1^8 Cay of tips ll/raitl^ 'JUicR POC/^S •^'if^A-- EY I. N. MiPPS \^^ '■»i5SSS2!5^ ; ■'% Which brings the tear to every eye Of wife and maid, upon whose ear The echo falls so shrill and clear. It is the death-cry* of the few, Who to their tribe return in rue, And to the anxious ones it shows That Death has set his seal on those For whom they 're waiting now. And that ! ah me ! it is the wail That bursts from quiv'ring lips, when pale, Heart-broken wives and mothers learn Their loved ones can no more return, But sleep the sleep no waking knows A-near the camp-fires of their foes. * Those who escaped to return home after a disastrous ex- pedition always, on getting in hearing of the camp of their tribe, gave out a shrill, peculiar cry, which was for the pur- pose of notifying the tribe that they had met with disastrous losses. This was called the Death Cry. 80 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Sad is my heart, I can not sing The warning I to-night would bring To those whose rashness well I know Must bring them to untimely woe. Oh ! could my people learn a life Is forfeit to each moment's strife, And for each life so lost at stake, A parent's heart or wife's must break, I might not then be called to warn As now I am, from night to morn. Through Time's unchanging course. Fourth Canto. ' I "HEIR preparations at an end, -■- Reckwa now bade his braves descend With him the river's course at dawn, And see if they could chance upon The trail whereby the lovers fled ; And, ere the sun his flaming red Disk showed above the trees. They 'd found the bark the lovers left, And soon its prow the waters cleft, As Reckwa's ready hand, With steady dip and stroke of oar. Propelled it tow'rd the other shore. Where late the lovers landed. With cautious eye he scanned the ground Till he a slight depression found, Which to his eye most clearly showed A warrior's foot had lately trode, Wherefore, he sagely guessed the pair Had taken to the mountains there. 7 82 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. The bark then to the other side He quickly drove, and soon the tide His braves had crossed, when singly they Followed as Reckwa led the way Toward the mountain top ; A moment on whose pinnacle They paused and scanned the surface well, Where soon another print they spied, And took the trail with measured stride. Nor paused they through the morn or noon, Nor till the stars and lucid moon Were floating in the heavens. The eve was humid, close, and warm, And well we know a fearful storm Swept the waste wilderness; Wherefore, Reckwa the following dawn Discerned the truants' trail was gone, And, like a ship all rudderless, They now were left in sore distress, Not knowing whither course to take. If east or westward of the lake That barred the present course. At last it was decided they THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 83 Would here divide, some go each way, And meet the other side. A party of the Ojibway, Wand'ring near Melsingay, Was discovered that same day By the chief Mecumseh, And led in triumph to the glen, Where Annawan, as we have seen, And he had met before. Meanwhile old Reckwa and his braves Compassed the lake, whose restful waves Lay pillowed on their wood-bound shores. Where far above the eagle soars Backward and forth across the way. Watching the sportive fish at play A-near the pebbly strand. Reckwa, dejected, sat apart Communing thus with his sad heart. While some the ev'ning meal prepared, But which the old man scarcely shared, So sad his heart and sore : Despite the fate, which seems to lend Assistance to the feet that wend 84 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Their way in flight through this wild waste, Sweet vengeance yet Reckwa shall taste, Though now the chase seems vain. Until the storm's flood-waves effaced Their course, old Reckwa clearly traced The fugitives, and ere this hour Had had the villain in his power And slaked his vengeance dire. There is no spot in this vast wild I would not dare to gain my child ; Even to the dread Manito Of Melsingay I 'd dare to go, Should he essay my foe to shield From vengeance such as I have steeled My heart to wage on him. Ha ! and who knows but thence they fled, Knowing full well the Indian's dread Of the great Manito ? Let 's see ; 't is but a little way To the Cascade of Melsingay, And thither on the morrow morn Will I wend my way, and warn The Manito, if they are there. The subjects of his dreaded care. THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 85 That even lie can not deter Me in my efforts to claim her, And slay the Ojibway." Having decided which, he rose And forth proceeded to disclose The plan he meant to act upon, Kver the sun had flushed the dawn And drove the mists away. Thus settled, each his robe around Him drew, and dropped upon the ground, And lost fatigue in sleep ; And, leaving them to their repose, We 11 turn to where Melsingay flows, And note the Ojibway, Who, too, are wrapt in slumber sweet, Unconscious that their calm retreat A dauntless foe will soon invade, And carnage stain the restful glade. Where they to-night their beds have made Beneath the radiant moon, Whose silv'ry beams, leaf-shadow flecked. Disclose their faces, daubed or streaked With the ochres they have decked Every passive feature. 86 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. At morn both camps are soon a-stir ; Their simple meal of moose or deer Is over ere the mists of dawn From the mountain's brow is gone. The Ojibways, with their pipes, recline About the camp, beneath the pine, Singly or grouped, as it doth please, Contentedly they take their ease ; No apprehensions do they feel, And no forebodings o'er them steal. Not so the band by Reckwa led, Who even now with stealthy tread Are wending toward the peaceful scene, Through marshy fens, 'neath foliage green, O'er rocky steeps, through deep defiles, Onward through the boundless wilds, All heedless of the startled cry Of startful fowl that flit and fly. Or frightened deer that scamper by. Onward they steal, till suddenly Old Reckwa drops upon his knee. And sweeps the matted leaves away. Revealing footprints in the clay. I I THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 87 ''A woman's track ! my daughter's ! " he Declared in tones vehemently, "And the base Ojibway's! " At the same moment, too, they hear The sound of trickling water near — The Cascade of Melsingay. " Ha ! " quoth Reckwa, "just as I thought, The fools the Manito have sought ! Be ready, braves, and should ye see The Ojibway, leave him to me; Let no man's hand but mine the blow Inflict that smites the dastard low. My conscience never could know rest Were other barb than mine his breast To penetrate and flush the gore That I would have from his heart's core. 'T is not enough that I should see Him welt'ring in his blood, if he Die not by Reckwa's hand. But should his hand 'gainst mine prevail, Then be ye ready to assail And slay him who did even dare. By subtle wiles, my dove to snare ! " So saying, he looked to his bow, 88 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Adjusts his tomahawk, and so Seemingly satisfied, the path Resumed, contending with his wrath. Which seemed an all-consuming flame. That kindled quickly at the name Of the young Ojibway, Who, though unconscious that the foe (Whose movements only time could show) Was even then near his retreat, Was yet not unprepared to meet An unexpected blow ; For that a seeming something seemed To warn of danger he had deemed Remote an hour ago. And to his idle braves, who stood Or lounged about in listless mood. His faint, half apprehensive fear He did impart, and bade them near And on their guard remain. " Look to thy quivers and be sure Each bow-string 's such as would endure An unexpected strain ; For know Reckwa, should he assail, Is not a chief whose heart would quail THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 89 Before an equal foe ; And all his band are dauntless braves, And not a set of cunning knaves, And strike a fearless blow. " So keep thy weapons well in hand. And let a couple of the band Go forth and reconnoitre ; And should an enemy be near. Or ye suspicious sounds should hear, Return at once to quarter, That we for conflict may prepare. And not be caught, as in a snare The unsuspecting quail is. When the hunter spreads his net. While its wings with dew are wet, And its power to sail is Counterbalanced by the dew. Which hath penetrated through Till helpless wing and tail are. Go now, braves, and be alert. And thy senses keen exert, Nor let us doubt thy valor." 90 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Admonished thus, two braves set forth, One by the south, one by the north, To meet upon the east. Cautiously each trusty brave, From the west side crossed the wave, By a short detour, List'ning, peering with that trained stealth, Which is not less a warrior's wealth Than are strength and daring. Onward thus a while they stole, O'er the soft and spongy mould, Seeing naught nor hearing Sound of man or living thing, Save the startled fowl a-wing, Or a deer careering Through the tangled underbrush. Or the clear notes of the thrush, And the beetles whirring ; Till suddenly he on the north Perceived, he thought, forms gliding forth 'Cross a little clearing. When, watching closer then, he saw One he fancied was Reckwa, From his age and bearing. THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 91 Retreating from his covert then Cautiously he sought the glen, Revealing what he there had seen Amidst the spruce and laurel green, Whereon, quickly and silently, Annawan and Mecumseh Posted their band in such a way As best they deemed for sudden fray ; And who with tensive, breathless hush, Then watched each opening in the bush. Across the rippling water. Expectant, more than anxious, they Seemed to bide the coming fray, Judging from each visage. Which lay in stolid passiveness, And lit'rally expressionless. Save the look expectant. Which grew until each face did seem With a pale, cop'rish light to gleam. While a fiendish glitter Scintillated from each eye, Like the igneous flakes that fly From the dingy smithy. 92 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Who hath not watched impending strife, Where Death sits balancing each life, To see which is the better For the purpose of his cause — The adjustment of the laws 'Twixt Life and Mortality — Knows not nor feels life's sweetness all, Or bitterness, sees he not fall Or rise Death's balances. Thus it was with some, at least. Who sat with eyes toward the east. Watching the foe, whose forms were seen Peering the green leaves between, Just across Melsingay — The little brook, whose tinkling sound Alone disturbed the hush profound — Silence else unbroken. Opeechee and the other maiden In a coppice near were hidden By their thoughtful lovers. And could not see, yet felt not less The over-tensive strain and stress, And were sorely weeping, THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Opeechee most, who well indeed Believed this strife more than its meed Of rue and woe would bring her. And so bewailing her sad fate, Thus murmured to her trembling mate *'0h! that I my sire could see Without jeopardizing, he To whom my soul is clinging lyike the tendrils of the vine Which the sturdy oak doth twine To its topmost branches. And urge him that Opeechee's life Were but a waste of little space If she be not Annawan's wife, The one alone whose lodge she 'd grace. Yet, O ! my father, too, hath need Of Opeechee's hand, indeed. To spread his robes of buffalo, When to sleep he 'd weary go, Toil and strife forgetting. ''Was ever there a fate so hard — Was ever maid so placed between Two contending duties, barred 94 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. By duty sought and duty seen ? Must I — ?" but the sentence perished Ere the speech her thought had cherished By her lips was spoken, And instead her lips grew pale, Parting in a stifled wail, As cries a bird into whose heart The hunter wings the cruel dart From his bow unerring ; For at that moment through the dell Sounded that familiar yell Her sad heart knew but too well Was the carnage signal ; Succeeded by the twang of bows, Whizzing arrows, sounds of blows. Shrieks and groans, and screams and curses, Sick'ning thuds and singing cresses. Hand to hand and head to shoulder, Over log and bush and bowlder. On the brink and in the water. All the same, carnage and slaughter ; Fiends incarnate, devils straining For the mast'ry, neither gaining ; Glancing hatchets, sparks a-flying, THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 95 Forms death-locked, writhing, dying; Blood and brain and scalp-locks mingled, As if this of all were singled For the bloodiest battle ever Fought on land, or lake, or river. Till now the conflict equal seemed, And passive lookers-on had deemed The chances of final success To turn as likely on a guess As on a given cause. The few remaining of the band Led by the dauntless Reckwa's hand Seemed fresh and fierce as at the first, And as unquenchable their thirst For the Ojibways' blood. While the Ojibways fiercer fought. As if each lusty warrior thought Results devolved on him. Staggering at last, dismayed, Reckwa's braves fell back, essayed To come again, when with a yell Annawan's warriors on them fell, Whereon they quickly fled, 96 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. All save Reckwa, who valiant stood, Staunching with his hand the blood From a wound upon his breast, While he Annawan thus addressed : " Why didst thou stay the villain's blade, Lift in menace where I laid? Didst hope by such device to gain Forgiveness for the loss and pain I 've suffered by thy wiles ? Know then such hope, if such it were That made thy hand to interfere. Is vain as is that to elude My vengeance, nourished by the feud Which hath through generations last. Not less than for the sorrow cast Upon a father's heart ! "Hark you, coward! though I die By thy warriors' hands, or by Thine own, I will avenge the wrong I have suffered, waiting long — Impatiently— this hour ! " Saying which, with one mad bound He snatched a hatchet from the ground. THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 97 And hurled it full at Annawan, Who, swerving, threw himself upon And held the frenzied man. And holding him thus firmly, he Bade some one go for Opeechee, And while his brother sought the maid Annawan to the old man said : " Opeechee' s sire ! know that my hands Hold thee not thus now in fear Of thine, or those of any man's ; But that thy daughter is so dear, I 'd fain make peace with one she loves, Not less than him with whom she roves, And love him for her sake. And if you doubt the valor of The warrior who hath won her love. Two at a time of thy young braves I '11 meet in combat, till the waves Of yonder brooklet stain the shore With the crimson of their gore ; But not against her sire will I Lift my hands, e'en though I die ; For better she should mourn me dead, 8 98 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Than, loathing, turn from me in dread, Should I her father slay. Thou hast no cause to cherish hate Against thy daughter's chosen mate. Nor to prolong the hated feud Which our ancestors' hands imbued With many a crimson stain ; 'Twas not through grudge or feeling ill That mine thy braves were led to kill, But to protect our lives we fought. When ye here in our covert sought Us in thy mad revenge ; Nor yet to pay a fancied wrong. Conceived in feuds, beginning long Before Annawan's time, That he thy daughter sought and won, Nor with a view to bring upon Reckwa woe and sorrow. " Far be it from this heart of mine To blight or injure thee or thine. Or cause thee grief or rue. To her alone belongs the blame. If blame there be, or rue or shame ; « THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 99 For had thy daughter been less fair, Or less her power to ensnare, I had not stolen her ; But had left her in thy care, To make thy lodge, and to prepare And do the things a woman's hands Only can prepare for man's Comfort and solace. 'Aged thou art, and creased thy brow, And thy lodge is lonely now, With no daughter there to cheer Or prepare thy haunch of deer. Come thou, sire, forego thy hate. Thou hast no cause for feud so great, And be at peace with Annawan, Who unto thee would be a son. And if thou with him wouldst dwell He would love and treat thee well ; And when thine eye with age growls dim. And thy body frail. Thou canst lean thy weight on him. And his thine eyes should be." 100 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Though long indeed Annawan spoke, Reckwa nor stirred or silence broke, But looked impassive on the ground, His left hand pressing still the wound, From which the blood yet flowed ; Though softer lines lay on his cheek, And a soft light illumes his eyes. When Opeechee toward him flies And flings her arms about his neck. Kissing and stroking brow and cheek, In that glad, warm-hearted way Youth is wont love to display. Yet not till she had thus awhile Clung to him, a happy smile Through her tears a-beaming, Did she note his crimson'd breast, Or the wound his hand still pressed, As if to hide a shame. When, woman-like, she starts in dread. But quick recovers, and his head. As he reclines, takes on her breast. While tenderly Annawan dressed And soothed the ugly wound. THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 101 The sweet-gum tree the balm supplied, Mulberry bark the strip that tied And bound it to its place. And then, in soft, persuasive tone, Opeechee led her father on To mild converse and gentler mood, Till, given more to peace than blood, He sought Annawan's lodge with her, And rested on the robes of fur Her loving hands spread down. With dext'rous grace a bit of deer, And other such like simple cheer. She soon prepared — before him sate, And stood beside him while he ate. Just as the light repast was o'er Annawan's form darkened the door. And stood with calm, respectful mien In contemplation of the scene, Whereon Reckwa at once arose. Assumed a manly, kingly pose. And thus addressed the youth : "Annawan! know thou that the hate I cherished toward thee, by fate, 102 THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. Less than thy kindness, clothed In fitting garb, is somewhat soothed, But not extinguished all. Still smoulders there a spark, a breath Would fan to life ; what saith Annawan — shall the spark go out, And trustfulness prevail, or doubt? It is for thee to say. "The aged dread not death, but want, And its accruing ills, which gaunt And gnawing hunger brings. 'T is such Thy proffered care precludes, and much It weighs in Reckwa's heart. Yet I can not at once avail Myself of comforts you'd entail, Unless thou and Opeechee wall Return with me, my lodge to fill. And why not so ? The land is fair, And ye — we all — could prosper there Till time wdth us were done." Thus peace descended on the flame, Extinguished it, nor rue or shame Touched the happy hearts again. THE LAY OF THE WRAITH. 103 And thus and so the story ends, And truth a glow to romance lends, For truth it is that they return Unto the land where first we learn Of their love and romance. Yea, such the romance, such the love, Such the baleful hate which drove Old Reckwa to pursue — Such the conflict, such the sequel. Such the carnage without equal. If length of time, strength, and numbers. And the dead the wild encumbers. Count for any thing. OTHER POEMS. OTHER POEMS. MEMENTOES. THESE were her pictures — she loved them all, But that one most on the easel there ; And that little etching, there on the wall, She prized as a gift ; and this is the chair She most preferred, because, as she said, It was a present to her from me ; And this is the very last book she read. And here is a passage she marked, you see. That mounted cabinet, there on the stand, Was taken a month before she died ; These are the flowers you see in her hand — This bunch of Niel-roses, now withered and dried. Here is a pansy blossom she placed Between the leaves of Lucile one day, And here on the margin, in pencil traced : "Cease not to think of me, love, alway." (107) A FUNERAL NOTICE. SOME day one of these will lie in the hand Of each of my friends, when I am dead, And they '11 gather around my bier, and stand With saddened heart and bowed head — When I am dead. Some day (and I sigh, and wonder when The summons will come for me to go). My hands will lie on my breast, and men Will speak of me in whispers low — When I am dead. Some day they will gather around my bier, And cover it o'er with flowers, may be ; I wonder if any will then be near To weep, as a wife, or a child, for me — When I am dead? For often I think (and shudder), may be The summons will come to me when I Am far away from the loved ones we Poor mortals want 'round us when we die. And when we 're dead. (108) MY JEWELS. 109 Yes ! some day, out from a darkened room To a hearse that waits outside somewhere, They '11 carry me — to the gruesome tomb, Wherein they '11 lower and cover me there — When I am dead ! MY JEWELS. ENDOWED with a blessing that crowns every minute, A wife and a home, with sweet children in it, Whose innocent prattle each moment beguiles, I ask nothing more to temper my trials. Who would ask more is not worthy the wife. Whose sweet, gentle nature gives zest to his life ; Not worthy the children whose fountains of mirth Are to the soul as the dews to the earth. Thus blessed, dearest Father, I ask nothing more, Only thy blessings henceforth as before. Thy guardianship over these loved ones of mine. And that we all enter that mansion of thine. PERSEVERANCE. WHO dares and does with an honest aim Will gain the end for which he strives ; He never fails of a place, I claim, Who takes the lines himself and drives. Defeat is the price of a slothful gait ; A laggard was never known to win, And a winner was never known to wait Till the hindmost horse got in. They rise, who press on, bit by bit, From a lowly place in the ranks of life To a grand up-plain, where only sit Those who 've conquered by earnest strife. To such I doff my hat and say : " God speed thee on to a higher place; What they have attained the poorest may, If they but press on in the race." For an earnest heart and a willing hand, With an honest aim, will carry us through To the loftiest place there is in the land, If we wdll only dare and do. (110) THE LONE BIRD. IV TOTE how subdued the thrush's song ^ ^ No riotous roundelay she sings, As on the maple bough she swings, Her heart as sad as autumn time — Her heart as sad as autumn time, While sorrow quavers in each note That trembles from her little throat, As near the empty nest she sings — As near the empty nest she sings And mourns the scattered brood to-day, The little ones that flew away Ere autumn leaves began to fall — Ere autumn leaves began to fall, She had a mate to share her grief. But this solace was very brief — For he, likewise, is gone. And, bird-like, many souls are sad. And almost broken-hearted ; They, too, sing of the departed. Till sometimes they go mad ! (Ill) SONGS OF THE HEART. A CHANGEFUL song is that of the heart's, Sung in a measureless strain ; Each stanza in some memory starts And ends in a quiver of pain. It sings its song in the silent night, Or the shadow of the wood ; It is not a song that one can write, And but little understood. There is always a cadence of regret, That sinks to an undertone. Then quavers and dies in a sigh that 's set To a music of its own. It runs in a quav'ring, liquid strain, As if flowing over tears, For the heart is going back again To the scenes of other years. The bright green fields and limpid streams Are revisited and crossed. Which, remembered only now as dreams. To the heart are never lost. (112) A WINTER MORNING. 113 Beside the graves of its early dead, Love's young dreams and other things, It drops a tear, where the first was shed, Where began the song it sings. A WINTER MORNING. THE morn is cold, the snow is falling, The farmer out at the barn is calling His cattle and swine from the neighb'ring hills : ''S-o-o-ky! S-o-o-ky! S-o-o-k! S-o-o-k! Sook!" In the strangest way my heart it thrills. And wanders back to the dear old days — To the dear old farm and its simple ways — To one who stood in the blinding snow — Stood and called, till a mufi&ed low Came down from the shelf ring hills : ''M-o-o! Moo! Moo! Moo!" And so I muse as memory wills — Muse, as the farmer's voice falls On my ears, as he quaintly calls : "S-o-o-ky! Sook! Sook! Pig-o-o-ey! P-i-i-gy! P-i-i-gy!' 9 THE EAGLE AND CHILD. AN eagle, perched on his eyrie high, Scanned the vale with piercing eye, And far below on the jutting stones Espied an infant's bleaching bones. '' I tore the quivering flesh," she screamed, " From yonder fragile form. And bathed my beak in the blood that streamed From the heart still pulsing warm. " I heeded not its feeble cry. Or the mother's shriek of wild despair, As I bore it up to my eyrie high, To my eaglets hung' ring there. *' I plucked its tender eye-balls out And fed them to my young, Unmindful of the frantic shout Which through the valley rung. '' Bit by bit the flesh I tore From its tender, dimpled cheek, And deeply in its warm heart's core I plunged my dripping beak. (114) FOUR- LEAF CLOVER. 115 " Once its feeble fingers clutched My talons in its side, But not for long, for ere we touched My eyrie here it died." FOUR-LEAF CLOVER. WE sat beneath the apple tree, Hunting four-leaf clover; The leaves they sifted sun-specks down And sprinkled us all over. And when she found a tiny stem With four small leaves upon it, I wish you could have seen the eyes I saw beneath that bonnet. They laughed and danced and sparkled so. They set love's darts a-going; From hunting four-leaf clover, then, I went straightway to wooing. But now the apple boughs are bare. And snow-birds in them hover, And she is sleeping 'neath the sod. Where last year grew the clover. THE WHIPPOWIL. BIRD of the dark and lonely night, Bird of the doleful song, Whose plaint is hushed at dawn of light And silent all day long, Tell me on what wild, lonely moor Thy mournful lay first broke — If this or some far distant shore First to thy piping woke ? From lonely fell and coppice green Nightly comes thy lay. Soon as the twinkling star is seen Where shone the king of day. Weird and wild is the refrain Of thy changeless " Whippowil," Whose querulous, quav'ring strain Breaks on the midnight still. Back, strange bird ! to the lonely wood. Nor come thou near my sill ; Thou art no harbinger of good. Thy presence bodeth ill.^ *A superstition prevails among the mountain people that if one of these birds lights on the window or door sill and sings it is a sign of a death in the family. (116) " Back to the haw-tree, late in the gloaming, Back to the haw-tree's shade, After weary, drear}^ years of roaming. His aimless feet have strayed." Page 117. UNDER THE HAW-TREE. BACK to the haw-tree, late in the gloaming, Back to the haw-tree's shade, After weary, dreary years of roaming. His aimless feet have strayed ; While in his heart is ever ringing — Ringing the sweet song she was singing Under the haw-tree, down in the glade, Under the haw-tree's shade. And while the scent of the sweet wild roses Drifts on the ev'ning air, Beneath the haw-tree he reposes And dreams of his lost Lenare ; For in his heart is still echoing The low, sweet answers to his wooing Under the haw-tree, down in the glade, Under the haw-tree's shade. Ah ! the lonely, weary years of sighing. The sad mistake he made — The going away when she was dying, The coming long delayed — The plaintive echoes ever straying Through his heart's chambers, ever saying " Remember the haw-tree, down in the glade. Remember the haw-tree's shade ! " (117) TO AN UNKNOWN FLOWER. PALE flower of this lonely wood, Fair exile from some distant shore, Canst answ^er me in what fair clime Thy parent stem first blossom bore ? Say, did some transient songster bear Thee in his beak from tropic fields. And leave thee by this lonely pass, Where this wild creeper 'round thee steals? Thy petals, of a crimson tone, Seem to have lost their deeper hue. And, drooping low, thy slender stem Is perishing for want of dew. I do not know thy history, Perhaps thy genus is unknown. But I will take and plant thee out Where my own fav'rite buds are grown. And there, amidst those favored ones That beautify my cottage home. Thy petals pale shall glow^ again. And yield a far richer perfume. (118) A WREATH OF AUTUMN LEAVES. 119 And knowing ones will pause and say Thou art an old, familiar friend, And (guessing at thy origin) Give to thee kindred without end. I A WREATH OF AUTUMN I.EAVKS. 'LL weave thee a wreath of autumn leaves, Of purple, gold, and crimson hues ; Nor wonder if the hand that weaves, Should serve alternately the muse. Some I take from the sparkling stream As adown its current riding. They, hurrying on and onward, seem Forever from me gliding. Some come wafted on the breeze, And, settling down a-nigh me, Are woven in, while neighboring trees Whate'er I lack supply me. And now the wreath, but poorly done, I lay aside for lack of time. And the verses, too, are scarce begun Ere they must end for lack of rhyme. A DREAM. THERE'S nothing in a dream, you say? If this were so — Why have I been so sad all day, I 'd like to know ; Or started so often to mine eyes Those bitter tears, As arose long-buried memories Of other years ? We strayed beside a brook — my love and I, Just where of old We used ; where with deep fervency My love I told. And the same flush that dyed her cheek On that May eve Suffused it now ; and, though she did not speak, I did perceive It pleased her well. O, rapturous thought ! Man's earliest dream ! A woman's love, an assurance fraught With bliss supreme. (120) A DREAM. 121 A moment I held her to my breast, One — only one ; Once, only once her lips I pressed, And she was gone. A while in blissful trance I stood, And when I woke. Pale I/Una's beams illumed the wood And kissed the brook. Bright in whose depths the Ev'ning Star, Reflected, gleamed, Though less tranquil here by far Than there it seemed. How swiftly by the time had flown ! Though 'tis always so When lovers meet — the hour is gone Before they know. We had met here many times before — 'T was our lover's tryst, And in my dreams, as once of yore, Her lips I kissed. 122 ASHES OF HOPE. A while, a little while, and I awoke, How long I lay There weeping e'er this bright vision broke, I can not say ; I only know the same dull, heavy pain That filled my heart The day she died is there to-day again. And won't depart. ASHES OF HOPE. ' I ^HE threads of life are snapping, ^ And dropping, while we weave ; The dearest memories left us Are those our dead hopes leave. The fruits of life are falling. Some djdng in the bloom ; The sweetest scented flowers, Dead roses' faint perfume. The things in life we cherish Are those we soonest lose ; The dearest blessings vouched us Are those we most abuse. AN AUTUMN MORN. WHAT sooner wakes the sleeping Muse, Or fills the soul with bliss, Than such a picture to peruse, On such a morn as this ? The distant hills, but dimly seen Beneath their veil of purple haze, Have doff'd their hues of summer green For tints befitting autumn days. The tortuous stream that finds its way Adown the narrow, winding vale. Will ne'er reflect a lovelier day, Nor did a lovelier e'er prevail. The j^ear's decease the signs presage, The sad'ning signs to Autumn given, The circling leaf, mature with age, From its native bough is driven. The thistledown, which lightly skims Across the sward of greenish brown, Falls where yonder beechen limbs Drop their heavy burden down. (123) AN IDYL. HERE on the fair Elk's bonny banks, Where happy childhood had its sway, I 'm sitting dreamily to-day. The fish are sporting on the shoals, And birds are caroling on high. Just as I 've heard in days gone by. The ugly water-moccasin Is stretched at length upon the drift. Too lazy quite his head to lift. The turtle seeks a sunny place. And sticks his head above the wave, For light and air all creatures crave. A minnow skips from waters deep, And drops into a shallow place. To escape the bass in chase. Here on the sand some butterflies. With many-colored, gauzy wing, Are feasting on some dainty (?) thing. (124) AN IDYL. 125 A kingfisher, skimming along, Plucks a minnow from the shoal, And flies across into his hole. (To some, perhaps, it is not known These feathered creatures burrow, too, The same as many quadrup's do; Oft in the river bank you 11 see A hole, wherein these birds reside, And where they go their prey to hide.) A *' sucker," nibbling at a log. Anon displays his belly white, Yielding the shaded waters light. A muskrat, swimming o'er the creek, Glances up, and seeing me, Goes to the bottom instantly. 'Tis middle of the afternoon; The kine, emerging from the shade, Begin to browse along the glade. 'T is even later, and I hear The grunting of the lazy swine, Following up the browsing kine. 126 TWILIGHT— A SONNET And now 'tis dusk, and katydid Is singing merrily overhead, Just as I 've heard in days long fled. These things and more I see and hear, As I return along the hill. Where weirdly sings the whippowil. o TWILIGHT— A SONNET. GENTLE, witching twilight hour ! Of which the first sweet poets sung. To which my harp is likewise strung, How sweetly solemn is thy power ! Who art 'twixt day and night so hung. Thou hast of each an equal dower Of light and shade, while each rare flower Its fragrance on thy breath hath flung. And wheresoe'er in thee we turn Each sense some sure delight doth find ; Aged and bruised hearts, that yearn For some dear loved one left behind, Much fonder and more tender grow. Watching thee, twilight, come and go. LINES IN AN ALBUM. ^ I ^HY album, D , before me lies, -*- And many autographs I see, But none amongst them one could prize For its originality. Some quote a greater poet's rhymes, Another pleads, "Remember me," Forget me not," another chimes, "And I'll remember thee." THE SABBATH BELLS. T3 ING out, old bells ; thy resonant tones ^ ^ Fall on the ears of all to-day. Tearing some with rending moans. Stirring some in the strangest way ; With sadness, gladness all hearts swell Under the sound of the dear old bell. Many a cheek is bathed in tears. Many a prayer in the heart up-springs, For the lost and loved of other years, Or the tidings of hope it brings ; All are rapt in a glad, sad spell Under the sound of the dear old bell. (127) MOODS. OUT of darkness bring me a wail From a horror-haunted soul, Till curdles my blood and blanches pale My heart as an unwrit scroll ; Shrill and clear, On the midnight air, Out of darkness bring me a wail ! Out of silence bring me a sound Voicing agony's thrall — A moan or groan of grief profound. And steeped in torture's gall — Vibrant of Hearts rent and clove, Out of silence bring me a sound ! Out of twilight bring me a prayer From a heart that wavers between A gleam of hope and a wild despair. And the fathomless unseen ; Earnest and wild As the fright of a child. Out of twilight bring me a prayer ! (128) THE DOLL'S DRESS. 129 Out of Lethe bring to my heart Some strain of long ago — Some memory of youth a part, Untouched by guile or woe — Something meet, Tender and sweet. Out of Lethe bring to my heart ! Out of the shadows soft and dim Bring me the sound of tears. The broken fragments of a hymn Back from the vanished years — Soft and low, And sad and slow. Out of the shadows soft and dim ! THE DOLL'S DRESS. I FOUND this garment here to-day, Moth-marked, and in some places molded ; God bless the hands that folded it away. The little hands themselves now folded. lO THE MAIDEN'S HINT. I MET my love by the merest chance Where two paths came together, Where the leaves hung red in the sun's soft glance, Of the mild October weather ; And she would have passed, but I barred her way, And clasped her hand and bade her stay And hear what her lover had to say. With a downward glance and a feeble show To withdraw her hand from mine, she said : *' 'Tis late, and the sun is sinking low. And the path I have to tread Lies over the hills and the woodlands through, And will soon be wet with the evening dew, And I dare not tarry to list to you. " 'Tis a lonely way when the day grows dim, And the twilight shadows lower. And the fireflies render the dusk forms grim. As they gyre and circle o'er The path where through the woodland it goes, And the lonely spell o'er one it throws — Only the heart of a maiden knows. (130) DEAD HOPES. 131 "Ah yes," she sighed, as again she tried To withdraw her hand from mine : " 'Tis a lonely way in the eventide. So please release my hand from thine, And let me pass ere the sun descends, And the evening shade with the twilight blends, And day in the dusky darkness ends." Could a bashful swain have asked for more, Or a maid more modest been ? So I took her arm as her glance fell lower. And together we started then ; And the path was bright and short instead, And many the pleasant things were said. As along the winding way we sped. DEAD HOPES. THROUGH a mist of tears to the vanished years, I gaze with a hopeless longing. And open my arms to the beautiful forms Down memory's vista thronging. But the shadowy forms evade my arms, Which close on the empty air ; However, it seems they are but dreams, There is no substance there. THE COQUETTE. WHY, Cupid ! thou silly little dunce ! Why didst thou give to her thy bow? The minx ! if she has strung it once, She has a thousand times, I know. Pursue and take it from her now, And do thou not the like again, As hang thy bow on beauty's brow, Who points her arrows all with pain. LOST LEOLINE. OH ! bitter the day and cold. Oh ! stormy the night and long, When my lost love, my Leoline, Went down in the billows strong. Oh ! why should thy waves return To thy bosom again, O sea ! When my lost love, my Leoline, Can never come back to me ? (132) AKKEBWASSA'S DAUGHTER. (an INDIAN IvKGEND.) A KKEEWASSA was a warrior, -^^- Of his prowess proud, and prestige ; Visionless, but vain and vauntful Of the homage all accorded The intrepid Akkeewassa. Akkeewassa's only daughter, Famous for her favored features, And her form's enchanting graces. Was designed by Akkeewassa For some chief of rare distinction. Who could boast of deeds of valor Equaling his, or greater. But when she'd repelled each proffer From the chiefs of tribes adjacent. Then his anger knew no limit. And he questioned her for reasons Why his wishes were not heeded, When she, strong in that sweet, holy Passion maidens cherish, boldly (133) 134 AKKEE WASSA 'S DA UGHTER. Answered him her heart already Was in keeping of a hunter In the tribe whereof the ruler Was her father — Akkeewassa. Akkeewassa, then no longer Able to restrain his anger, Had the hunter brought before him, And, in tones of rising choler. Thus denounced the lowly hunter. Who had dared to woo the daughter Of the valiant Akkeewassa : *' Dastard ! who art thou, whose totem Is the ignominious fisher's, That you dare to hope and cherish Thoughts above thy lowly station ? Think'st thou that Akkeewassa Would not sooner see his daughter Pinioned to the stake of torture. Or enrobed for her sepulture, Than the wife of Wanawasha ? Know you not that warriors worthy Of the praise of Akkeewassa, From adjacent tribes have journeyed AKKEE WASSA '5 DA UGHTER. 1 35 Hither, hoping to entangle In true love's enthralling meshes The proud heart of Opeeleesa? *' Were the ravenous brown eagle, Or the carcajou thy totem, And thy flesh bore marks of torture. Welcomed and endured unflinching, And thy lodge pole well were laden With scalp-locks in battle taken. Then, perhaps, thy lowly lin'age I might overlook, and sanction Thy alliance with my daughter ; But if thou, whose weak ancestry Gives no promise of achievements In the chase or on the war-path. Still endeavor to beguile her. And, by artifice and fiction, Dost her happiness endanger, By more hopelessly ensnaring Her in love's enslaving meshes, Then beware ! lest Akkeewassa Make thee food for wolves and vultures. Only such can claim alliance 136 AKKEE WASSA '5 DA UGHTER. With the house of Akkeewassa As have won a name in battle." Pale and trembling with the effort To restrain the deep resentment Rising from rebuke so trenchant, Wanawasha thus made answer : " Akkeewassa's tongue is livid With the scathing heat of passion, And his words, chagrin envenomed. Reek with slander's noisome odor ; Yet are harmless and impotent As the twitter of the sparrow, Flitting midst the swaying branches, When the surreptitious youngster Hath purloined its helpless fledgeling. "Wanawasha is no coward, And his lin'age is not lacking Of ennobling deeds of daring. In his time, as Akkeewassa Must remember, no incursions. Or attacks to be resisted, Opportunity's afforded To arouse the sleeping forces — AKKEE WASSA 'S DA UGHTER. 137 Strength and courage, skill and prowess — Attributes of Wanawasha. " Swift the hawk's descent — unerring In its aim — and so my arrows ; Deadly is the serpent's venom, — So are Wanawasha's cresses ; Crafty is the fox and speedy. And so also 's Wanawasha ; Keen the wary panther's scent is, — So likewise is Wanawasha's ; Fierce the carcajou and agile, — So also is Wanawasha ; Terror-fraught the muckwa's growl is, — So is Wanawasha's war cry. And lest his thine own shall rival, Guard thy prestige, Akkeewassa ! " With which speech young Wanawasha Proudly turned from Akkeewassa, Bent upon some deed of daring That should win him praise and plaudits. Seeking out the younger warriors, His intentions he imparted. Whereupon they all agreed to Join him in the expedition. 138 AKKEE WASSA '5 DA UGHTER. Arrows tipped with flint or jasper, Bach one carried in his quiver, While each muskeemoot with pounded Corn was filled, and sweet pemmican. Thus equipped, and each one painted In the manner of his fancy, And adorned with eagle feathers, On a grassy plain at even, 'Round a blasted, solitary Pine, appointed for the orgies Of the war-dance, they assembled, Where a fire was quickly kindled, Backward from whose rays the shadows- Murky waves of dusky darkness — Fled into the inky blackness, While the yellow flames, entwining The rich faggots, resin coated, Seemed so many serpents, writhing. Wanawasha, now their leader. Quickly strode into the center Of the bright illumined circle And began a melancholy Chant, the while the tree he compassed. AKKEE WASSA '5 DA UGHTER. 139 First of his own expectations Did he sing, and then recounted Warlike deeds of his ancestors, And when he 'd the theme exhausted Struck the post and others followed, Till each in his turn had boasted All the feats of self or father ; Then a war-whoop, loud and fearful, Clove the else unbroken silence, And the war-dance, wild and frantic, Was begun and long continued ; And when the weird orgies ended, To the rendezvous appointed On the borders of the nation They 'd selected for invasion. Each by his own way departed. And no braver party ever Rallied for conquest and glory Than the fearless Chippewayans Of the band of Wanawasha. Wanawasha sought the maiden. Ere the expedition started. And confidingly imparted 140 AKKEE WASSA 'S DA UGHTER. His intentions and the motive. But, her tender heart misgiving Her the mission of her lover, She, by artful, soft persuasions, Sought to overcome his purpose. ** Wanawasha needs no glory- Other than the fates accord him. To insure him the devotion Of his trusting Opeeleesa," Answered Opeeleesa softly. " Opeeleesa's heart is darkened With the shadow of forebodings, Which thy tenderest assurance Can not banish, Wanawasha ; For, now I recall the omen, Yester-even from the coppice Sang the we-ko-lis more sadly Than before hath ever fallen On the ears of Opeeleesa, And my heart grew strangely tender In its thoughts of Wanawasha. " Then as softly came a shadow. As of some approaching sorrow, AKKEE WASSA 'S DA UGHTER. 141 And my soul grew all a-tremble With the dread which came upon me, And I fear it was the presage Of some dire, impending evil That 's to sever Wanawasha Evermore from Opeeleesa, And my heart is well-nigh breaking As the import of this omen Bears on it with clearer meaning In the light of thy mad purpose. ''Love or glory — which were sweetest? — . One you leave to seek the other ; Death or glory wait thee yonder — Death you risk in quest of glory. If 't is death, then Opeeleesa Must heartbroken mourn thee ever ; If 't is fame, yet Opeeleesa Could not love thee more or better." " Not for fame, for fame's sake only, Hazard I my life, your pleasure," Answered Wanawasha proudly, " But to prove the imputation Of eflfeminacy, uttered 142 AKKEE WASSA '5 DA UGHTER, Of me by thy irate father, Is unjust, false, and malicious, And until I have disproved it I could not feel myself worthy Of the love of Opeeleesa, And I shall the foray hazard. Though my dreams were unpropitious." Then with many protestations Of inviolate attachment, The devoted lovers parted. To meet here no more forever ; For although the youthful warrior Led his party on to vict'ry. And succeeded in securing Many scalp-locks (valued trophies). At the very last an arrow From some laggard of the vanquished Pierced his heart, and he sank dying. From the moment that the om'nous Death howl came to Opeeleesa, No smile lit her face forever ; Tears and sighs and lamentations Were thence forward her companions ; AKKEE WASSA 'S DA UGHTER. 143 Every effort to amuse her Or restore her wonted spirits Futile was and unavailing. Wand' ring aimlessly, or seated In some shady nook, secluded From the morbid's observation, Tenderly she sang and sweetly To the spirit of her lover, Which she fancied hovered near her In the image of a robin Perched among the boughs above her. Of the song a fragment only Grim Forgetfulness evaded. To be sung by hapless maidens Of her own and other nations. Tender were the words and touching, But the strain to which she chanted Them with sweetest intonation Sadder was and more pathetic, And, although the words are given, The melodious strain is lacking. 144 AKKEE WASSA '5 DA UGHTER. opeeleesa's song. " Sweet spirit of my lover, Whatever stress betide, Forever near me hover, A-near me, love, abide. " I will not break thy quiet. If thou wilt linger near. And other birds their riot Will cease thy song to hear. " And when death shall have broken The bondage love would rend. Be this devotion's token — To thee I will commend " My soul for its transition To the heavenly isle, And, with true love's submission, Thy blessed soul beguile." Thus her plaintive song she daily Chanted to the robin sitting On the swaying boughs above her, I AKKEE WASSA 'S DA UGHTER. 145 Listening as if the import Of her song were comprehended; While her fond imagination Led her to the vain conclusion That it was her lover truly, In the image of the robin. Akkeewassa, no less broken Now in spirit than his daughter, Oft endeavored to beguile her, But in vain, her heart was breaking, And from day to day she slowly Pined away, and when the summer Time had fled, and snows prevented Converse with the cherished robin, Death, in mercy, came and took her. And her father, long repentant, Had her lover brought and buried In a grave beside his daughter. Thus ends the tale of Opeeleesa, Akkeewassa's only daughter. II YEARNINGS. DOWN in the orchard a robin red-breast Is gathering straws to build her a nest, And when each delicate fiber has been Carefully placed and well woven in, She tucks her little head under her wing And dreams of her nest and brood of last spring : " Such a dear little brood it was, to be sure. And their absence is very hard to endure ; Ah, me! how I wish they'd return," chirped she, ** And bide for a season with Robin and me." Out on the portico grandmother 's sitting. Winding her yarn for next winter's knitting. Humming a soft little air as she winds. Or pausing to ravel the tangles she finds ; And when every thread is wound from the reel She sighs, as some old memories steal Over her thoughts from the dear dead past. Till over her heart a shadow is cast : ** Ah, me! how I wish our boys," said she, " Had tarried at home with Jamie and me." (146) i TWILIGHT AND DUSK. 147 Down in the meadow a little white lamb Is skipping and frisking about his dam ; No worry hath he, and never a bother, When hungry he scampers away to his mother, Who, while he is sucking, patiently stands And gazes away o'er the meadow lands. Wondering now in a mournful way Where feeds the weanling that went astray : ''Ah, me ! how I wish he was here," said she, "To sleep in the fold to-night with me." TWILIGHT AND DUSK. WHEN the shadows of night and the waning day In the gathering twilight meet, I love to kneel at their dusky feet, And list the tale so tender and sweet Each tells in a sober way. Two lovers, two passionate lovers are they, Their wooing is tender and low. Tender, chaste, and pure as the snow ; Ah me ! but would n't I love to know What these pale lovers say. MAGGIE, THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. "1 T /'ELIy I remember the little old mill, ^ * The miller and Maggie, his daughter ; And the long chain of troughs that led down the hill, Forming a shute for the water That kept the old overshot wheel spinning round Till the barley or corn in the hopper was ground. The miller was old, but Maggie, blue-eyed. Beautiful Maggie was spry. And never a boy of us but would have died For a smile or a glance of her eye, And often, no doubt, she took double toll. Confused by the admiring glances we stole. And he of the boys, who, while his " turn " ground, Got Maggie to play " fox and goose," (Where the red grain chases the white ones around), Was the envied of all — the butt of abuse. Her lips in a pucker, her brows knit in thought. The fox must be sly if the goosie he caught. But the old miller died long years ago ; The mill is a dream of the past. And Maggie, alone in her grief and her woe, Pined slowly and followed at last ; (148) THE BLIND MAN'S SOLILOQUY. 149 Yet the mill, the miller, and Maggie, I find With all the sweet dreams of my youth are entwined. For I dream of the quaint little overshot mill, The miller and Maggie, his daughter. And the long chain of troughs that led down the hill, Forming a shute for the water That kept the old ramshackled-wheel spinning round Till the barley or corn in the hopper was ground. THE BLIND MAN'S SOLILOQUY. LIKE Milton, blind am I, and old ; ^ Thou hast touched me with affliction's touch, Because I sinned overmuch, Nor sought thy ways, more precious than gold ; But I am glad thou hast afflicted me. Since it hath brought me nearer unto thee. For, being blind to earthly sight, I walk no more in folly's ways, And the remainder of my days I '11 serve Thee with a holy might ; A little ways up on thy hills I see Holy angels beckoning to me. HARD LUCK. IRISH to remark, in my humble way, And in a few words to try to convey To your minds the fact that I 'm poor ; And to ask some one to say, if he can, How under Heaven is a friendless man Ever on earth to tide o'er The stream of misfortune that floods his path, Or appease the temper of Fate, whose wrath Is searing and scathing his soul. Till it sometimes seems the heavens above Have recalled their light and withdrawn their love, And hidden the path to each goal. 'T was never my temper to sue or plead, Or put up a story and ask for bread. As the beggar is wont to do ; Nor is it charity I ask, indeed, As you shall see, if you will but heed And follow my story through. There are vaults, I know, in these goodly lands That are bursting, 'most, with the gold the hands (150) HARD LUCK. 151 Of the sordid few have stored In their cavernous depths, to rust or wait Till the time is ripe for a heavier rate Of interest for their hoard. And I ask myself, as I feel the stress Of the ever-increasing hopelessness That each barren effort brings : Why it is, if there be a God above, Who even takes note of the sparrow with love, That He will allow such things — Allow the many to suffer for bread, Physic and raiment, while a feast is spread Of the costliest dainties and wine In the homes of those whose plethoric vaults Dull conscience and sense to a thousand faults, Allowing that He is benign ? Not until this glaring disparity I saw, in the absence of charity, And a lack of brotherly love. Did I doubt the goodness of God, or feel That he had n't a care for the poor man's weal. As I fear these things must prove. So, you see from what I have said, I go 152 MORNING— A SONNET. A roundabout way in order to show I should like a dif 'rent deal; And if I do n't get it, then you may say That I do not strive or work, but play. Or follow the rod and reel. MORNING— A SONNET. BACK roll the curtains from the couch of Night, When turns the gloomy god and disappears Behind the horizon in the twilight That chases dawn around the hemispheres ; But ere his pond'rous form is lost to sight, The morning sylphs the veil of ebon tears From his low'ring brow, when lo ! Morning bright Above the summit of the mountain peers. Then, hark ye to all Nature's waking yawn, When Slumber, wrapt in clouds of morning mists, * Descends the eastern slopes, where blushing Dawn The dew-drops from his trembling eyelids kiss, And, stooping, snatches from the sun a ray And sends it quiv'ring up the solar way. MEMORIES. 'P^O you ever dream of hours ^-^ That are buried with the past? Do you ever scan the faces That in memory are cast ? Do you ever hear the voices That thrilled you long ago, Like the music that goes pulsing Through your senses to and fro ? Do you ever see the twinkle Of an eye that beamed on you, With the love-light ever gleaming In its depths of brown or blue ? Do you ever hear the ripple Of a laughter that is hushed. Or feel again the bitter tears From burning eyes that gushed ? If so, then thou hast realized That memory alone Can ever bring to thee again The hours that have flown. Or ever re-awaken The griefs and joys known. (153) HOPES AND SMII.es. WHAT'S the use of hurrying, And forever worrying? — Life is but a span, And at his own burying Each will be, to a man. Yet each seems bent on beating The others all, and greeting The undertaker first. As if Time were not fleeting, Humanity death-cursed. This everlasting fretting Or otherwise regretting What we can not mend, Time's ravages abetting Is, you may well depend. It never was intended Life should be blent and blended With regrets and sighs, For, until time is ended, Hope's promise never dies. (154) i THE WIFE'S QUERY. 155 True, fortune's favor 's fickle, And oft there is a trickle Of tears — a smile instead, And tearful tunes may tickle Some hearts, where others bleed. THE WIFE'S QUERY. TF thou, my precious one, were asked to-day, -*- What nearest fills the measure of thy heart, Couldst thou look calmly in my eyes and say — '* Thou, dearest one, thou hast the greater part?" If I should come upon thee unaware, While somber care sits brooding on thy brow, And for thy holiest thoughts lay kisses there. Pray thee, O mine, how wouldst thou answer, now? If I were laid upon a bed of pain. And all thy wealth were lying by my side, And fate should say "one only shall remain," Tell me, I pray, how then wouldst thou decide ? I would not give thy love a bitter test, But O ! dear one, I should so love to know If thou of all things earthly love me best — Because — ah, w^ell ! because I love thee so. LOVE'S HAZARD. I ASKED you in my simple way " What is love? " — and you said: " It is a game that some hearts play, By man and woman played." I seemed not, though, to understand ; Wherefore, to make it plain. You said if I would take a hand. Perhaps you could explain. 'T was thus the game began, and I — I must be very dull ; For though I know, indeed, I try To get the meaning full, I can't, somehow, for thinking you Have such seductive eyes, And wondering what you would do If you should win the prize. You know you told me that the heart Was always made the die. And if we got an even start. The game would be a tie. (156) THE AFTER-GLOW. 157 It was n't fair — you had the best Right from the beginning, And though the game began in jest, I 'm now bent on winning. And yet I know that you must win, As I 've but one in seven ; Though, if you 're fair, you '11 let 's begin The game over even. And then — Oh, pshaw ! I wish your eyes Had been less alluring, Oh that, since now you 've won the prize, You would cease demurring. THE AFTER-GLOW. /^NB thing, at least, is plain to me— ^^ The nobler truths of life are n't learned Till the after-glow — till the taper we Have followed so long to the socket 's burned. OLD-TIME APPLE PARIN'S. IN the otum, when the corn begins to ripin in the ear, An' the little Milum apples are beginnin' to git red, It is pleasant to go whistlin' 'bout the farm, and fer to hear The breezes as they dance along an' whisper round yer head. An' then a little later, when the huskin's are the rage, An' old-time apple parin's at the neighbors' houses round, I 'm as happy as a little bird just let out from its cage, An' my heart is makin' music out of ev 'ry kind o* sound. An' in the winter evenin's, when the supper's cleared away. An' father 's sittin' by the fire, his ole cob pipe a-light, It 's jus' the sweetest sound to me to hear my sister say: "John, don't you want to go with me to Sallie Baird's to-night?" (158) OLD-TIME APPLE PARIN'S. 159 Not that she 's my sweet'art, though she 's purty enough to be, Nor because I couldn't love her as a sweet'art ort to do ; But jes' because she is so shy when I 'm about, ye see. An' looks at me as ef she thought, " I got no use fer you." Some nights she comes to our house — an', when it 's time to go, She looks as ef she 's most afraid to cross the fields alone ; An' then I go back with her, an' we walk along as slow, An' every thing she says to me is in a' undertone. An' then when I get home again, an' go up-stairs to bed. It 's the longest kind o' time before I go to sleep at all; There 's the queerest kind of idees alius runnin' through my head. An' Sallie Baird is somehow alius mixed up in 'em all. AN ELEGY. THE faultless hue of yon cerulean sky, Wherein the mysteries of life are hid, Allures me forth unto the woods where I Defi'nce awhile to care and toil may bid. Aslant the interlacing boughs descends The mellow radiance of the morning sun, Which to the leaves translucent beauty lends. And drinks the pendent dew-drops one by one. Upon the rocks beneath this ancient tree, Whose form is shadowed in the passing stream, I '11 sit me down awhile to rest— maybe To meditate, perhaps to sleep and dream. If speculation shall discern no trace Of scenes enacted here upon a time. Chide not, O man ! if fancy should embrace The present place for elegy and rhyme. Who knows ! erstwhile beneath this very tree, Where I in silent musing sit to-day, Some dusky warrior-poet it may be, Traced the rude hieroglyphics of his lay. (160) \ A "^ -y'' n I .-r v 1/ >-' y^ ** upon the rocks beneath this ancient tree, Whose form is shadowed in the passing stream, I '11 sit me down awhile to rest — maybe To meditate, perhaps to sleep and dream." Page 1 60. AN ELEGY. 161 Perhaps he mourned some swarthy maiden fair, Whom he had loved as only they can love Who tread the wilds and breathe the mountain air, And draw their inspiration from above. Or it may be some chief of savage mien Came here at morn his oracle to woo ; Here sought his eagle-crested head to screen, Or read the stars at night in yonder blue. Perchance some red man's spirit parted here With its rude tenement of earthly clay, And bounded forth into that mystic sphere — The happy hunting-grounds across the way. Some dusky maiden may have here reclined And dreamed such dreams as other maidens dream, Her lover's image graven on her mind. Her own reflected in this placid stream. Again, it may have been the trysting place, Where lovers met in the dim eventide. Exchanged their vows — parting with fond embrace, To seek their wigwams by the river side. At hide and seek, doubtless, red men's children played Where now the shadows fall about my feet ; 12 162 . DREAM LAND. With pappoose on her back some squaw hath strayed Down yonder path her tardy lord to meet, Who, late returning from the weary chase. Was wont to drop his burden in her arms, And follow slowly to their resting-place. Where even savage firesides have their charms. But now no sign remains of all the past. And fancy seeks in vain to lift the veil And peer beneath the shadows time hath cast Across the path where all traditions fail. So, what hath been will be again no more ; The dusky maid will here no more recline, Nor poet trace his hieroglyphics as of yore, Nor lovers here at eventide repine. DREAM LAND. NO music so sweet as that of our dreams. No faces so fair as faces thus seen ; No rivers so clear as the dream-land streams. No flowers so fair, no foliage so green. HEART MELODIES. 163 No shade like the shade of the dream-land trees, No springs elswhere so clear and cold ; No zephyr so mild as the dream-land breeze, No turf to the tread like the dream-land mold. No hills so high as the dream-land hills. No beasts roam wild in the dream-land woods ; No pebbles so white as in dream-land rills. No silence like the dream-land solitudes. HEART MELODIES. I CAN NOT sing the dear old songs My heart forever sings ; To the dead past so much belongs. So many dear, dead things. Rest in the shadows of the years. Each trembling note is lost in tears. The by-ways of the past are filled With wrecks and vanished faces. And voices, forever stilled. In unexpected places Methinks I hear in the refrain, Or mingling with the tender strain. MY DEAD. THERE is no life for me, since thy dear life Passed through the shadows that fair autumn morn, And I would fain give o'er the weary strife, Since there can be to me no new hope born. O I/ife ! from which my life drew all its bliss ! O Soul ! from which my soul obtained its light ! There is no agony to equal this — This longing for thy tender words to-night. It may be the departed never yearn To clasp the dear ones left behind ; It may be in the change their spirits learn These yearnings are alone to earth confined. Yet I believe, if it were given thee To know my loneliness, and leave were given, Thou wouldst return awhile to comfort me, And for my sake forego awhile of heaven. But O ! the pain, the agony when I Remember, love, how vain these longings are Which will not cease, however hard I try. Thou dear beloved, my bright evanished star ! (164) ANTON-LAR-RBE. (an INDIAN lyBGEND.) IF my brother has not heard it, Know the Red Man of the forest, Besides the one Great Spirit, holds A manito in all things dwells. In each hill and every valley, In each open glade and glen, In each chamber of each cavern — In every thing a spirit dwells. And they like the Red Man only, The white man they abominate. Because he 's always intruding, Sweeping clean the earth, and robbing It of stately trees, and tearing Up the soil, and penetrating Every sacred glen and cavern, Killing beauty and polluting Every limpid stream and fountain. The Indian, he will not provoke them. Conciliates, propitiates them ; On the mountain top spreads for them, (165) 166 ANTON-LAR-REE. Hangs ou the crags or in the cave, Or drops upon the flowing waters Wreaths of flowers, belts of wampum, Clusters of grapes and ears of maize. And when an Indian child is given. Be it a man-child or woman, Then for it a spirit 's chosen, To protect it and to guide it, And happy is its life or other. As the guardian spirit 's gifted, Thus much ere my tale begins. tetontuaga's vision. Reposing was the Mengwe warrior, In his lodge calmly reposing, On the bank of his own river. In the Moon of Luscious Berries,* When, by the moonlight, in slanting. He beheld in all his glory A forest chief enter his cabin ; Light his step was as the snow-fall, And no word or sound he uttered, * July. ANTON-LAR-REE. 167 But gazed on Tetontuaga ; Who rose and from the wall his sin'wy Bow took down, and from his quiver Plucked a flawless, well-barbed arrow, When lo ! away the phantom faded, lyike the mists of morning, faded. Astonished, then, Tetontuaga Woke his comrades from their slumber, Woke and told them of the vision ; But who naught had seen or hearkened. Drawing then his robe around him, He again repaired to slumber. Closed his eyes and sought oblivion ; Invoked the spirit which presideth Over slumber to protect him From disturbing dreams and visions. But this blessing was denied him ; For again the form gigantic, And of dress of wond'rous texture. Stood beside Tetontuaga. Tall he was — of all men tallest ; Black, but lusterless, his eyes were, And larger than the moose's are. 168 ANTON-LAR-REE. Like a man almost o'erpow'rd By the frost of the bleak Bear Moon, Shook his great white teeth and chattered. On his head a plume of feathers Of some bird unknown wore he, While a robe of ancient seeming, Fastened with an eagle's talon, Hung in ripples from his shoulders. When he spoke his words were chilling, I/ike the breath from frozen waters, And marv'lous the things he told to The amazed Tetontuaga: Of the wars of the Al-le-ge-wi ; * Of blood that ran in mighty torrents Into the Michigan and Erie, And the river of the mountains,t And the great Nae-me-si-Sip-u, + Discoloring their once clear waters — Cresting with red foam their wild waves — Till the men of the Al-le-ge-wi From their hunting-grounds were driven, * Evidently whom we call the Mound Builders, t The Hudson. X Mississippi. ANTON-LAR-REE. 169 (But where, none but the Great Master, And the manitoes and spirits In the Blessed Shades, knew whither), By the Mengwe chief's ancestors, Who hither came across the Frozen Sea and smote the Al-le-ge-wi. He then described the pigmy people. Giant tribes and other races, Who in the past, unknown ages Thither dwelt and had their lodges. Then a song, wild and discordant, Like the croakings of the raven, Burst, in tones loud and triumphant. From his lips. Of valiant exploits Of his tribe he sang and boasted, Of his people long since perished, Of their warfares, loves, and hatreds. Changing then the theme, he sang him Of the land of vanished spirits. Where the souls of valiant red men Still pursue the deer and bison. Then recounted he traditions And weird legends of times olden, 170 ANTON-LAR-REE. Of forest loves and strategies. But at dawn the phantom vanished, Whereon arose Tetontuaga, And unto his tribe related The traditions he had hearkened Of the phantom in his cabin, One of which 1 11 tell my brother. THK LEGEND. Brightly shone the moon, and sweetly Chimed the voices of the waters With the music of the rustling Foliage on the swaying branches Of the sighing forest linden, When from out the tangled forest. Breathing as from haste and hurry. Came a youth and lovely maiden. Tall he was, like the young pine tree. Lithe and supple like the panther. Fierce, when pitted with his foes he, But compassionate and tender With the maid he loved so dearly, Gentle with her as a mother. ANTON-LAR-REE. 171 Beauteous she and small of stature, Pure and radiant as the dew-drop, Mild and gentle as the zephyr, Of all mortal things the fairest. The horse which had in safety borne them From the maiden's lodge and people, From her angry sire and brother, Lay exhausted in the forest, And now upon the river's margin, With the twinkling stars above them. And the moonlight streaming o'er them, Paused they in suspense, and breathless. Said the youth: " My Anton-Lar-ree, We are safe, pursuit is vanquished ; Like an arrow through the thicket Sped our good steed through the forest ; Foiled is thy angry father. And my rival and thy brother ; No angry voices, discordant, Mar the stillness of the ev'ning; No mad footfalls sound behind us, Safe are we, my Anton-Lar-ree. 172 ANTON-LAR-REE, So rest thee here, my beloved, As a young bird, weary flying, Rests upon the swaying branches Till its faintness has departed. To yon laurel copse I hasten. Where concealed my canoe lieth ; Hither will I speed it quickly. In it place my Anton-Lar-ree, And the river to my tepee We '11 descend, my fair Mekaia." " O, leave me not? " the maiden pleaded, " When thou leavest me I tremble, And dismay my soul oppresses. Quake I, then, with dire forebodings ; Hear I, then, my angry mother ; Storms my father like the tempest ; Shrieks my brother in his fury. And thy rival, like the panther Which accosts the lonely hunter. Stands before thy Anton-Lar-ree, Boasting of his deeds and valor, All my lonely soul distressing ; Meet my name of Anton-Lar-ree,* * Burnt Weed. ANTON-LAR-REE. 173 Since I am so like the limsy, Drooping weed the fire has tortured." ' My Anton-Lar-ree, thou art dreaming, No dread perils near thee hover ; Let not fancy so mislead thee ; Know thy Moscharr well would shield thee, And his canoe soon will bear thee To his lodge beyond the river, Where his hated rival dare not, And thy angry mother will not. And thy storming father must not, And thy raging brother shall not Come to fright my wee Mekaia." * Thus he said and lightly bounded From her side and quickly vanished Toward the laurels, where his canoe Lay concealed beside the river. At the moment he departed, Passed a cloud before the moon's face, All her radiance obscuring. Deeming which an evil omen, Shrank the maid among the willows, * Their name for sweetheart. 174 ANTON-LAR-REE. All her slender form a-quiver With the fear that came upon her. But vain the presage was, and idle Were her fears, for soon the cloud passed And her lover stood beside her. ** Cheer up, Mekaia ! here 's thy Moscharr, Haste, my love, and let 's be going ; I 've my canoe now in waiting, And upon the placid river Soon together we'll be drifting." To the canoe on the water Quickly then her lover drew her ; With her head upon his shoulder, And his arm her waist encircling, On the mid wave of the current Shot the canoe, no hand guiding. Sped the canoe down the river. Swift as thought the current bore them. Noting which the maiden queried : " Say, O Moscharr ! whither is it Thou dost guide the canoe, prithee ? Mark you not, love, how it speedeth ANTON-LAR-REE. 175 Toward the dread Oniagara ? " * '* Nay, Mekaia," Moscharr answered, "To yon strand the current's setting. And our boat is drifting thither, Where we '11 land, my Anton-L