs ; 
 
 The barn-yard sounds with great ado ; 
 
 The hungry dog asserts his wrongs. 
 
 Fieldward the farmer drives his team, 
 
 Where green the growing corn-rows stand: 
 
 The kine are going in a stream 
 
 To rich, deep-swarded meadow-land. 
 
 The brook is calling, calling me 
 
 To also shake off sloth and rise, 
 
 Joining, whate'er my task may be. 
 
 The progress of the earth and skies — 
 
 O, Power of the Life that thrills 
 
 Mighty through all the universe, 
 
 A draught of thy inspiring rills 
 
 In bounty unto me disperse! 
 
 EVENING 
 
 The spell of evening is peace ; 
 Its oft-returning earth hath blest. 
 The sun is dead and labors cease ; 
 Idle the plough, the boat at rest. 
 
 The zephyrs breathe not ; fall the dews ; 
 The starlets glow; the daisies sleep; 
 And odors in the air diffuse 
 And all the sense in richness steep. 
 
 Day-piping birds no longer sing 
 Their carols in the leafy glade; 
 For all the world with folded wings 
 Is nestling in night's lap of shade. 
 
24 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Then Heart, O Heart, I turn to thee; 
 Thou hast a sweeter, fuller calm ; 
 For love is deepest peace to me. 
 Love that is mine, love that is balm. 
 
 AMONG THE FLOWERS 
 
 I wandered when the summer air 
 
 Was also idling in the trees; 
 The eyes of nature everywhere. 
 
 The flowers, were nodding in the breeze. 
 The light notes of the thrush's song. 
 Like my thoughts, were a merry throng. 
 
 Among the green and gold arose 
 A slender form, a maiden fair, 
 
 Far sweeter than the crimson rose 
 She wore amid her soft, brown hair. 
 
 And, like the magpie's swelling song. 
 
 New thoughts awoke and surged along. 
 
 THE OLD GARDEN 
 
 The dear old garden soothed me 
 In those sweet, anxious, courting days : 
 To see the leaves hang flutteringly 
 And careless stilled my deepest care; 
 The sun shot his inspiring rays 
 All round and through me till I felt 
 The longest wooing I could bear — 
 At last your heart would melt I 
 
Rivulets of Song 25 
 
 The peach, the pear, the nectarine 
 Hung temptingly and fair, 
 But I, who loved a fairer queen, 
 No fragrant smell or taste they bore, 
 Ripe in the happy summer air, 
 Could relish, but there followed pain, 
 A deep, sweet longing more and more 
 To see your face again. 
 
 The melancholy yew-tree stood 
 A little further from the hall; 
 It matched my spirit, but a flood 
 Of sun would sometimes smite my face 
 When over me its shade would crawl 
 As I lay on the soft, green grass 
 And thought a likeness I could trace 
 To hours I yet must pass 
 
 Dark, but half-light; and rising thence 
 I passed to the still-sleeping pond. 
 And watched beside the garden fence 
 The merry dace frisk in and out. 
 And the great, sulky pike, as fond 
 Of mocking them, hang halfway down; 
 And glad was I my world about 
 Though sad was roomier ground. 
 
 And all in all those restful scenes 
 Sent more of quiet to my breast; 
 And now my memory often gleans 
 A cheering aftermath of thought. 
 Cheering because at last you blest 
 My heart with love; and all the harm 
 My spirit suffered now is wrought 
 To an enduring charm ! 
 
26 Rivulets of Song 
 
 HIS MOTHER'S LOVE 
 
 He roamed and learned and nobler grew ; 
 In power wisdom held his hand ; 
 And every joyous pleasure drew 
 Its best wine forth at his command. 
 
 The world of splendor glowed and flamed, 
 Nor spared her golden luxury 
 Before his ravished eyes that claimed 
 Communion with her subtlety. 
 
 His life was fair as tropic bloom 
 That glows between the sea and palm : 
 Yet ever some great want, some gloom 
 Troubled his breast and sought for balm. 
 
 Then, lo ! he turned and saw the rose 
 Climb o'er his boyhood's cot once more 
 In eve's still hour, when gentler flows 
 The dove's soft music round its door. 
 
 His mother's tears were on his cheek ; 
 Her silver locks upon it fell ; 
 And through the love she could not speak 
 Peace in his heart first wove her spell. 
 
 A WINTER EVENING 
 
 The shades are pierced by one lone beam 
 Aglimmer from yon deep-browed hill ; 
 Above grey bars the heaven fill, 
 And watery moonbeams faintly gleam. 
 
Rivulets of Song 27 
 
 The whining winter winds assail, 
 The door and window rattling loud ; 
 And night is prone to lay a shroud 
 Of white on Hfeless hill and dale. 
 
 Weird chill, your cold hand on my heart 
 Would drive me to unhappy thought, 
 Awaking recollection fraught 
 With sorrow, failure— life's sad part. 
 
 But I will light a fire within, 
 The flame of pure and holy love; 
 And memory, ministering dove, 
 A gentle reign of peace begm. 
 
 She wafts me over ocean's wave 
 And coral isle and palmy grove 
 To that dear land, where joyous strove 
 My youthful breast with spirit brave. 
 
 Her golden skies I see ; the breeze 
 Is tremulous in the leafy vine ; 
 And far-off lowings of the kine 
 Come mellow over flowery leas. 
 
 I hear the lusty, ringing stroke 
 Of woodmen in the forest fall ; 
 I hear the shepherd's whistle call 
 Back to the flock the sheep that broke 
 
 And frightened ran ; the hungry plough 
 Bites in the virgin soil ; the team 
 Is stalwart from the rising beam 
 To falling light; and many a bough 
 
28 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Is shedding perfume, and fair blooms 
 All colors shine; and blithe the bird 
 Is by its inborn spirit stirred 
 To chaunt afield or in the glooms. 
 
 Beneath the splendors of the sky, 
 Red dawn, white noon, and crimson eve, 
 With all the radiant hues that weave 
 In heaven's tented roof on high, 
 
 One spot of all most sacred lies; 
 It is my home, my far, loved home ; 
 And dear, however I may roam. 
 The hearts which love that never dies 
 
 Turn oft to me when winter's wind 
 Is howling wild. O memory. 
 Though night be cold, such joys in me 
 Glow, till my heart is warm and kind ; 
 
 Glow, while of that dear love I dream. 
 Which pierces through the world to me ; 
 Glow, while my hopes arise to be 
 More honor to them than I seem. 
 
 TO DIXIE 
 
 Sweet Kentucky rose, unfolding 
 Near the foot of life's fair hill. 
 Brightly in the sunshine glowing, 
 Sparkling like a sun-kissed rill. 
 To the gazing eye thou sayest, 
 "Beauty is unfettered still." 
 
Rivulets of Song 129 
 
 If thou think'st for aye a-blooming 
 Here to dwell in freedom's pride, 
 May my hand the shade encroaching 
 Have the right to brush aside. 
 But thou art a flower too lovely 
 Never to be made a bride ; 
 
 And if ever thou dost yielding 
 Grace the garden of some heart, 
 Happy were that garden's owner 
 There to shield thee with best art. 
 While thy face and spoken music 
 Sweetest thrillings through him start. 
 
 TO A ROSE 
 
 O crimson, fragrant rose, the sweetest thought 
 You bring me; fresh as youth, of youth you stir 
 Remembrance ; bold as manhood, I am taught 
 The pride of its possession. Thorns that were 
 As sharp as yours have stung; and soft dew- 
 tears 
 Have filled my sorrow-cup for me ; and green 
 Hope also, as your folding leaf, these years 
 Matured my budding purpose. — But your sheen 
 Is gone to-morrow ! Therefore time of death 
 And beauty's grave cloud up my thoughts. But, 
 
 no! 
 They must not yet. Your lovely hue, sweet 
 
 breath 
 And smile teach me to chase dour grief away. 
 And seeking that loved rose, your rival, go 
 With her to cull the best from life's glad day. 
 
30 Rivulets of Song 
 
 HER WEDDING DAY 
 
 This is her happy wedding day, 
 And she a bride must hie away. 
 O blessings on her heart of snow, 
 White as these feathery flakes below ! 
 
 Ring, bells, across the world of white; 
 
 Ring, for a joyous bride ; 
 Ring, for a groom with future bright; 
 
 Ring once for we who bide 
 Bereft of a sweet friend — the less 
 May we regret our loneliness ! 
 
 O ring ! and ever ringing so 
 
 May life be one sweet chime — 
 Clasp once their hands and let them go — 
 
 This is the parting time ! 
 Strew them with flowers, and give them cheer ; 
 Check that heart-sigh, and shed no tear. 
 
 O wish them well, O wish them well ! 
 
 Heart unto heart in tune, 
 May love forever, ever spell 
 
 The merry moods of June; 
 And sunshine sparkle on their days, 
 And gladness sing unbroken lays. 
 
 IN THE GROVE 
 
 No breath of air stirred in the listening grove; 
 The doves forgot to coo ; and hushed and low 
 The pert grasshopper calmed his shrilling chirp 
 
Rivulets of Song 31 
 
 The leaves ne'er rustled ; by the reedy pool 
 
 The bold frog ceased to croak, nor snapped the 
 
 fly 
 Upon the crystal surface ; and the flow 
 Of mellow glory filled the evening sky 
 And sank beneath the earth in waters clear. 
 And lo ! To one more fair than all besides 
 A lover stood and told his earliest love ! 
 
 UNREST 
 
 The day has crushed his goblet of red wine 
 
 From earth's ripe grapes and laid himself to rest 
 
 In dim Hesperian shadows, while the night, 
 
 In sable mantle sprent with silver jewels, 
 
 Hastens to flood the world in lotus sleep. 
 
 Fair, festive dreams succeed the scenes of light 
 
 For balm-wrapped souls. I, in the tardy hours. 
 
 In wakeful solitude, tempt weariness 
 
 To waste the vital, mounting strength in me 
 
 To dissipation. Long the wistful stars 
 
 Shine on my pillow, but I heed them not. 
 
 For legions of most sweet and troubled thoughts 
 
 Turn me from rest, and only turn to thee ! 
 
 CONFESSION 
 
 The glow, and the glance, and the glamour, 
 That lurk in your beautiful eyes, 
 
 Have taken my heart in its boasting — » 
 And vainly their magic it flies! 
 
 So now I am kneeling and praying—* 
 
32 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Your bondsman — Oh, call me your own ! 
 For the joy of my life will be ever 
 ,To love you and serve you alone I 
 
 FAINT DISPLEASURE 
 
 As darkling down the willow-brink 
 A zephyr puffs the ripples by, 
 So have I seen a shadow twink 
 Sometime across your liquid eye. 
 
 As quick as thought that thought was gone ; 
 And it seemed beauty human- fair 
 That your good humor scarcely shone 
 With an unbroken tenor there. 
 
 GRIEVING FOR DAY 
 
 The cerements of dying day are drawn 
 
 In crimson and ethereal splendors close 
 
 To end the mystic story of the day. 
 
 The moon her solemn taper slowly burns ; 
 
 The soft dew in the hush of sorrow weeps 
 
 The grief of forest and of hills, that stand 
 
 As silent mourners in their garments drab, 
 
 And watch the bier of night bear off their dead. 
 
 Nor will they rouse until, in lighter mood, 
 
 The birds and breezes greet new-breaking morn. 
 
 And wean them from their morbid heaviness. 
 
 So a new morn of love will cheering rise 
 
 To lure the gnawing sorrow from your heart. 
 
Rivulets of Song 33 
 
 LOVE'S UNWISDOM 
 
 Only beauty softly shining 
 In her face and in her eyes, 
 How can love, the purer, stronger. 
 In your doting heart arise? 
 
 Wed her not ! Her bloom must wither ; 
 Gray will streak her raven hair: 
 Curb your blind, untutored passion; 
 Wisely turn it otherwhere. 
 
 There's superior, rarer beauty. 
 Light of soul and virtue's grace; 
 'Twill illumine any feature. 
 Make a chaste and lovely face. 
 
 There's a maiden, modest, comely, 
 Comely in her spirit's power. 
 Loves you dearly : turn and woo her ; 
 'Twere your fortune's golden hour ! 
 
 Then when youth in age dissolveth, 
 And your blood is dried and cold, 
 Still to love all unabating 
 Will your heart serenely hold. 
 
 A PICTURE 
 
 A sweet, demure, rose-colored face; 
 A youthful heart, yet cold, so cold; 
 A hly throat in ruffled lace; 
 A hand 'neath chin of peerless mould; 
 
34 Rivulets of Song 
 
 She rests her soft, brown eyes on a love-letter's 
 folds. 
 
 What will she do? Refuse? We know. 
 
 Heartless, one more she will o'erthrow. 
 For not a spark of love her pearly bosom holds. 
 
 THE BREAKERS 
 
 Boom, boom. 
 
 Sing the breakers of the sea; 
 
 Gloom, saddest gloom 
 
 Oppresses me. 
 
 For O ! the ocean took my love from me. 
 
 Blow, blow him homeward, fair wind, cheerily! 
 
 Room, room, 
 
 Have I left for none but him; 
 Bloom, sweetly bloom 
 Heart-flowers for him. 
 
 That keep forever green ; and love's-lamp trim 
 Shines ever o'er the wave, its fond light never 
 dim. 
 
 RE-ORIENT LOVE 
 
 Dead — love was dead — or seemed so; heavy 
 
 hours 
 From Hesper unto Phosphor gloomed her heart 
 In deeper shade than night ; and brightest art 
 Of day from Phosphor unto Hesper flowers 
 Of pleasure offered vainly; such the powers 
 The icy chill of winter did impart. 
 
Rivulets of Song 35 
 
 It came because his eyes withheld the dart 
 
 Of flame that warmed Hke sun from sky-blue 
 
 towers. 
 But, lo ! the wintry solstice must be turned. 
 His glance stole back and melting to the core 
 The freezing heart its green hopes waved above ; 
 Its fountains burst their bonds and, leaping, 
 
 yearned 
 To sparkle in his smile ; song woke once more — 
 New heavens, new earth, born of re-orient love! 
 
 SUNLIGHT 
 
 I love to sit where sunlight shines 
 White in the field or in the room 
 Where windows broad the pleasant lines 
 I read make bright ; for every gloom 
 
 Where this broad-gleaming flood goes far and 
 near 
 
 Is scattered on the earth or heavenly sphere. 
 
 It thrills me through ; new impulse deep 
 I drink into my blood with fair 
 Receiving from such vastness; leap 
 My thoughts unto the page that there 
 Is brighter ; and with vast minds, even with Grod 
 Communing, double glory smites this sod. 
 
 There's nothing base to him who tunes 
 His soul's great harp in harmony 
 With vaster things ; on low sand dunes 
 One may take stand who thus will key 
 Himself to music of the universe 
 And hear its deepest strains his soul traverse. 
 
36 Rivulets of Song 
 
 BITTER AND SWEET 
 
 He loved her in his golden youth ; 
 His silver age is calm; 
 His grief was deep, 
 But fell asleep, 
 And now his soul is balm. 
 For, lo ! he conquered, striving to forget 
 The bitterness, the sweet remembering yet. 
 
 SILVER BARS 
 
 Grey bars unhappy, doleful, filled the sky. 
 
 Then up the moon rose, iridescent white. 
 
 And silver shone the bars. 
 
 Thus was my mourning heart grey, doomed to lie 
 
 'Neath mists of sorrow till your face so bright 
 
 Smiled and all grief that mars 
 
 Was glorified ; and still the flooding beams 
 
 Of tender joy, that o'er my spirit gleams, 
 
 Make life outshine the stars ! 
 
 HEART-VIGIL 
 
 The river flows sleepily, dreamily down. 
 And singeth a lullaby to the old town : 
 
 The eyes of the dwellings are shut every one 
 And my love lies a-dreaming; the long day is, 
 done. 
 
 But the wings of my heart will not fold into 
 sleep ; 
 
Rivulets of Song 37 
 
 They fly to her window a vigil to keep : 
 How sweet is the vision ; how gently arise 
 
 Her bosom's soft heavings — all lovely she lies! 
 
 In the moonlight how tenderly love grows apace ! 
 But I dare not in thought ev'n her bosom em- 
 brace ; 
 For no vow is yet spoken, and thought can en- 
 dure 
 To ravish no love-kiss — her soul is so pure! 
 
 A LOVER'S THOUGHT AT DAWN 
 
 You bring to me, O rosy dawn. 
 The haloed vision of a face. 
 That, joy-encircled, holds in pawn 
 My all — so peerless is its grace. 
 
 And be it great, or none, or small 
 The love that she returns for mine, 
 I cannot help but be a thrall 
 And in a dungeon deep repine. 
 
 Her sweetest "yes" would set me free 
 And bring me to the sun again ; 
 Her "nay" would only banish me 
 To a dark cell of deeper pain. 
 
 THY VOICE 
 
 When all the strife of worldly ways 
 A roaring tumult round me plays. 
 
38 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Amid the clamor and the brawl, 
 Thy tender accents gently fall. 
 Sweet is thy voice to me ! 
 
 Through all the noise of stirring days — 
 Through all the din of springtime lays, 
 The mocking-bird's melodious song, 
 The robin's, thrush's — all their throng — 
 Sweet is thy voice to me ! 
 
 When happy, starry night appears 
 And all the music of the spheres 
 Around me rolls, I look above; 
 And mingling with their songs of love. 
 Sweet is thy voice to me ! 
 
 Oh ! let me ever, ever take 
 Thy hand in mine and travel make 
 With thee life's murmuring brook along; 
 Thy voice will glorify its song: 
 Sweet is thy voice to me! 
 
 A SUMMER DREAM 
 
 A summer dream passed over me again. 
 
 In quaint, old-fashioned boyhood's days 
 
 I was a mower. Lustily I swung 
 
 The swift, fell scythe. Birds sang to me; the 
 
 hum 
 Of homing bees rose on the soft-blown air, 
 That wandered wanton 'neath the blue-flecked 
 
 skies. 
 
Rivulets of Song 39 
 
 The warmth and sunshine and the dark-green 
 
 trees, 
 The music and the bounding health of youth, 
 Full in my veins, filled me with mirth and song, 
 And I burst forth and sang — my burden all 
 The good and beautiful, but mostly thee! 
 
 AN EVENING THOUGHT 
 
 I would that in this mellow hour of eve 
 The oldtime faith in fairies might be true, 
 And wishes for which oftentimes we grieve, 
 Might prosper over night by what they do. 
 Then would the rosy dawn in beauty rise 
 Upon your heart, no more inclined to rove ; 
 But, speaking unto me with truthful eyes, 
 Employ the language of immortal love! 
 
 TWO PEARLS 
 
 As the pearl-diver from the fleet 
 Dived deep in a most lucky sea. 
 
 So, in a vast humanity, 
 
 I plunged and found you, gem most sweet I 
 
 His pearl and he were forced to part; 
 
 And now for me you wear its sheen: 
 He lost — I doubly win, O queen. 
 
 For both gems lie upon my heart 1 
 
40 Rivulets of Song 
 
 BEAUTY MUST FADE 
 
 This queenly rosebud cleft its hood, 
 And far out-blushed the dawn's red light; 
 Its petals drank the cup of good 
 The dews distilled in starry night. 
 
 A ruder breath its modesty 
 Virgin, unripe, and youthful, shook; 
 And mantled with maturity 
 It gave the sun a braver look. 
 
 But scarce arrived at beauty's height 
 It straightway darkened to decline ; 
 And sickly age o'ercame it quite 
 Ere yet the stars again could shine. 
 
 Now its head bows — a broken stalk; 
 Its petals fall in twilight shade. 
 Alas ! 'tis thus by life's broad walk 
 Too soon must every beauty fade. 
 
 VIRTUE 
 Lily white to breathe no more 
 Sweetest perfume, freely shed; 
 In this gay vase, drooping sore, 
 Sapless, all thy bloom is dead. 
 
 Virtue thus her head will droop. 
 Maiden of the tender eyes, 
 If she ever yielding stoop 
 From her stainless, radiant skies. 
 
Rivulets of Song 41 
 
 THE VISION AND THE SHELL 
 
 Brown hair that flows her neck and shoulder 
 
 round 
 In lovelorn witchery; one small hand clasped 
 Upon her bosom where his head once lay — 
 But once — the night he said farewell and turned 
 To roam the restless deep. Her lips, unpressed 
 By love's caress since then, set plaintively 
 To inward thought, and mate with eyes that 
 
 dream, 
 Asleep to all things near ; for the seashell. 
 Held tightly to her ear, is wakening 
 The deep, full sound of foaming, moaning wa- 
 ters. 
 Borne with their murmur, visions come of isles 
 And mainlands far away, girt with a void 
 Of heaving water, that from palm to pine 
 The open highway lies. And a white sail 
 Flits on at break of dawn or falling eve. 
 By midnight moon or darkness, calm or storm 
 Brooding above ; and the firm hand that guides 
 Gave her that last caress. She thinks of him, 
 The ocean's danger, charm and mystery ; 
 And unvoiced prayer to the great God of Seas 
 Ever her love uplifts for his return. 
 
 MORNING AND EVENING 
 
 Morn and a well-trimmed bark bounds free ! 
 
 A soul is facing life's uncertain sea. 
 
 Whence dost thou come? and whither go, 
 O buoyant traveler of the seas? 
 
42 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Why speed so fast? — all winds but blow 
 Between unknown eternities? 
 
 Evening: a bulk all shattered, cordage rent: 
 A soul has sorrowed life's full complement! 
 What did it profit reckless winds since dawn 
 Vexed thee, till naught was left but these? 
 Whence hast thou come ? and whither gone, 
 O luckless traveler on Hfe's seas? 
 
 REPENTANT 
 
 A lonely garret and a lonelier man : 
 
 Fierce, sunken eyes, drawn face and fingers 
 
 clutched 
 In pain: dishevelled hair, and mouth that 
 
 twitched 
 With strong, deep feeHng, or, in turn, was firm. 
 Marks there of sin, great sin, that scar ! that look ! 
 That cowering head reveals the soul is torn 
 As are the loathsome rags upon his back. 
 A tempest raging, from the mists of years 
 Lo ! dark clouds gather, and his tears like rain, 
 Shower down; and bitter moanings wrack his 
 
 frame. 
 Repentant now, from shameless wreck of life, 
 Wasted, forlorn, he turns, in sorrow bowed, 
 At wakening of memories of home ! 
 
 A STREAM 
 A million scenes are mirrored on my breast; 
 
Rivulets of Song 43 
 
 I pass by them with limpid, hurried feet, 
 
 Going, forever going to the sea, 
 
 Flowing the straightened course of destmy 
 
 To that great goal, where many wanderers 
 
 meet — 
 That I may win its free, wild, glad unrest! 
 
 THE SILVER BOAT 
 
 Oh ! the moon is a beautiful, silver boat, 
 And sails on an ether sea ; 
 And the stars that toss up the silver spray 
 The rocks of that ocean must be! 
 
 How grand it would be, with the moonbeam oars, 
 In that boat, if you and I, 
 Like fairies, could weather the ether gales, 
 And travel the glittering sky! 
 
 THE CURATE TALKS 
 
 Only last winter, yes, the last, her rites 
 Of burial I said. This tomb invites 
 Your praises ; 'tis a grand pile, no pretence. 
 It mates the pride, splendor, munificence 
 (When it was pleasant) of her haughty lord. 
 You see the angel's glance is heavenward ; 
 Yet more I think she would have loved a spot 
 Near the old church, wild thyme, forget-me-not, 
 And roses o'er her. 
 
 Well, she left her home 
 A simple lily, and in strangeness clomb 
 
44 Rivulets of Song 
 
 The mistress' silken seat in the great hall. 
 Look how its turrets stand antique and tall ! — 
 Loved her? — She was most beautiful : her eyes, 
 Her lips, her skin, her grace ; these summer skies 
 No bluer ; and you never saw sunrise 
 Look rosier ; this marble's not more white 
 Though fine Carrara ; nor that swan more light 
 Or easy swims yon grass-rimmed pool. — Loved 
 
 her? 
 Her beauty well, but not her ways, good sir. 
 He harshly, brutally opposed her will. 
 Which, being meek, submitted. She clung still 
 Through years to simple innocence, a vine 
 Climbing a humble porch. To her life's wine 
 Was the free air, the beast and bird. She fed 
 Her milk-white pony from her hand ; and led 
 The brindle into pasture, and would call 
 Her home at even. She cared, no, not at all 
 For gold-fringed revels that at his command 
 Her lord whirled through his hall. Yet she was 
 
 gay 
 And merry, doing good ; my head is gray 
 Yet my old eyes have never seen a heart 
 Long after humble joys as she, nor part 
 With them as sad. Rather her lily hand 
 Would bless the poor than clasp a mate to glide 
 Through stately measures of the dance beside 
 A gallant, sorting praises to her ear — 
 Too pure to be defiled ! And many a year 
 Would burdened age forget to hear her songs, 
 Which seemed to melt to nothingness their 
 
 wrongs. 
 Much her lord knew not. But one summer's 
 
 day 
 
Rivulets of Song 45 
 
 He found her talking in her happy way 
 To a sad tenant in the fragrant fields — 
 Down in yon meadow where the wild-rose shields 
 The violets beneath. He stormed and raged, 
 And swore too deep ; and ever after caged 
 The poor bird in these walls. The social whirl 
 He forced her to pursue, imperious churl ! 
 Loving each plant and every bird that flew, 
 The golden monarch in his tent of blue, 
 The fresh wind and the hue that westward dies. 
 She saw no more of earthly Paradise. 
 She drooped low, like a hapless rose that meets 
 Too fierce a sun ; and all the luscious sweets 
 Of life went sickening to her heart. She pined 
 Upon her couch. Her lord grew still less kind 
 And left her lonely till her reason turned 
 Its balance hopelessly, and frenzy burned 
 A pallor in her dawn-bright cheeks, and stole 
 The soft light from her eyes ; they gan to roll 
 Like coals of fire in hollow sockets ; then 
 In strange, wild words she spoke ; again, again 
 Talked of her brother— she had one who went 
 Abroad when young; but now her madness lent 
 Suspicion to her soul, named him a thief, 
 And blamed his orphaned head for all her grief. 
 Her face was valued then, she said, the door 
 Of wealth swung open and the lovely poor 
 Found preference. Often her mother's prayer 
 She muttered, wished that she had perished there 
 Under the old thatch roof with her, in flowers 
 To lie beneath the yew-tree where bright hours 
 Might float by on the merry breath of spring. 
 "Then," said she, "I would be a happy, happy 
 thing!" 
 
46 Rivulets of Song 
 
 "But, O," she cried, *'my bread to ashes fell 
 
 In my poor mouth!" And things more sad to 
 
 tell 
 She wildly said. 
 
 One wintry day she died. 
 His lordship gave her splendid burial, side 
 By side with his ancestors. — Look you ! there 
 He rides ; the lady with him is most fair, 
 As proud and rich as he is, proud as she 
 Whom you have sought was meek. A swift half- 
 year 
 Only has past since first we left her here. 
 How are life's purposes much-tangled, crossed, 
 And saved, or wrecked; and retribution tossed 
 Into our teeth, at best a bitter dole ! 
 Hence do I fear for him. — What ! the tears roll 
 Down your pale cheeks. Why do you tremble, 
 
 pray? 
 What ails ? You were her erring brother ? Nay, 
 Unloose your grief, then. You, the thief! You 
 
 stole 
 The gold and fled! Then may God save your 
 soul! 
 
 A LAMENT 
 
 She seemed a thing time could not change, 
 She was so fair, divinely made; 
 But death swept wide his sickle's range, 
 And she is resting in the shade ! 
 
 Oh, feeble was the sense that thought 
 Encroaching years defied in this — 
 
Rivulets of Song 47 
 
 Her beauty, motion, grace are naught, 
 And gone a dfeam of mortal bliss! 
 
 IN MEMORY 
 
 Upon the breast of earth he sleeps, 
 
 Earth that he loved so well ; 
 The moon a silent vigil keeps ; 
 
 The sunbeams o'er him dwell; 
 The stars are watchers when night steeps 
 
 The world in magic spell. 
 Thus e'er he seemed to draw in harmony 
 Good will from man, heaven, earth, and sky, and 
 sea. 
 
 No curious eye, or pride, or hate, 
 
 Or bitter trace of scorn, 
 Or carping mood did e'er abate 
 
 His mounting spirit born 
 To soar above the common state, 
 
 Of all things sordid shorn ; 
 All petty, trifling practise laid aside; 
 No false, inglorious reasoning applied. 
 
 Modest he was, of spirit kind, 
 
 As gentle as the dew ; 
 His life as sweet as murmuring wind. 
 
 Or bird that ever flew ; 
 Placid, contented but to find 
 
 The noble and the true: 
 And love so graced his soul in every part. 
 All loved him in return for his warm heart. 
 
48 Rivulets of Song 
 
 IN ADVERSITY 
 
 There was a time I thought my soul was strong, 
 
 And like leviathan I turned aside 
 
 The stream of circumstance — in fancy's world, 
 
 Nothing could baffle me ; nor field, nor sea, 
 
 Nor mountain height, nor plain had terrors; 
 
 youth 
 Had buoyant spirit and essayed the clouds 
 And bathed its eyes in the bright zenith's sun. 
 But now it is not so ; the purposes 
 I cherished bud and bloom not ; all unripe 
 They wither ; and my feet are turned to thread 
 Paths that I would not, nor seek to explore. 
 Yet some philosophy — perchance divine — 
 Whispers that if the greatest good be won 
 The soul must bend to the time's work and law. 
 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 The beauty of thy countenance, the sweetness of 
 
 thy face — 
 Oh, who would think that they begin with death 
 
 to run a race! 
 Yet, as the canker eats the rose and blights its 
 
 budding Hfe, 
 So death has thrown the gauntlet down ; and 'tis 
 
 a bitter strife. 
 
 Fair, delicate, a form divine, a spirit dwelling- 
 place, 
 
 So calm that not a shade of pain is seen upon thy 
 face, 
 
Rivulets of Song '49 
 
 How fortitude has made thee brave and braced 
 
 thy tender form, 
 Not swaying Hke the wind-swept reed, or saphng 
 
 in the storm ! 
 
 Oh! surely somewhere in the realms of earth, if 
 
 we could know, 
 Nature would yield a remedy, so to avert the 
 
 blow. . , 
 
 For, though the happier halls of heaven might 
 
 suit thy spirit best, 
 Our hearts no parting dare to brook-^when thou 
 
 are near, so blest! 
 
 Long may thy graceful form be spared the keen 
 
 and sweeping scythe, 
 And to more joyous ways return the current ot 
 
 thy life. 
 And, if to lengthen out thy span, avail prayers, 
 
 hopes and tears, 
 Thou wilt through seasons gay and bhthe live 
 
 yet a hundred years ! 
 
 GLEAM, GLEAM, O SUN 
 
 Gleam, gleam, O sun of cheerfulness and truth, 
 In rose-endued and flower-bespangled morn ; 
 
 Thy beam shall crown the open brows of youth 
 And happy spirit and pure heart adorn. 
 
 Gleam, gleam, O sun, in life's maturer years 
 When through the clouds or pure unvapored 
 skies 
 
50 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Strong looks thy sober eye, and fallen tears 
 To leaf and fruit transformed from earth arise. 
 
 Gleam, gleam, O sun, when evening lets fall 
 The shadows, sadly saying day is done ; 
 
 Smile on old age and happily recall 
 
 With comfort's balm the good already won. 
 
 MISSING THE MARK 
 
 An arrow tipped with poison missed its aim, 
 And cleft its way into a giant oak. 
 Years afterward a fledgling's fall it broke 
 And saved it from a serpent's tongue of flame. 
 So once a word sent a soul to annoy 
 Failed, but long after brought another joy. 
 
 TEN O'CLOCK 
 
 'Tis ten o'clock and starry night; 
 A strange and mystic moon gives light. 
 The breeze is fresh, the sky is crossed 
 By a few clouds a-wandering lost. 
 These pale and gentle rays, endued 
 With penetrating peace subdued. 
 Are from the quiet zenith shed, 
 Delightful to our cottage sped, 
 Like the calm joy or pensive smile 
 Experience wears so to beguile 
 Your faith in its firm, stoic strength — 
 Till you shall rest in it at length. 
 The stars shine out, the trembling leaves 
 
Rivulets of Song 51 
 
 In silver shine; no soft sound weaves 
 Its spell in gulfs of shadow deep 
 Where alleys green majestic sweep. 
 Mysterious, secret, sober time, 
 Approaching midnight's solemn chime, 
 O night hours, hours of solitude 
 And silence after day-noise rude, 
 You bear a melancholy grace. 
 You cheer and solemnize the place; 
 Afar the tide of care you roll 
 And sweetly sadden and console. 
 
 . I STILL HAVE CHEER 
 
 Although life's springtime like a dream 
 Hath almost stolen quite away. 
 Yet no bright sun's maturer beam 
 Hath glorified my poet lay. 
 
 I have a sympathy for tears, 
 
 A sympathy for joy as well ; 
 
 Would that I might through tuneful years 
 
 For the world's good these feelings tell. 
 
 And so I love the art of song 
 
 Still must I at her altar bow ; 
 
 And if I kneel devout and long — 
 
 Who knows? Some skill may yet endow. 
 
 Why some the charm of loftiest muse 
 Have captured soon, possessing long 
 I will not seek, nor murmuring use, 
 But still take cheer and sing my song. 
 
52 Rivulets of Song 
 
 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 THE EXILE 
 (Chateaubriand. ) 
 
 How constant is my recollection sweet 
 
 Of my fair birthplace, home of childhood's feet! 
 
 My sister, how they lovely were, the days 
 
 Of merry France! 
 My country, ever be my love ; no praise 
 
 Thy beauties may enhance! 
 
 Do you recall how mother's gentle look 
 
 Bent o'er our cottage hearth and how she took 
 
 Each one and pressed us to her joyous breast, 
 
 My sister dear? 
 And then we kissed her white hair, unopprest — 
 
 We two — by any fear. 
 
 Do you recall the calm lake, verdure-rimmed, 
 O'er which the nimble swallow lightly skimmed, 
 The wind, whose breath the swaying reed would 
 bow 
 
 So easily, 
 And the sun sleeping on the water low, 
 
 So beautiful to see? 
 
 Do you recall again, my sister dear. 
 
 The castle which the Dore laved, running clear, 
 
 And that most ancient tower of the Moor, 
 
 Strong-built of yore. 
 Where the bell rang when daylight would ap- 
 pear ? — 
 
 O that 'twould ring once more 1 
 
Rivulets of Song 53 
 
 Do you recall that loving friend of mine. 
 My life's companion, tender and divine? 
 When plucking in the woods the pretty flower 
 
 That blossomed gay, 
 Helen would on my breast for the sweet hour 
 
 Her heart to my heart lay. 
 
 O who will give me back my Helen's smile, 
 The tall, old oak, the mountain's lofty pile? 
 Their fond remembrance wakes in me each day 
 
 A bitter pain. — 
 My native land shall be my love for aye, 
 
 Although it be in vain! 
 
 ECSTACY 
 
 (Victor Hugo.) 
 
 By the waves on a night full of stars I was lone: 
 Not a sail on the sea, not a cloud in the sky. 
 Further off than the real world my vision would 
 
 fly. 
 And the forests and mountains, all nature to me 
 Seemed to question in one confused murmuring 
 
 tone 
 The fires of the sky and the waves of the sea. 
 
 And the infinite legions of gold-glist'ning stars, 
 
 In high voice, in low, thousand-toned their ac- 
 cord. 
 
 Made answer, inclining their coronal fires ; 
 
 And the blue waves, which nothing can rule or 
 arrest. 
 
54 Rivulets of Song 
 
 Made answer in curling the foam of each crest: 
 *'It is God, who is Lord : it is God, who is Lord." 
 
 THE BROKEN VASE 
 
 ( SuLLY-PrUDHOM ME. ) 
 
 The vase where this verbena died 
 Was fractured by a fan's weak blow ; 
 It must have scarcely touched the side. 
 There was no sound the stroke to show. 
 
 But though the bruise so slight had been. 
 Eating the crystal fair each day, 
 With a sad progress, sure, unseen, 
 It slowly won its hapless way. 
 
 The water, drop by drop, steals out ; 
 The flower's sap soon, too, is spent; 
 No one as yet holds it in doubt ; 
 O do not touch ; the vase is rent ! 
 
 Often the hand we love doth so. 
 Touching the heart in secret, bruise ; 
 Then the heart bursts itself and slow 
 Death of its flower of love ensues. 
 
 Still whole to the world's eyes 'twill keep. 
 Yet feels increase and overmuch 
 Its wound soft weep, minute and deep; 
 The heart is broken ; do not touch ! 
 
Rivulets of Song 55 
 
 THE LEAF 
 
 (Arnault.) 
 
 "Poor small leaf so sorely dried, 
 Of thy sap fill stem denied, 
 Where dost go?" — "I do not know. 
 For the storm the mighty oak, 
 That was all my stay, hath broke. 
 With a wavering, wavering breath. 
 Zephyr or the north wind saith 
 Since that day what is my train 
 From the forest to the plain. 
 From the mountain to the dale. 
 I go where the wild wind's flail 
 Drives me ; without fear or moan 
 Go where everything is blown; 
 Where the petal of the rose 
 And the leaf of laurel goes." 
 
 LOVE THE FIELDS 
 
 (Victor de Laprade.) 
 
 After your sisters and your mother dear, 
 Children of the submissive, tender heart, 
 May nature be the dearest in your love ; 
 The fields are of your friends the better part. 
 
 The free air of the fields in bounty gives 
 As if it were another mother's breast; 
 It nourishes in power and wisdom's strength 
 The happy child placed there by heaven and 
 blest. 
 
56 Rivulets of Song 
 
 It is the voice of the fair, rural world, 
 The splendor of the grass and the blue lake, 
 Which the child-soul the goodness of our God 
 To know and ever cherish more doth make. 
 
 Love then the waving woods, the sparkling fount, 
 The clear, deep pool where green the rushes 
 
 throng, 
 The lovely flowers and the majestic oak, 
 All peopled with the gladsome birds of song. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BOY'S SONG 
 
 (Uhland.) 
 
 I am the mountain shepherd-boy; 
 The castles all I see below. 
 The sun first greets me here with joy, 
 Here tarries longest, loathe to go. 
 I am the mountain boy. 
 
 The river's earliest home is here ; 
 I drink it springing from the stone. 
 It leaps the rock in wild career — 
 I stop it with my hand alone. 
 I am the mountain boy. 
 
 The mountain, which is my estate. 
 Here draws the raging storm around; 
 It howls from north to south in hate. 
 And so my happy song is drowned. 
 I am the mountain boy. 
 
Rivulets of Song 57 
 
 Thunder and lightning are below 
 As in the blue I stand on high ; 
 I know them and cry to them so : 
 'My father's house in peace pass by; 
 I am the mountain boy!' 
 
 When once the war-bell roused the land, 
 And beacons flamed the hills along, 
 Then I climbed down and took my stand 
 And swung my sword and sang my song: 
 I am the mountain boy. 
 
Sam S. & Lee Shubert 
 
 direct the following theatres and theatrical 
 attractions in America : 
 
 Hippodrome, Lyric, Casino, 
 Dalys, Lew Fields, Herald 
 Square and Princess Thea- 
 tres, New York. 
 
 Garrick Theatre, Chicago. 
 
 Lyric Theatre, Philadelphia. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Brooklyn. 
 
 Belasco Theatre, Washing- 
 ton. 
 
 Belasco Theatre, Pittsburg. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Newark. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Utica. 
 
 Grand Opera House, Syra- 
 cuse. 
 
 Baker Theatre, Rochester. 
 
 Opera House, Providence. 
 
 Worcester Theatre, Worces- 
 ter. 
 
 Hyperion Theatre, New 
 Haven. 
 
 Lyceum Theatre, Buffalo. 
 
 Colonial Theatre, Cleveland. 
 
 Rand's Opera House, Troy. 
 
 Garrick Theatre, St. Louis. 
 
 Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 
 Norfolk, Va. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Columbus. 
 
 Lyric, Cincinnati. 
 
 Mary Anderson Theatre, 
 Louisville. 
 
 New Theatre, Richmond, 
 Va. 
 
 New Theatre, Lexington, Ky. 
 
 New Theatre, Mobile. 
 
 New Theatre, Atlanta. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Milwau- 
 kee. 
 
 Lyric Theatre, New Orleans. 
 
 New Marlowe Theatre, 
 Chattanooga. 
 
 New Theatre, Detroit. 
 
 Grand Opera House, Dav- 
 enport, Iowa. 
 
 New Theatre, Toronto." 
 
 New Sothern Theatre, Den- 
 ver. 
 
 Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 
 Kansas City. 
 
 Majestic Theatre, Los An- 
 geles. 
 
 Belasco Theatre, Portland. 
 
 Shubert Theatre, Seattle. 
 
 Majestic Theatre, San Fran- 
 cisco. 
 
 E. H. Sothern & Julia Mar- 
 lowe in repertoire. 
 
Margaret Anglin and Henry 
 Miller. 
 
 Virginia Harned. 
 
 Mary Mannering in " Glori- 
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 Mme. Alia Nazimova. 
 
 Thos. W. Ross in *'The 
 Other Girl." 
 
 Cecelia Loftus. 
 
 Clara Bloodgood. 
 
 Blanche Ring. 
 
 Alexander Carr. 
 
 Digby Bell. 
 
 " The Girl Behind the 
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 "The Light Eternal. » 
 
 "The Snow Man." 
 
 Blanche Bates in " The Girl 
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 Darid Warfield in "The 
 Music Master." 
 
 " The Rose of the Rancho," 
 with Rose Starr. 
 
 Harrison Gray Fiskk's 
 
 attractions. 
 Mrs. Fiske in "The New 
 York Idea." 
 
 ' Shore Acres.' 
 
 Louis Mann in 
 Hen." 
 
 The White 
 
 "The Road to Yesterday." 
 
 Henry Woodruff in " Brown 
 of Harvard." 
 
 "The Secret Orchard," by 
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 De Wolf Hopper in " Hap- 
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 Eddie Foy in " The Orchid." 
 
 Marguerite Clark, in a new 
 opera. 
 
 "The Social Whirl," with 
 Chas. J. Ross. , 
 
 James T. Powers in " The 
 Blue Moon." 
 
 Bertha Kalich. 
 "Leah Kleschna." 
 
 "The Man on the Box." 
 
 Cyril Scott in " The Prince 
 Chap." 
 
 " Mrs. Temple's Telegram." 
 
 "The Three of Us," 
 
 You cannot go wrong in selecting one of 
 these play-houses for an evening's entertain- 
 ment in whatever city you may happen to be. 
 
BOOKS YOV MI/ST READ 
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 GREY DAWN REFLECTIONS 
 
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 This clever Washington girl has come close to 
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 B^" What daintier holiday gift for your HIM of 
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BOOKS YOU NVST READ 
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 "A Tale of West Indian Insurrection. 
 
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BOOKS YOV MUST READ 
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 Attractive Binding, 75 cents:. 
 
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 ;'An able and interesting work on a comparatively new 
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 Extravagant Emotion^j 
 
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 Harmony the Law of Natw^ 
 
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 A NOVEL 
 
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 Almost thoughtful, able and authoritative work in 
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BOOKS YOU NVST READ 
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 New Book by the Author of 
 
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 The scene of Miss Edwards' new work is laid in 
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 Imagine, if you can, the consternation of the 
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 Of course the "Dona" has been skilfully pur- 
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 Critics who have seen the book declare it superior to 
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 An exceedingly clever story, by a New York girl, who 
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JUN 8 1308 
 
r 
 
 V- 
 
Hiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Mill iiiiiiiiii mil iiiiiiiii III! 
 
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