'IPSP^, ^ M i M i M THROUGH Field and Wood. LYRIC VERSES AND SONNETS. BY ^ LEWIS DAYTON BURDICK. ^2- PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 1888. ^".^V: Copyright, 1888, by Leavis Dayton Burbick. ||STEPFOTVri'RSft,\pPRlNTERS||| CONTENTS. PAGE The Coming of "Winter 9 A Day 15 The Woods in Early Spring 17 Afterwards 19 Distance 20 Two Lives 23 How Little do we know ! 24 Lost 25 Across the Fields ^ 26 Then Earth were more like Heaven 27 Friendship 29 The Best Legacy 30 Clyde 32 A Quiet Stream 33 Labor .... 34 The Death of the Czar 35 Love and Art 36 Maturity 37 Black Eyes and Blue Eyes 38 Brotherhood 39 In the Fields 40 After the Storm 43 4 CONTENTS. PAGE In October Days ^^ Farewell to Summer *^ Priests ^"^ Corn 48 Oases 4^ Beyond ^^ June 50 In Extremis ^'^ Light and Love ^^ Servitude ^^ Vanity ^^ At Last 54 Thought 55 A Breeze of June 56 Unpleasant Things 59 Transmutation • ^^ For Her Alone ^^ The Nation's Dead 64 Old and New <55 Fate ^"^ Mirrors "' Why linger So ? ^^ Leaf and Drop "^^ Better To-day than Yesterday . 71 Conceit ... < The Clock "^^ Our Best "^ Frost "4 Palmistry "^5 Drifting '^^ CONTENTS. 5 PAGE Love's Plaint and Prayer 76 Summer Kain 79 When I am Dead 82 Resignation 83 One Afternoon 85 Nature's Jewels , , 87 An Idyl of the Spring 87 Husks 89 Forever 90 Snovv-Plakes 91 Apart 93 Song of the Wind . 98 November 96 A Memory 98 The Winter Woods 99 The Unattained 102 Self-Measurement 103 Our Idol 108 Under the Oak 104 A Winter Song 105 Why do we live? Why do we die ? 106 Water-Cresses 107 Revelation 108 Love marks the Season 109 Our King 110 How Kind is Death ! Ill King Sham 112 Warning 117 My Neighbor 118 The Spirit of the Bell 119 6 CONTENTS. SONGS OF LOVE. PAGE All in All .... 122 Love's Messengei' 123 The Difference 124 A Valentine 125 Thistle-down 125 Columbine 126 Eglantine 127 White and Blue 130 Through the Year 131 SONGS OF FLOWERS. Gold-thread 132 The Wooing of the Kose 133 My Hollyhocks 136 The Daisy . 137 Anemone 138 Lappa 139 Heart's-ease 142 Sweet-Clover - 142 DEVOTIONAL. As God wills 143 Invocation 145 Oh, praise His Holy Name ! 146 Easter Lilies 148 An Easter Greeting 160 Receive Me 152 CONTENTS. 7 SONNETS. PAGE Chance 153 Test 154 Submission 155 Trust 156 Unsatisfied 157 Indecision 158 Conscientiousness 159 Manhood 160 More Light 161 A Summer Day. 162 A March Day 163 At the Bridge 164 The Wind 165 Promise 166 Spitzkop 167 Our Unwelcome Friend 168 Luna ad Tellurem 169 Betrayal 170 The Unexpected 171 At the Lake 172 Not Yet ;. • • • 173 Mars Hill 174 BALLADS, RONDEAUS, AND TRIOLETS. Blind 175 They wait the Mail 176 When shines the Moon 177 A Ballad of my Mare 178 g CONTENTS. PAGE The Old Mill ^"^^ The Ballad of Poverty ^^^ „, . ,. 182 Christine To-Day ^^^ THE COMING OF WINTER. Geim sentinels, majestic, silent stand the naked beeches ; The balsams stagger with their burdens of new- fallen snow ; The sombre clouds above reach down to sombre woods below, Along the line of distant hills far as the vision reaches. The south wind whispers through the lonesome tamarack its warnings ; On lilac bough the nest hangs tenantless, and capped with snow. Which bluebirds built among the scented blos- soms long ago, When they beneath my window sang and wooed on May-day mornings. 10 THE COMING OF WINTER. Beneath the shed's low eaves the homes are crumb- ling of the swallows ; The barn-yard's sunny side the ruminating kine seek out, And all day long the lazy creatures hardly turn about ; The trodden snow-path daintily the vane-cock closely follows : The fences on the broad white fields are pencil lines one fancies ; Upon the pansy-beds are spread soft coverlets of snow ; The ice creeps in the coves where sluggishly the waters flow, And stealthily into the middle of the stream ad- vances. The steel-shod sled again the boys bring from the kitchen garret; Once more are oiled and strapped and polished up the rusting skates; With muffled ears they brave the night to seek the joy that waits, And were the cold ten times as great, unflinching they would bear it. THE COMING OF WINTER. H Acquaintances meet on the street, and pass with hurried paces ; And there they meet, from tireless homes and palaces of gold ; The warmth of wool and wealth of seal shield one from pinching cold, — Her sisters follow with want written on their pallid faces. Now silence reigns in haunts once musical with many voices ; The sun at noon but half way to the zenith climbs; ah, me. What restfulness there is in 'Nature's inactivity ! The weary brain and weary limb her sympathy rejoices. And still, the coming of the winter always brings a sadness Akin to that of parting with a friend we long have known ; Or that of leaving some familiar place dear to us grown, For which a longing afterwards sometimes comes in our gladness, 12 THE COMING OF WINTER. Springtime's attractive grace, the richness of the riper season, And all the tragic glory of the autumn days yet cling To memory, and yet for them our hearts are hungering ; But how considerate and kind is Nature, and what reason, If we but think of it, once more she gives us to be grateful ; For she embalms her dead with older than Egyptian rite, As tenderly and lovingly she covers from the sight Of men, with her broad mantle of soft ermine, all things hateful. And with that trusting faith true children of Osiris waited For their lost friends, in other forms, to come to them again. We know the sweet influences of summer's warmth and rain Will bring again the leaves and flowers reformed and sublimated. THE COMING OF WINTER. 13 Both in her toil and rest, what lessons Nature to us teaches ! Oh, stony, grinding greed ! oh, blind, insatiate avarice ! Behold, how free the fragrance borne on every zephyr is ! Or how the tree casts off the crown of splendor that it reaches. And in its garb of faded sackcloth winter's storming faces, As if submitting meekly to be scourged, in peni- tence, For too unseemly pride, arrayed in its magnifi- cence ; And yet, withal, the coming of the winter brings its graces. Although into some homes want creeps with the inclement weather, From hearths and hearts grown cold some fire Love from the embers rakes, Which warmth and blessing has for him who gives and him who takes. And once more human needs bring human hearts more close together. 2* 14 THE COMING OF WINTER. As simplest plant that blooms and dies, its life one summer ending, And that whose gorgeous crown comes only with a century. Fulfil God's purposes, we know, though how we may not see. That for our good the winter's frown and summer's smile are blending. I hear the crazy wind, and tremble at its visitation. Yet germs of pestilence it sweeps away from me, maybe ; The pollen of the clover revels in, for greed, the bee, But life and death of crimson fields hang on his ministration. Oh, white-winged hosts down from the frosted storm-clouds wildly flying. Are ye the guardian ghosts of rays of all the daisies past. Come hovering o'er to shield the sod from the northwester's blast? Beneath the crystal mountains summer's bloom is fallow lying. A DAY. 15 It is not death the winter bruigs ; beyond I see the meadows Greening; afar I catch the odor of the violet; There is no death; our loved and lost are only sleeping yet, And we shall grasp them by the hand beyond the darksome shadows. A DAY. The day is breaking in the east : What will it bring? More depth of woe, some added bitterness, One friendship ceased, A few sad anxious hours whose lingering Subdues the strength and makes the faith grow less,- What will it bring? * The day is breaking in the east : What will it bring? Some sweeter harmony of reed or lyre For soul to feast Upon? To satisfy heart's hungering, Some dear fulfilment of its fond desire, — What will it bring? IQ A DAT. The day is breaking in the east: What will it bring? Joy to some captive from his galling chain At length released, The throning in some heart of love as king, Awaking to his rapture and his pain, — What will it bring? The day is dying in the west: What has it brought? More wealth of hope, a touch of tenderness, One wrong confessed, Some aspiration lifting higher, one thought Some fragment of humanity will bless, — What has it brought? The day is dying in the west: What has it brought? Some friend estranged to sup and taste our wine, A welcome guest? Some strife with sore humiliation fraught, Or crowned with victory and love divine, — What has it brought? THE WOODS TN EARLY SPRING. 17 The day is dying in the west : What has it brought? One day less distant from the waiting bliss; To endless rest One day more near; to hand and brain overwrought, What comforting is summed in this The day has brought? THE WOODS IN EARLY SPRING. I NEVER walk these woodland ways, And on the cast-off jewels tread, Which crowned throughout the summer days, The naked boughs above my head, Unless my pulses thrill and start At every footstep's slightest sound. And I do feel within my heart, That it is consecrated ground. Decay and ruin greet my eyes ; Grim skeletons in silence stand ; Where all was life around me lies The work of death on every hand ; 18 THE WOODS IN EARLY SPRING. And every leaf beneath my feet, Which careless winds have thoughtless strown, Marks where friend I was wont to greet, Or hides grave of friend I have known. And yet I cannot think them dead, Though I behold Death's signals here; Though from my vision they are fled, I know they must be somewhere near, And have assumed these sombre hues, For purpose I cannot divine; Or feint of death may be a ruse, Perchance, to test the faith of mine. To every blackened arch and spire Clings something yet of former grace; As mute strings of a broken lyre Recall outlines of some dear face. Among these withered stems I see Familiar forms where'er I turn ; I breathe again, it seems to me, The spicy odor of the fern. And even now, the while I look, Warm sunlight streaming through the boughs. AFTERWARDS. 19 And into every hidden nook, With grace of life the germs endows, Which only fragments of the dust Appeared to my half-blinded eyes; And my heart swells with hope and trust. For I can see the dead arise. AFTERWARDS. No sky is so draped with thick clouds sweeping over, Obscuring and mocking the light of the sun, But it will again its brightness recover. When the wrath of the storm is done. No violet snatches from the blue bending over. So exquisite hue in the blossoming May, But the litter of autumn the mould will cover, Where it withers and passes away. No heart is so gay with frolic and laughter In its hours of abandon, most reckless and wild. But the pang of some grief will come to it after, To which it is unreconciled. 20 DISTANCE. No heart is so strickeu and broken with sorrow, Overwhelming and crushing like death, to-day, But there 'waits it some hopeful and brighter to- morrow. When its woe shall have shrunken away. The gray of no dawn is so winsome and tender. Heralding the fulness of beauty and light. But the day rolls away, and its dying splendor Is chased by the shadows of night. The gloom of no night is so long, and so cheerless. Though its measureless spaces seem infinite. But the dawn of some morning will follow, as peerless. As the suns before it have lit. DISTANCE. We always look too far away ; For aye. More distant things attractive seem ; We dream DISTANCE. 21 Of that beyond our reach and ken, And then, To gain it sacrifice that near And dear. We may think that the world is fair Elsewhere, And see not beauties that near by Us lie; Or sweetest harmonies may make Awake Some by-gone sorrow's mournful strain Again. The treasures our weak hands might clasp We grasp Not, or but half appreciate, And wait, Unsatisfied and hungering, Something, Which better through the veil of years Appears. Too far we seek our duty, too; So do Our efforts fail; close to our homes It comes, 3 22 DISTANCE. And needful opportunity, Maybe, Awaits for us our very door Before. We magnify that in our way To-day ; Fumes of suspicion's poison rise ! Our eyes Are blurred by them ; to-morrow, though, Our foe Disarms; and through its tinted dream Joys gleam. Our wisdom classifies each star. Afar, But gauges not some nearer light Aright ; Who sees how far an evil word Is heard. Or counts steps love's dear feet have trod- But God ! TWO LIVES. 23 TWO LIVES. The life of one men thought was almost blame- less : Ah ! who can tell What forces strove in him for mastery Ere honor yielded up her citadel ? Among his fellows this one walked a king, In wisdom, affluence, and everything For which is longing, struggling, envying: His magic touch wrought all successfully ; The voices of the world sang his renown ; Upon his brow love placed his regal crown : Ah ! who can tell Why he went down ? The life of one was grovelling and aimless: Ah! who can know The purposes that sway the human heart? He lived and served and plodded ; little, though, By him the waters of life's sea were stirred : Wealth crowned him not; fame whispered not a word; 24 ^OW LITTLE DO WE KNOW. Beyond a space his name was never heard ; Though steadfastly he played an humble part, He could not climb, and reached to honors none; And, at the end, seemed just where he begun : Ah ! who can know What heights he won? HOW LITTLE DO WE KNOW! They tell us there are mountains in far Switzer- land Which send a dozen echoes back to those below ; Beyond the spaces by our narrow vision spanned Are echoes God alone can understand : And what he hears, alas, how little do we know ! The sigh we breathe, the word we speak, the note we sing, How little do we know how far some one will hear ! The kindly deed we do, the look of love we bring, The soothing touch of our sweet comforting, How little do we know how some heart it will cheer ! LOST. 25 The blow we strike, the wound we give, the heart we break, How little do we know our victim's suffering ! The loss we feel, the cross we bear, the blow we take. The sacrifice for some dear one we make, How little do we know the strength that it will bring ! LOST. I LOST a little seed, one day, And where I could not tell ; The careless wind took it away. And left it in God's care; Upon it then His sunshine fell. And it was watered by His dew, Till by and by a lily grew. And blossomed there. A careless little word, one day. Out from my lips there fell. And with my breath was blown away. What mortal it will greet. Or whither go, I cannot tell : 3* 26 ACROSS THE FIELDS. I hope it will not mischief do, But will a lily grow into, With fragrance sweet. I missed a little friend, one day, And tears like rain-drops fell, And sorrow filled my heart alway. For he was much to me. And it is hard to say farewell; But I would not have him again : One of the King's own lilies, then. Were lost, maybe. ACROSS THE FIELDS. Across the fields, across the fields. This bright October morn I pass ; The spiders' webs, like silver shields. Are hung upon the dripping grass ; Like mummies stand the mulleins sere. The sumach fires are flaming up. And like a star of gold gleams here And there a late, lone buttercup. THEN EARTH WERE MORE LIKE HEAVEN. 27 Across the fields, across the fields, I catch kaleidoscopic views ; His wand again King Midas wields. And elm-tops turn to golden hues; The glory of the autumn wood The sunset has a rival in; The emeralds are dipped in blood. And revelries of death begin. Across the fields, across the fields, The breath of distant snowflakes comes; To it the grape his sweetness yields; A wailing song the wild bee hums; And boys and girls, with cheeks of tan, The frosted leaves go tripping through, The groves upon the hills to scan For treasures each year brings anew. THEN EARTH WERE MORE LIKE HEAVEN. If more of men, in every land. Their brother men were truer to; If fewer men w^ould raise the hand To do what they ought not to do; 28 THEN EARTH WERE MORE LIKE HEAVEN. Were more cou trolled by power of love ; Did fewer need restraint of fear, More of the bliss of heaven above Life had within this lower sphere. If rights of men were more the song, And self more hidden from the sight ; If men dared more oppose the wrong, And all cared more to live the right; If deeds of love, not deeds of land. Seemed to mankind to be more dear, Life were below more noble, grand. And earth to heaven would be more near. If needs of men had greater claim, And sympathy more moved men's hearts; Were lofty stations less the aim, And more would act well humbler parts; If each more cheerfully would bear His burden up the hill of life, More happiness on earth were there. And less of bitterness and strife. Were colors true more kept in sight, And less concealed by cunning arts; FRIENDSHIP. 29 If secret thoughts, exposed to light, Showed less deceit in human hearts; If less was feared the speech of men, And conscience taught more law and love. Men, in this nether world, were then More worthy of the realms above. And if a tempted brother fall. More would give hand of friendship still, With willing mind forgetting all. And fewer push him down the hill; If, through yet greater charity. The erring were by men forgiven, Then more reclaimed from sin would be, And earth were more like unto heaven. FRIENDSHIP. When from the path we go Is no retreat, And cross and care and woe Overcome complete : 30 THE BEST LEGACY. To ease each little blow Drops on our feet, Your loving aid we know, O Friendship sweet! When not a shining ray Of hope is near, And darker grows the way We grope in fear, Your kindly strength will stay. Your light will cheer The gloom of sorrow's sway, O Friendship dear! THE BEST LEGACY. An aged sire,— the story runs,— Believing dissolution near. Called round his bed his weeping sons. That they his dying words might hear. "Your father's lands," said he, "sell not; Concealed in them great treasure lies ; I know not where, but search each spot, Till coming time reveals the prize. THE BEST LEGACY. 31 "Turn o'er the sod, and plough each field, And roll away each useless stone; The source of wealth that lies concealed, Will surely be to you made known. '^ The dying father passed from earth ; No hidden gold e'er did appear ; But his words proved of untold worth, — Eich harvests reaped the sons each year. Rewards of industry are great; And self-earned bread has relish sweet As daintier fare on costlier plate. Which pampered heirs of riches eat. Who labors with an earnest hand In any chosen worthy field, Lives for a purpose true and grand. Though fate does not him fortune yield. Who gives his children gold or lands. Uncertain treasures to them leaves; Who teaches them with willing hands To toil, best legacy bequeaths. 32 CLYDE. CLYDE. O'eewhelmed in grief was Maggie Brown, Sweet Maggie Brown— a bride— A widow— just one year between— And darling baby Clyde. Submitting meekly to her fate, She hid away the tears; God gave her strength to struggle through Stern winter's hopes and fears. Set free by genial breath of spring The streamlets sped along; The merry robins came again And filled the air with song. Again sprang up the violets, Earth bloomed again anew. And every day the little Clyde To Maggie dearer grew, — Too lovely grew to leave amidst Earth's bitterness and strife; God took him from his mother's arms Into a better life. A qUIET STREAM. 33 A QUIET STREAM. It lies not underneath a southern sky, Where gorgeous tropic splendor fills the eye, And spicy winds must always whisper by. It is no stream of some historic land, Enriched with its rare old cathedrals grand, Or painted by some mighty master's hand. Our song is of a peaceful, happy vale. Where stalwart arms and generous hearts prevail ; The simple beauties here we proudly hail. We hail the freshness of the spring-time rain ! We hail the summer wild-flowers come again ! We hail the autumn's wealth of golden grain ! The clover-heads beneath the drifting snow Shall hide ; through leafless trees shall wildly blow The rough December winds. What matter, though ! 4 34 LABOR. The hearth-fire glow shall mock the frost-king bold; The winter's sport shall hide the winter's cold ; The joys exceed the woes a hundred-fold. A quiet stream, still on and on it goes, Between familiar wood-capped hills it flows, And dearer to my heart each year it grows. LABOR. By artist's skill the canvas glows As love and taste design, And landscape's hues or tints of rose Reflect his touch divine. By sculptor's aid our fancy's dream Or forms endeared w^e hail, And life and love and beauty gleam From marble cold and pale. But by no magical decree The statue fair upsprings, And blend in sweetest harmony The landscape's colorings. THE DEATH OF THE CZAR. 35 One must serve long and patiently Who excellence achieves, And fit to wear a crown must be Ere he the crown receives. The gift of genius, rarest dower, What heights may it aspire ! Yet labor's arm unlocks its power, And lifts achievements higher. THE DEATH OF THE CZAR. The great has fallen, — life has sped, — A nation mourns its regal dead ! Judge not, O man ! He stands alone Before the great, eternal throne : And ye who glory in this hour, And think overthrown despotic power, Mistaken is your frenzied zeal ; Red murder works no public weal. Forget ye now his love and cheer When bravest men grew pale with fear? 36 LOVE AND ART. When in that darkest night of all Our nation grieved its leader's fall? Although our hope and prophecy Fulfilled we failed in him to see, And we, on his historic page. Read not the progress of the age : The blow he struck for liberty A score of million serfs made free. Where in the world's heroic story Are written deeds of greater glory ? So God be praised! Grudge not a tear, Nor yet fling curses o'er his bier; We mourn the sadness of his fall, And ask God's mercy over all. LOVE AND ART. Earth's gems, art-touched, resplendent shine The antique marble glows, Wrought by a skill almost divine, And blooms with wreath and rose. MATURITY. 37 Each life is a mosaic grand, Mankind are artists all ; Yet, sometimes from an unknown hand The sweetest gems will fall. For golden deeds not set in gold Some simple lives adorn, And tales of love not ever told Put chivalry to scorn. As gift of art makes beauty spring Up from a block of stone, A loving heart makes man a king Without a crown or throne. MATURITY. As yields the peaceful night, With sweet and solemn stillness dumb, When morning's rosy light Announces active day has come: 4* 38 BLACK EYES AND BLUE EYES. As yields the bud and leaf, And perfume sweet and blossom dear, When come the fruit and sheaf, And wealth of autumn crowns the year: So yields youth's gentler joy To stronger passion, braver hope. When manhood crowns the boy. And brain and brawn have fullest scope. BLACK EYES AND BLUE EYES. A THEILLING power the black possess: They tell of brilliancy of mind, Of depth of passion, restlessness, A soul to daring deeds inclined. A tenderness lies in the blue : They speak a sympathizing heart, Of friendship firm and true, And faithfulness, though distance part. The black eye penetrates us through, And tremblingly it is obeyed ; So softly comes the glance of blue. Not knowing it, we're captives made. BROTHERHOOD. 39 We love the soul-lit eyes of blue, So calm, affectionate, content; Admire the glowing, jetty hue. So sparkling, bright, magnificent. BROTHERHOOD. Whoe'er thou art, thou art my brother One taught it long ago ; And He said, ^^ Love ye one another." If greater need one know Than I do. Lord, let it be mine To whisper to him low, — Brother, whatever is mine is thine. "Lift ye the burden of another'* Is written, too, somewhere ; And if in sorrow is my brother, Some part is mine to bear; Lord, help me, then, it to divine, That I may with him share, — Brother, whatever is thine is mine. 40 IN THE FIELDS. IN THE FIELDS. Away from stately halls, From dusty streets away, Out from the city's walls, I roam at will to-day. On me your hottest ray, O summer sun, let down ; I breathe pure air to-day. Though my pale cheeks grow brown. I walk through fields of gold. And gather jewels bright; The wealth cannot be told Of treasures greet my sight. Upon the side-hill there — Whoever knew such luck ? — Raspberries ripe and fair With eagerness I pluck. IN THE FIELDS. 41 Young wintergreens I pull Along my rambling way, And fill my pockets full, — I am a boy to-day. Beside the brook I stroll That winds along the vale, Whose waters, as they roll, Tell me a pleasing tale. Among the sweet wild-flowers That bloom beside the stream, How swiftly pass the hours ! How very brief they seem ! So, climbing up the hills And wandering through the vales. My heart with gladness fills; But human strength soon fails. Now prostrate on the ground My weary limbs I fling. And pleasant rest is found Beside a bubbling spring. 42 IN THE FIELDS. I dream, O God, of Thee, The generous gifts of thine : What blessings are for me ! What priceless riches mine ! The gentle winds blow free. Shine free the stars above; Beneath and over me All things proclaim His love. I thank him for the flowers And for the evening dew, And for the sun and showers Which make earth bloom anew. O Nature, if with thee I could commune yet more, Content would dwell with me And fill me o'er and o'er. AFTER THE STORM, 43 AFTER THE STORM. Deep slumber's peace kind Heaven to me brought; Yet while I slept a miracle was wrought. The curtains of the sky uprolled, and, lo ! Paling the starlight's glow, A harvest fell — of snow; And hands unseen rolled many a long windrow In the wild night, white-capping hedge and wall, And far as eye can see is spotless all. An opal sky rests on the ermined hill ; The maple's boughs white coral clusters fill; The pine-tree's hanging cones pale taper fingers seem ; And in the sunlight's beam. Like costly jewels, gleam The alder's crystals o'er the frozen stream : White plumes the elm's high branches wave and dip, And icy beads the tiny pear-twigs tip. All hushed is now the night's wild minstrelsy; The stillness only breaks the chickadee. 44 IN OCTOBER DAYS. Whose warm, brave heart no biting cold can chill. T listen to his trill; With joy my senses thrill; Into God's presence I come closer still ; And in my heart the longing springs and grows To be more like the landscape's stainless snows. IN OCTOBER DAYS. From the maple's mottled cloak, From the elm, and from the oak, One by one come flying down Leaves of crimson, gold and brown ; Milk- weed bursts its conic pod; Dimmer grows the golden-rod; Hazels ripen in the copse; Mountain-ashes' berried tops, And the budded sumachs blaze In October days. Down of thistles wildly flies, Frosted vine on trellis dies; IN OCTOBER DAYS. 45 Mystic sheets of filmy lace Dewy mornings meadows grace; Sere sunflowers and hollyhocks Slant along the garden walks ; Gentians linger blue and fair, Ox-eyes glimmer here and there; Sunlight mellows through the haze In October days. Dodging out of sight and reach, Squirrels haunt the fruity beech ; Weasels steal along the wold To the crib or chicken-fold ; Sleek and fat the partridge drums; Now and then a wild bee hums ; Winging round the hemlock high, Crows in chorus hoarsely cry ; Crickets sing shrill roundelays In October days. Lustrous apples, red and white. Cater to the appetite; Pressed from cheese of pomace brown, Liquid amber gurgles down, 5 46 FAREWELL TO SUMMER. Throbbing pulses quicker yet With a nectar none forget; Pumpkins shine as golden rocks Rolled between ripe, lusty shocks Of the sickled, glassy maize In October days. Nights are longer, evenings cold ; Chestnut-burs relax their hold ; Noisy mills part grain and chaff, Burly threshers joke and laugh ; Lovers creep within the door, Softly breathing nothings o'er; So, with hues of dying things, Wine of life distils and brings Blessings to us many ways In October days. FAREWELL TO SUMMER. Sweetheart, when first I looked on thee so flush With thy unfolding tender blades of green. So lavish of thy bursting rosebud's blush, Thy violets and all thy dainty sheen, PRIESTS. 47 I loved thee, then, sweetheart, ah, me! And all my heart went out to thee. And when the fulness of thy bloom so soon Brought with it drowsy hum of roving bees, And bearding wheat, and sultry, melting noon, And breezes waving white and crimson seas, I loved thee, then, sweetheart, ah, me ! And all my being thrilled with thee. And in the crowning glory of thy days, When harvests manifold attest thy worth, And woods in dying splendor briefly blaze Ere sombre shadows fall on all the earth, I love thee, too, sweetheart, ah, me! And grieve to say good-by to thee. PEIESTS. Amid the gloom of the wild and moonless night, As the stars gleam fitfully, Long lines of maples I see. And their leafless boughs with fleecy flakes are white. 48 CORN. Tall priests in their gowns they seem, and the winds that blow And sway them are litanies That are whispered in services Over summer's bloom at their feet dead under the snow. CORN. The August winds are holding on the lea — With scarce a lull between — Their roughest carnival of revelry. Broad blades and tasselled spears sway mightily, And from afar is seen The splendor of their sheen. I look on rolling waves, it seems to me. But marvel at the strangeness of a sea Whose billows' crests are green. OASES. Large fruitful fields, with beauty rare, Of living green, are sometimes where For most part barren sarids abound : BEYOND. 49 So in life's endless round and wear Of crushing toil and grinding care Are pleasant resting-places found. Dear are the social joys we share, Sweet is the breath of blossoms fair Which strew beneath our feet the ground : Kind friends help us our burdens bear, And deeds of love beyond compare, Our darkest hours with light surround. Yet in the desert all is barren waste Save some few oases of green. While life is all with love and beauty graced. Save where some barren spots are seen. BEYOND. The angry wind passes by To some realm that farther lies And the roar we tremble at, Beyond in the distance dies. Beyond the shallowest brook That laughingly goes its way. Rolls the river's flood ; beyond It is ocean's foam and spray. 6* 50 JUNE. Beyond the bare boughs is bloom ; Beyond the blossom's decay The sweet mellow fruit matures, And gladdens many a day. Beyond the cloud and the storm Streams of sunlight flood the skies ; The day lies beyond the night, In the dawn the darkness dies. Restless day leaps on, and in The flush of the sunset sinks; Swift years glide to years beyond, And end as never one thinks. JUNE. So thou art here again, my queen, With pufFs and frills and dainty sheen, And young as ever thou hast been Since I remember first thy coming ; Yet every bit as old as I Thou wert in days long since gone by. When I chased thy pale butterfly. And marvelled at thy wild bee's humming. JUNE. 51 But while I have grown stiff and gray In years that have slipped fast away, With children thou dost romp and play As if thou knewest not of grieving, And had'st not known a single care; And now thou comest, blithe and fair, With lilac blossoms in thy hair, Along thy pathway perfume leaving. The delicatest buds unfold. And when they look on thee grow bold ; The dandelion gives its gold To don a cap of lace and feather ; The mustards lose their yellow hair, The locusts hang out opals rare, Their pink-white gowns azaleas wear. Fearing naught of thy gentle weather. Fair queen, tell me, in very truth, What is the secret of thy youth ? Whence comes the power of thine? Forsooth, Thy ways are all past my discerning ; I think thou art a witch, maybe, Who by some weird necromancy Has charmed each blade and leaf and tree, And they leap out at thy returning. 52 IN EXTREMIS. Or, art thou, too, a slave, as I, Who in thy niche of space must lie As one by one the months go by ? The very flowers thy hand upreareth, When thou art helpless to give aid, Midsummer's sun shall scorch and fade. And death shall blacken wold and glade Before thy bloom again appeareth. IN EXTREMIS. A nation's hero, stricken, dying lies, And many eyes Throughout the land which owes so much to him, With tears are dim. Through fire and death he led our brave men on To victory won. Yet now with resignation waits before Death's open door. While story's page our mournful past unfolds. Or legend holds. Forgotten will not be his help to save. Or blows he gave. LIGHT AND LOVE. 53 He, whom no higher honors life can give, In death will live; And while heroic deeds lift men to fame, Will glow his name. And generations yet unborn w^ill come Seeking his tomb. And proudly o'er his dust do homage due One great and true. LIGHT AND LOVE. Sin and sorrow shadowing the day, Night and error leading us astray. Light and love enfolding us alway; Hail the sunlight flaming through the darkness riven ! Hail the love-light overflowing earth and heaven ; 54 AT LAST. SERVITUDE. Who lives a life of bondage, yet may have Some hours of respite from servility ; Who cannot rule himself, he is a slave Who cannot once escape his master's eye. VANITY. A MISER — and often charity Half of her sweetness yields to his insatiate greed ; An ass whose ears persistently Protruding mar the grandeur of many a noble deed. AT LAST. Backward rolling never, Freighted with our toil and tears, Shorter growing ever, Onward swiftly go the years ; THOUGHT. 55 Hoping, trusting, now we mount, Failing, faithless, now we fall; Yet some good God's final count, In our lives may trace through all. THOUGHT. Who yet sees those that he loves best. However far from him away, With their sweet comforting is blest, And friends surround him every day. While he, who those he thinks his foes, Keeps constantly before his eyes, However far from them he goes, Lives always with his enemies. 56 A BREEZE OF JUNE. A BREEZE OF JUNE. A BREEZE of June, With whistle and croon, Up and down the valley, I creep through the grasses. To frolic and dally With the lithe meadow lasses. Over hill and hollow, I tickle and tease them. And they try to follow Me ; it seems to please them. Stately and tall. High-born and low, I jostle them all. And they reel to and fro. On their slender rods, I buttercups sway, And the daisy nods, If I touch her, alway. A BREEZE OF JUNE. 57 Red-top and clover With me waltz and chassez, And the lily bends over Like a drunken fay. Soft and low I speak, Or I rave and scold; Each turns me her cheek, Which is fairer than gold. How pretty their gowns ! How charming their graces ! But they tumble like clowns When I breathe on their faces. The heads of the barley I rock till they quiver And roll on the far lea Like the waves of the river. Unharmed I stride Over spears at my feet, And with poppies play hide And seek in the wheat. 6 58 A BREEZE OF JUNE. From blossom and vine I drink off the dew, Delicious as kisses, Bewitching as wine, Without measure or stint; And never one misses The fragrance with which I fill Of violet, daffodil. Fern and balm and mint And mallow and rue, Till I cannot tell Which the sweeter be. Spice of pimpernel Or fleur-de-lis. Every foolish lass Flutters so when I pass, — It is easy to see that I move her; And each believes me her lover, Devoted and true. When I am gone, I know They will pine for me so; Maybe will sigh And wither and die; UNPLEASANT THINGS. 59 But what can I do, Or what care I, As I frolic and croon, A breeze of June? UNPLEASANT THINGS. Oh, life is dear through all its tangled mazes : Full many pleasing legends tell Of those who in Arcadia dwell ; Life's fairer phases The poet's glowing numbers swell In endless praises : But seldom is there one who sings The graces of unpleasant things. Oh, it is sweet in that dear vale to wander. Where yesterday's fair waters flow. Where blossoms of remembrance blow, And there to ponder O'er treasured flowers that brighter glow As we grow fonder : But is there one who fondly clings To memories of unpleasant things? QO UNPLEASANT THINGS. Oh, bright is that dear land of our fair fancy's Ken, with warm skies and cool grottos ! Down waveless streams in safe bateaux One there advances; The splendor of its famed chateaux The heart entrances : But from that dreamy land who brings Back glimpses of unpleasant things? Oh, in that realm where always up is springing That dear old song forever sung. With countless changes sweetly rung. And always ringing, — Which, ever old and always young, Hearts will be singing While Love his golden arrows flings. Oh, are there there unpleasant things? Oh, in our age and since the world's beginning. Around sweet song fond hearts entwine. And men bow down before its shrine, Nor think it sinning To call the harmony divine Which is so winning : But on its harps of many strings Who cares to play unpleasant things? UNPLEASANT THINGS. Q\ Oh, dear and fair and many are the treasures To restless, seeking mortals come, As over sea and land they roam ; Yet sweetest pleasures Are in that place we call our home, In fullest measures : But where our joy the purest springs. Why need there be unpleasant things ? Oh, all along through years of centuries hoary. From pulpit down to pew has rolled. From lips of parsons, wise and bold. That dear old story. So much to us, so sweetly told. Of coming glory : At last, perhaps, the preacher rings The changes on unpleasant things. Oh, wealth ! we learn thy value to our sorrow In all the things around we see, Denied because of poverty. In that we borrow To-day, and think and hope that we May pay to-morrow: But is there one who never wrings Good money from unpleasant things? 6* Q2 UNPLEASANT THINGS. Oh, in the stories of heroic ages, How men have worshipped heroes' shrines ! The splendor of great kingdoms shines In many pages, Through fascinating glowing lines Of toiling sages : But in those records of great kings, What pictures of unpleasant things ! Oh, when by mortal ken the clouds are riven, Beyond which lies the gold we quest — That fairest land of dearest rest — In that dear heaven. To an expected, welcome guest, With all forgiven. Oh, will there evermore be stings Of earthly, sad, unpleasant things? Oh, warp and weft of toil make life successful, And burning heat its gold refines; Of bitter grapes, that yield sweet wines. This life it is full ; Through pain of death the glory shines Of life more blissful : Oh, higher up we mount on wings Of blessings in unpleasant things. FOR HER ALONE. g3 TKANSMUTATIOK I LOOK out on a wintry sky : The feathered tree-tops snap and break, The leas are all with crystals walled, Whose dazzling lustre blinds my eyes ; Oh, mystery of mysteries, That fills my soul with ecstasy ! I look out on the sky again. And, where the cold, white snow had lain. Some wizard^s hand has touched each flake, And wrought of it an emerald. FOR HER ALONE. Oh, not for him, so cold and pallid there. Who lies in peaceful sleep; All know that he was pure and brave and fair; Oh, not for him I weep. g^ THE NATION'S DEAD. But her bereft of all she has to give, All losses merged in one, Who, hopeless, helpless, dead, yet still must live, I weep for her alone. THE NATION'S DEAD. The bird is no longer singing, But the song is still in the air ; To the thistle no bloom is clinging. But the down floats here and there. The buds and the blossoms wither, But the fragrance is everywhere; The dead leaves blow yon and hither. But the fruit is ripe and fair. The willows above them are bending. But the end of their days is not ; Their lives and our lives are blending. Though the peace of death is their lot, OLD AND NEW. 65 OLD AND NEW. Old Year, thou hast our joys to sorrows wed; Thou art the tomb of aspirations dead And ruined hopes ; thy hour has come at last ! We give thee up to the unmeasured past. Thy blasting touch has left on beauty's brow Traces that ineffaceable are now. Fair hair has whitened in thy bleaching breath ; Thy footsteps have been harbingers of death ; Friends crowned with years have tottered to the tomb, And those we loved have withered in their bloom. Now, as upon the threshold of the New, With buoyant hope we bid the Old adieu, What memories come thronging through the brain ! What spectres from the past rise up again ; What ghosts of broken vows and trusts betrayed ! How unfulfilled are prophecies we made; How much we planned ; how little we achieved ; Where we expected most, the most deceived ; 66 OLD AND NEW. How little good in all we wrought appears! But so the story is of countless years; Men climb to greatness, glory fades away ; They build up cloud-capped towers, but they decay ; And men, where naught remains of monarchies, Once trembled at imperial decrees. The wondrous plans of God none understand ; It may be, though we strive with faithful hand And find ambition's goal beyond us lies, Our conscientious toil still fructifies; Success sometimes leads to oblivion down. While seeming failure wears immortal crown. Thy course is run. Old Year. Good-by to thee! Hope greets the New: we seek its mystery Expectant, glad ; a monument sublime Is human faith in every age and clime; Though years bring to us neither peace nor power, Sweet, trusting faith can brighten every hour; So, God be praised ! thou dear old friend, adieu ! And hail, all hail the coming of the New ! MIRRORS. 67 FATE. Unanswered seemingly your many prayers? Denied so many things for which you long? So grievous is the burden of some wrong, Some sorrow that steals on you unawares? Oh, in the anguish of your woe. Fate may be kinder than you know. Unanswered prayer may save from wretchedness; Diviner strength denial may lead to; To bear a wrong is less than one to do ; Sorrow to One who leaves none comfortless May bring you ; so do sufferings Lift men sometimes to better things. MIRRORS. Two fabled beasts, in days of old, 'Tis said, had each a looking-glass, Wherein each saw himself a bold, Fierce lion crouched where none could pass. 68 WHV LINGER SO? But it so chanced, upon a time, That each looked in the other's glass ; And, lo ! each saw, with wrath sublime, Himself reflected as an ass. As in that age, it is in this, Our mirrors flatter us, alas ! Who sees himself just as he is. Must look into another's glass. And he does best who learns to know Himself seen through another's eyes ; His weaknesses to him they show. And strengthen him and make him wise. WHY LINGER SO? A GOLDEN sheen Is on the willows; Bright threads of green Fringe all the meadows. The sparrow twitters. Warm breezes blow, Oh, tardy blossoms. Why linger so? WHY LINGER SO? 69 The noisy rills Leap down the gullies; Behind the hills And in the hollows The sunbeam^s kisses Lap up the snow; Oh, tardy blossoms, Why linger so ? I hear the song Again of bluebird, The boughs among Of elm and maple ; With maiden-blushes The young buds glow ; Oh, tardy blossoms, Why linger so? The green frogs peep In spongy lowlands ; The swallows sweep Around the gables; Impatiently, for The lilacs, though. The bees are waiting; Why linger so ? 7 70 LEAF AND DROP. LEAF AND DROP. A TINY drop, in dusky starlight, With a rose-leaf lover lay, But a sun-ray from the far height, Warming up the growing day, Lured her from a bed of sweetness Into morning mist again, — So a picture goes with fleetness From the frosted window-pane. Came this guest for love or duty? Let the wooing rose-leaf tell ; Tell it by the lustrous beauty. Where the crystal kisses fell ; Or, if morning perfume-laden. Thrills with sweetness, freshness, grace ; Surely, then, thy beauty, maiden. Tells of drop and leaf's embrace. BETTER TO-DAY THAN YESTERDAY. 71 BETTER TO-DAY THAN YESTER- DAY. Mourn not, my brother, forever over The losses and crosses of yesterday; Opportunities gone you cannot recover. If you sigh and sorrow for them alway ; Wisdom is not, ray brother, in grieving; Far wiser it is to endeavor to say. When the night comes on, yourself not deceiving, I am better to-day than yesterday. I will sin to-day and do better to-morrow. Is unwise, my brother, though easy to say ; For, it is pledging the future to borrow What we shall never have strength to pay; Though sweet is the voice of pleasure calling. It is sweeter yet to be able to say. When the day is spent and the shadows are falling, I am better to-day than yesterday. If one of us stumbles, some day, my brother. And falls, oh, pass him not by, — not yet ; He lifts himself who raises another. And the service God will not forget; 72 CONCEIT. And let it forgotteo, my brother, be never, That for each of us it is hard to say, Though striving to be vigilant ever, I am better to-day than yesterday. A king the ideal to-morrow anoints us, Disrobes and discrowns us the real to-day ; Wherever, my brother, God's finger points us. There is something for us to do alway ; Though often we fail, if ever essaying, At night's oncoming, my brother, we may, At last, with joy, be truthfully saying, I am better to-day than yesterday. CONCEIT. Oh, witch. Conceit! Oh, cunning elf! Against thee who can lock the door? For no man sees thee in himself, Yet in another all abhor; In presence of thy flaunting shame Wisdom and modest worth retreat; Oh, thou repulsive, hated name, Opinionated hag. Conceit! OUR BEST. 73 THE CLOCK. Its lazy pewdulum does mark For us youth's lagging hours so slow, That we grieve that we do not know How we may shorten up its arc. In after years, how glad were we, Alas! to stay its pendulum; So fast the measured strokes do come, And crowd on us our destiny. QUE BEST. Not what we do or do not glean; Not in what fields we toil, I ween; Not even to what heights we climb In these few years that mark off time. To act out well one humble part, And keep love yet within the heart, As days and months and years go by, And we grow old and fail and die. 7* 74 FROST. Each day to feel we do the best We can, will give us peace and rest; And who attains most happiness Does nothing more, does nothing less. FROST. Where grass-spires grew and nodded With every wind that blew, Long days of summer through, Snow-drifts are on the leas. And not a leaf or blossom Is on the apple-trees. But last night while I dreaming Lay, stem and leaf and vine. Of every known design. Surely came back again; Or else their pallid ghosts are Haunting my window-pane. DRIFTING. 75 PALMISTRY. One looked on the face of a withered crone, In the palm of a dimpled hand looked one. Black eyes of one of them pierced you through, Then the eyes of one, the skies were less blue. One's feet trod buttercups yellow as gold, The forehead of one was wrinkled and old. "Oh, when shall I wed?'' one asked with glee. "A sweet, pale face," one answered, "I see." "Oh, will my lover be true?" one said. "I see," said the crone, "a maiden, — dead." DRIFTING. Alone and adrift I lie in my boat. With my face upturned to the cloudless sky ; And on and on I lazily float On the crests of the billows, rolling high. 76 LOVE'S PLAINT AND PRAYER. The far-away voice of a crow loudly calls, As his outstretched wings cleave the azure air ; While over my face the sunlight falls, The wind cools my forehead and plays with my hair. Above, the measureless blue of the skies ; Beneath, the blue-green waters are deep; I listen and dream, and I close ray eyes. And in utter abandon I rest and sleep. In the peace of forgetfulness so sweet, Unburdened of all life's sorrows I float, As the white-capped waves roll under my feet, And adrift and alone I lie in my boat. LOVE'S PLAINT AND PRAYER. Together have the currents of our lives Uninterruptedly and calmly flowed Along ; Quick as a bolt of lightning rives The strong Oak, can love now be overthrowed? LOVE'S PLAINT AND PRAYER. ^^ And must the pathways lead henceforth apart, Of those whose love unto such magnitude Has grown, That unto each the other's heart Is known, And every throb is understood? And what the mighty force can overcome. Resistless, overwhelming passion's power. Whose height And depth to speak the lips are dumb; Whose light Illumes and charms night's darkest hour? Can lightning's flame consume, or fire devour That which of flame is born, on fire is fed? What thought Of death, to make love fear has power, When naught Is death but life, if love is dead? Though love through sorrow leads and suffering, Can woe unloose the chains that love has bound ? Resign 78 LOVE'S PLAINT AND PRAYER. To pain, shall love his throne? A king Divine Is love in tribulation found. Oh, that is but the counterfeited thing Which measures and divides and calculates Its hold; Great passion is not bound by ring Of gold, Is kindled not by grand estates. Think you, if love had gift of prophecy, And all things unto its prophetic eyes Were shown. And all the heartaches sure to be Were known. That it would shrink in anywise? We reach the height of passion's power supreme But through the heart's supremest agony ; And when The heart may crushed and breaking seem, Pain then Becomes divinest ecstasy, SUMMER RAIN. 79 If through it a more perfect love we know ; To live, to die, to serve and hope and wait, — In all To share whatever of weal or woe Befall,— Love seeks and asks no better fate. SUMMER RAIN. Oh, summer rain ! glad summer rain ! When corn-blades writhe as if in pain. And leaf and blossom everywhere Are withering in the sun's hot ray; When drifting dust fills all the air, And clouds that sweep along the way Turn golden-rod and asters gray, — Oh, welcome, summer rain ! Oh, summer rain ! sweet summer rain ! When lowing cattle seek in vain For well-known pool to slake their thirst. And in the brooklet's stony bed Find scarcely once a draught, where erst gQ SUMMER RAIN. By banks now brown with grasses dead, So boisterously the waters sped, — Oh, welcome, summer rain ! Oh, summer rain! fair summer rain! To those who cross the distant plain Away from fertile fields and streams; Where barren deserts scorch and blaze, And thirst a fire consuming seems. As wearily drag out the days Beneath the blistering tropic rays, — Oh, welcome, summer rain! Oh, summer rain! kind summer rain! When one we love has wasting lain On weary bed, with fever burned; And scarce we mark the pulse's beats, And on each throb our hope is turned, As through the lattice's parted cleats. The cooler breath the sick one greets,— Oh, welcome, summer rain ! Oh, summer rain ! cool summer rain ! When slowly rolls the squeaking wain Through all the lengthened, melting day. As jaded steeds, with gall and smart. Creep on along the dust-clogged way, SUMMER RAIN. 81 And tire and felloe fall apart, Defying the mechanic's art, — Oh, welcome, summer rain! Oh, summer rain, free summer rain ! What blessings follow in its train ! O'erhead and underneath our feet, All living things are beautified ; The stifling air grows cool and sweet. And vision reaching far and wide. Greets miracles on every side. Wrought by the summer rain. Oh, summer rain ! pure summer rain ! From lily's robe is washed the stain; The scarlet poppies brighter glow; Brown bumblebees, with new delight, Delve in the thistle's purple blow ; And lustre of the circling white Rays of the daisies dims the sight, — Oh, welcome, summer rain ! Oh, summer rain ! rich summer rain ! When fruitful months go by again. And yellow sheaf and ripened ear 8 32 WHEN I AM DEAD. Are garnered in the plethoric bin, And winter comes all lean and sere; For all the treasures gathered in, For all our toil has helped to win, We bless the summer rain. WHEN I AM DEAD. When I am dead : And dark earth hides me from the sight of men, Strew only flowers above my head. That you would bring me were I living then. When I am dead : No words let your lips speak of me in praise Because the living spark has fled But you would say of me were true always. When I am dead: What I have sinned, what wrong have done to men. Curse me not for, nor seek, instead, To turn my vices into virtues then. RESIGNATION. 83 When I am dead : Carve on my stone, nor word, nor line, nor verse, But they who knew me must have said. It were like him, — no better and no worse. When I am dead : As if I were yet of you, speak of me; These scenes sometimes, revisited. Will seem like old times, then, if it may be. RESIGNATION. Ourselves we are unfaithful to : We waste strength in complaints and sighs. Nor find the best that in us lies. Achieving not what we might do With common things before our eyes. It seems so hard for us to know The measure of our happiness Is rightly gauged, or more or less. Not by the grapes around us grow. But by the wine from them we press. 84 RESIGNATION. If we could have what we have not, Or look up to some fairer skies, We think, or we had wings to rise Above conditions of our lot, That we should find our paradise. It is for us the world to take Just as we find it here and there. And with the pittance of our share Of its imperfect things, to make Each day a blessing rich and fair. Our problem is, what is to use. And what may be, from it divine; The humblest gift the fates consign. It is not wisdom to refuse Because for something else we pine. The harvest shall come by and by To him who leaves behind the wailing crowd ; What matters if thick darkness shroud, Or mists shall gather in the sky, The blue is e'er above the cloud. ONE AFTERNOON. 85 ONE AFTERNOON. The poppies on their stems did hardly sway; The ripening June grass showed a purple tinge ; The wide lagoon Far to the east in glowing beauty lay; Upon the western sky hung rosy fringe, One afternoon. Eye dazzled with the lustre of the leas; Ear but the harmony of silence heard; The winds their croon Had hushed, and scarce a leaf upon the trees, Although with their full glory crowned, was stirred. One afternoon. A dream of Paradise the wheat-lands lay ; Earth's warring elements were sunken in A death-like swoon. Overcome by sweetness of the perfect day. And far away seemed bitterness and sin, One afternoon. 8* 86 ONE AFTERNOON. Girt with a silken sash around the waist, Adown the green and crimson aisles one came With noiseless shoon, Whom all the bluebirds seemed to know, and haste To greet with song, and with her kinship claim, One afternoon. The waning day in throes of splendor died. And gathered on the primrose leaves the dew; But the faint moon Her crescent hung above, no place beside One-half so fair, — so dear the meadow grew. One afternoon. I cannot tell the thoughts that burned my brain, Nor sing the melody that filled my soul With rapture soon; And only know divinest art were vain E'er to express joy to my heart that stole One afternoon. AN IDYL OF THE SPRING. 87 NATUKE'S JEWELS. Wkought out of emerald, the quaint designs, In blade and leaf and frond, she first displays ; In amethyst and opal she outlines Them on the blossoms of the summer days ; In ruby tints and gold they glow again, When breath of autumn field and wood sweeps o'er; On winter nights, upon the window-pane, In silver they are pictured out once more. AN IDYL OF THE SPRING. Poetry is everywhere : Stand beside the bubbling spring. Hearken to the whispering Of the rhythmic voices there. Hear the tender melodies Piped upon the slender reeds ; Watch the winged thistle-seeds Flying upward to the skies. 88 AN IDYL OF THE SPRING. See the pendent laces cling To the rough projecting rocks ; Maybe fallen from the frocks Of the Naiads loitering. See that supple, writhing form Far out on the reaching stone, Spying out a world unknown. Hero-like, though but a worm. Do you catch the glint of wings. Or the war-cry of the bee Pilfering the raspberry That out o'er the water swings? Here are spire and arch and line, Every form of perfect grace Crowded in this narrow space. Fashioned but with skill divine. By the zephyr tossed and whirled. Here are myriad forms of life; Here is all the mimic strife Of a little bustling world. HUSKS 89 HUSKS. The serried rank and file I walked among; The broad, thick blades above my shoulders spread ; To every waist a silken girdle hung, While countless mottled plumes waved o'er my head. Men prophesied rich harvesting In autumn days my field would bring; But, oh, the cruel mockery ! To find where many an ear should be Nothing but husks. So I have looked upon the forms of men By nature fashioned for some mighty end, Whose vision ranged beyond the common ken. Whom every Christian grace seemed to befriend ; And I have said, These lives, behold ! A precious harvest will unfold; But, oh, the cruel mockery ! To find where some good fruit should be Nothing but husks. 90 FOREVER. FOREVER. Whoever smites the wrong, the right upholding In spite of error's clamoring cries; Whoe'er uproots the false, the truth unfolding Along the paths where ignorance lies; Whoe'er opposes vice is nobly giving To virtue's cause his best endeavor ; However lowly life he lives, is living A life to be forgotten never. Whoever lifts his hand against oppression, Where'er the blighting curse may fall ; Whoever makes his life a sweet expression Of love, of equal rights for all ; Whoe'er the work of hand or brain bestowing Assists the tyrant's chains to sever ; Though humble deeds he does, some seed is sowing. Whose fruit will gladden hearts forever. Whoe'er to an afflicted brother, needing. Extends the hand of charity ; Whoe'er binds up a heart that's broken, bleeding, With bonds of love and sympathy ; SNOW-FLAKES. 91 Whoe'er by kindly word or act bestowing, Binds hearts of men more close together; His deeds, through rolling years, in beauty growing. Shall live in memory forever. Whoe'er from sin and shame and degradation Assists an erring one to rise; Whoe'er with life itself upholds the nation If freedom needs the sacrifice; Whoe'er lives not for selfish ends and glory, The law of love forgetting never; His name, though written not in song and story. Will live in human hearts forever. SNOW-FLAKES. Maybe these myriad crystals in the air. That linger on my face and in my hair, And throw a misty veil across the skies, Are winged particles of the chilled song Of merry birds that used to greet my eyes; Whose mellow notes were echoed everywhere Before these sunless days and nights, so long. Had frozen up their liquid melodies. 92 SNOW-FLAKES. Maybe, for all their seeming artlessness, Next summer's secrets they might now confess; That peach and lilac's graces in them lie Concealed, and only wait the charm of May To quicken into bloom with her caress. When, lo! a miracle, the world will cry, For every spot where once a white flake lay, Will lift some blade or blossom towards the sky. Maybe a message on their unseen wings Is borne — if I could understand all things — From some dear one that now I know no more. Although once of my very life a part; Who yet remembers on some distant shore Beyond the range of mortal ears, and sings To soothe the anguish of my stricken heart, And wake again sweet memories of yore. Maybe these forms of innocence and grace The storm whirls wildly now against my face, In that pure land from this so far away My angel sister's stainless lips have kissed. And at her bidding cleave the realms of space, Themselves the masters of the winds that play With them, and seem to drive them where they list : Ah ! who can tell whose messengers are they ? SONQ OF THE WIND. 93 APART. A RIVULET runs at my feet, — How still its water glides; But these high banks can never meet Which this small stream divides. A word, — a little thing, I wis, — That easily is said; But spoken once, how strange is this Love afterwards is dead ! SONG OF. THE WIND. I BLOW, blow, blow ! For I am the wind ; from afar I come With bluster and might and speed ; The crystals of snow. As I toss the thistle-seed, I whirl and carry with me as I roam. And blow, blow, blow. 9 94 SONG OF THE WIND. I crash, crash, crash ! For I am the wind; and the mocking trees That stand along ray way I lash, lash, lash ; Their branches I snap and sway. Or their trunks I shiver and break as I please. And crash, crash, crash. I sweep, sweep, sweep Over the dark and limitless sea; As the face of the waters I kiss, They leap, leap, leap; Their writhing to me is bliss; As they foam and seethe in their agony, I sweep, sweep, sweep. I blow, blow, blow On the sail spread out to catch my breeze, And the canvas full I fill For weal or woe; The ship is rocked at my will. As around and beneath it I swell the seas. And blow, blow, blow. SONG OF THE WIND. 95 I roar, roar, roar, And it echoes on the mountain height; Yalley and prairie wide I litter o'er; The castles, men build in their pride, I turn upon in my fury, and smite. And roar, roar, roar. I rave, rave, rave. And destroy, yet blessings I carry, too; While I make men tremble with fear, I save, save, save From many a pestilence near; To cleanse the air and sweeten the dew, I rave, rave, rave. I break, break, break With my startling cadences on the ear; Through the door I follow each guest, And take, take, take Of the feast a scent of the best ; Through bars and bolts unseen, without fear, I break, break, break. 96 NOVEMBER. I pass, pass, pass Over the violet's bended head; At my lightest touch quivereth The slender grass ; While the daisy sways with my breath, And the clover shrinks from my tread, I pass, pass, pass. I drink, drink, drink From fountain and river on my way. And I drape the sky with the cloud ; I sink, sink, sink It with flash and with thunder loud To the earth, and its thirst the waters allay I drink, drink, drink. NOVEMBER. She wears a scanty, fretted gown, And all her garb is dingy brown. She carries on her face a frown. And always seems so grave and sober ; NOVEMBER. 97 No flashing fire leaps from her eyes, And woodlands gold and scarlet dyes; No gaudy banners on the skies She hangs, as did our lost October. Grass-blades grow stiif beneath her feet, And herds find them no longer sweet ; If she the last wild aster meet, With fear its blue lips pale and quiver; No gorgeous emblems of her might She bears, yet in a single night She thatches roofs with crystals white, And weaves ice-fringes on the river. Her wild breath tosses to and fro October's plumage, lying low. Which, with her flurries of light snow She makes vain effort at concealing; As with a veil of pleasantries The wounded heart so often tries To hide the scar that in it lies, When only time can bring it healing. The perishing of fond desire, Some mighty passion's burned out fire 98 ^ MEMORY. Still smouldering on its funeral pyre, She seems forever pantomiming; And yet, for all her sombre lays And dull monotony of days, The stricken heart must know always, Beyond, the Christmas bells are chiming. A MEMORY. I MARK it in the cooler rain, I read it on the curling fern : The march of death steals on again, The gold and crimson hues return. Once more the wild thorn's fruited top O'erhangs the cradle-knoll of ferns ; The beech-tree clasps again its crop. Again for it the squirrel yearns. As lustily the cricket sings, As gorgeously the hill-tops glow, Yet every hint of autumn brings Back one sad face of long ago. THE WINTER WOODS. 99 And I can almost feel again * The pressure of one wasting hand ; And catch from lips, that knew no stain, Breathings, methinks, I understand. Sometimes the whispers chide me so My quickened conscience pricks me sore; Yet with new hope life is aglow. And peace my soul is flooding o^er. THE WINTER WOODS. How marvellous are draperies They hang upon the dull gray skies ! How carelessly and with what grace Their long brown arms reach into space ! The green moss shines amid the dark Thick folds of their uneven bark ; And their boughs, nude and colorless, The fingers of the wind caress. A carpet underneath them lies More fair than any tapestries 100 ^^^ WINTER WOODS. Which halls of Orient princes fill, Or e'er was wrought by human skill. Perchance some wizards in the night Have hung them all with crystals bright, AYhich flash on us from every limb, Until our gazing eyes grow dim. Again, like prophet's beards they glow, O'erburdened with new-fallen snow, Or seem, like spectres, weird and grand, Inspiring awe on every hand. Or each slim bough rare lace hangs on. More wonderful than Honiton, Which quivers in the icy air. And gleams with splendor everywhere. Now climbs the sun high o'er the woods, And mellows with his wooing; floods Of his warm breath over them sweep, And all the tree-tops sob and weep. And now the air grows chill and dense, A cloud hangs over in suspense, THE WINTER WOODS. 101 Then myriad petals downward fly Out of the gardens of the sky. Lo ! every fern has fronds of white, While every bush blooms in our sight; And brake and briers bend to greet White blossoms heaped up on their feet. Amid rare works of art we stand, Shaped by some mighty master's hand; Unsightly stumps to statues grow, Of Phidias or Angelo. And groups of nymphs and fauns one sees, Fair as those of Praxiteles; Some temple must have stood near by, For marble columns prostrate lie. All things seem passionless and bare. And yet divinely pure and fair. And filled with silent melody. And peace and sweet tranquillity. 102 "THE UNATTAINED, THE UNATTAINED. Joy is not in attaining, But comes in striving after; And days more filled with laughter Seem always somewhere just before Us ; evermore The best of all is that we fail in gaining. The things we cannot climb to We hold the most inviting; Those freest, less requiting; The far-off bell another hears Beyond our ears, Alas ! we think there is a sweeter chime to. That which we feast on cloys us; In what we taste some bliss is; But sweetest that one misses; Alas ! for us ! the heaven of each Is out of reach ; And with what most we long for fate decoys us. OVR IDOL. 103 SELF-MEASUREMENT. Who feels the strength of purity Conceives not how sin can entice; The last of all, therefore, is he To look to find in others vice. Who entertains deceitfulness. Suspicion, too, invades his heart; Since he thinks all must needs possess That of himself he knows a part. OUR IDOL. A TARNISHED reputation, it may be. The snows of time shall whiten out again ; A character once stained, eternity Itself, to make it spotless in, were vain. With life men shield the reputation, though. And sport with character as if a toy; Or, possibly, some thought on it bestow Lest it the reputation may destroy. 104 UNDER THE OAK. UNDER THE OAK. Wood-capped hills above me rise ; Near a river winds along; Fairer than a poet^s song Are the overarching skies. Shadows come before the sun ; Sombre grows my leafy bower; Ah ! the changes of an hour, Rain-drops falling one by one. Quick a flash zigzags the sky; Back to earth the heavens roar; Waiting till the storm is o'er, Underneath an oak I lie. Bright o'er head again the sky; Changeful is the human heart; Tears unasked like rain-drops start. And a laugh succeeds a sigh. A WINTER SONG. 105 A WINTER SONG. The round high moon throws a misty light On forest and field below; With the cold of the night my fingers tingle, And the frost is turning my chestnut white, As swiftly over the snow We merrily go, With bells that jingle, with bells that jingle. The stream is frozen, the fences are white. And chill are the winds that blow ; In many a song blithe voices mingle. With many a laugh is startled the night, As flying over the snow We merrily go, With bells that jingle, with bells that jingle. The moon rolls on, grows older the night. And the trees long shadows throw; Around the hill and down the dingle, — Our hearts are warm though the drifts are white, As gliding over the snow We merrily go. With bells that jingle, with bells that jingle. 10 106 WHY 'DO WE LIVE 9 WHY DO WE DIE? WHY DO WE LIVE? WHY DO WE DIE? The drop a passing cloud may spill, The blighted leaf that falls before its time, The crystal sun-kissed from its bed of rime, So narrow is the space we fill. The yearning heart lifts up its cry. We seek to know the way, and long for light To see beyond the darkness of the night, But helplessly we strive, and die. We climb up to some height and fall. And grieve that we are hurled back to the ground ; What we have missed another soon has found. And God is ruling over all. With tearful eyes to Death we give Up one we think we cannot do without; And all the world is wrapped in fear and doubt, God only knows why then Ave live. WATER-CRESSES. 107 And then we struggle hopelessly When we feel that so much upon our lives Depends, and death with life for mastery strives, God only knows why then we die. We marvel at God's mystery. And follow blindly where His hands may lead; And this we only know, that hearts must bleed. And we must live, and we must die. WATER-CRESSES. One idling day. Yet in life's May, Some little seed of water-cress I flung away Beside the cool, sweet waters of a haunted spring : But, lo! I could not tell the harvest they would bring. O'er land and sea, As fate led me, In waiting labor-fields I sought my destiny; 108 REVELATION. I sowed and tilled ; received men's curses and their praise ; Still toiled and strove through winter's cold and summer's blaze. Years afterward, Again I heard The song my old haunt's overflow of waters stirred ; Far as the eye could see grew water-cresses rank; Andj lo ! I traced them to the distant river's bank. Life's harvesting, What shall it bring? Oh, will the seed be like that scattered by the spring ? Its yield be manifold as water-cresses grow? But, lo! I tremble sometimes lest it may be so. KEVELATION. The fleshly veil was lifted from my sight, I dreamed ; Two, whom I knew, revealed were in the light. It seemed. LOVE MARKS THE SEASONS. 109 And I had fallen prostrate at the feet Of one, — the idol of my heart was she; But one in fellowship I did not greet, So wide the gulf between, apparently. But disentranced, I loathe and scorn the thing I loved, so full of cruel black deceit ; And that pure soul I spurned, lo ! worshipping, I kiss the ground whereon have pressed her feet. LOVE MAKKS THE SEASON. When desolation holds its sway. And hearts are cold and love is dead. And friendship's warmth is waning. Though fragrant bloom the locusts shed. For all the lark's sweet carols say. The winter months are reigning. When hope is brave, and love is king. And lives are linked with endless vows, And hearts cease from repining, Though fierce winds scar the naked boughs, For all the lake's cold covering, The summer days are shining. 10- 110 OUR KING. OUR KING. FouE fingers, mellow as a plum, Fit but to be caressed and kissed, With just a wee bit of a thumb Rolled up into a dainty fist. On either foot five tiny toes. All coiled up in a little heap, And every toe pink as a rose. The tally of a dimple deep. Like sunbeams curled up on the head Lie amber tufts of silken hair ; For cheeks two peaches round and red, And dimples, dimples everywhere. Bits of the blue of heaven the eyes, Tip of a lily's bud the nose; And wlien he laughs and when he sighs. Two pink-lined pearls unclasp and close. HOW KIND IS DEATH! HI He cannot work, he cannot think, Yet he is wise and cunning too; And he can smile, and he can wink More easily than gray beards do. He cannot talk, he cannot sing. And hardly climbs along the floor; But of an empire he is king. And never king like him before. HOW KIND IS DEATH! As all now see the wan, sweet face Of her who lies there peacefully, Remembrance of her bloom and grace, Through all the years to come will be. Yet I know that before their eyes I must grow old with every breath ; And so my heart in anguish cries, How cruel life ; how kind is death ! 112 KING SHAM. KING SHAM. Since the fiat supreme was spoken, And the reign of chaos broken, Many rulers great and small Have lived their day, And held their sway Upon this terrestrial ball ; Yet the mightiest monarch of all Is the great King Sham. Ere old Rome had one to defend her. Ere the dawn of Grecian splendor, Or the march of Xenophon ; Ere the Iliad was sung, Or the gardens hung Of the gorgeous Babylon : Who can tell when the reign was begun Of the great King Sham ? Though the empires of ancient story, Of whose warrior kings the glory And valor are told in song, KING SHAM. 113 Fell into decay, And vanished away, Through weakness and vice and wrong. Yet the weakness of men makes strong The great King Sham. To him we are vassals ever, — And another such tyrant never Has ruled on the earth anywhere; For, whom we shall meet, And when we shall eat. What the tint shall be of our hair, And the heel of the shoe we wear, Decrees King Sham. His subjects he takes from all stations In life; for in all occupations Men are eager to do his will; His prey are the whole; He has control Of traffic, of counter, and till. And grinds at every man's mill. The great King Sham. 114 KING SHAM. He assumes all manner of graces, Though false at all times and places, And always a despot still ; The stripes of our socks, The cut of our frocks, Or whatever garments we fill, All are work — and so is the bill — Of the great King Sham. He allures and dazzles and flatters With the gilded baubles he scatters, Till the vision blinds our eyes ; His mockeries to vice And folly entice. And we break the holiest ties And our very souls sacrifice To the great King Sham. What tax he levies we bear it, Though we live in a cellar or garret, And cash and the coal-bin are low ; Though we bite of a crust, Yet serve him we must. For out of his kingdom we go. If ever we dare to say no To the great King Sham, KING SHAM. 115 He fashions from pulpit to steeple The place where his worshipping people Are wont to gather to pray; And living or dead, If we die or are wed, The proper amount of display Becoming, is gauged alway By the great King Sham. Seek the law, whether saint or sinner You -are proven to be, ever thinner And thinner your pocket-book grows; One pleads your case. One paints your disgrace. The jurors the verdict disclose; How to beat him who wins it, knows The great King Sham. The doctor one calls ; first he scares him. Then, maybe, a little repairs him. And a marvellous cure is done With his mighty skill, Or magical pill ; So from everything under the sun. Tribute and glory are won For the great King Sham. 116 KING SHAM. You buy wheat, — it is nothing but paper; Your profit is nothing but vapor, Though you painfully realize It if luck goes wrong; Then you sing a new song, And quickly open your eyes, Alas ! to the cunning that lies In the great King Sham. Not till truth than falsehood is dearer, And our soul-lit vision is clearer. Will the strength of this monarch wane ; But who can foretell When the magical spell Of his power will be rent in twain. Or the end of the farcical reign Of the great King Sham? If only true gold were gleaming And yellow, if always the seeming Were real and true, and within Was always the grace That we read on tlie face. And the heart had no hidden sin, The ruin would surely begin Of the great King Sham. WARNING. 117 Sometimes, in the midst of our sorrow, Is cheer in the thought of a morrow. When that sorrow will be no more ; When toil is done. And our crowns are won, And we cross to the other shore At last, the sway will be o'er Of the great King Sham. WARNING. I SAW a red, red bud unfolding Its beauty to the quickening air; I saw two red lips that were burning With prisoned kisses, — hearts, beware ! The rose's red petals yet shall shatter The pitiless blast of the rain; Red lips, what heart for you shall quiver And break, pierced through with bitterest pain ? 11 118 MY NEIGHBOR. MY NEIGHBOR. My neighbor's garden blossoms fair With rose and pink and daffodil ; In vain my efforts are to till, And all my fields are bleak and bare. My neigllbor^s mill brings him in toll From all there be who come thereto; My own brown hands have work to do The while love's thrill goes through my soul. My neighbor has some store of gold, And I have memories to keep; My toil each day each night brings sleep, And in some hearts a place I hold. My neighbor's vineyard, fair to see, Has purple grapes a clustering; Each morn a bluebird comes to sing A little song just made for me. THE SPIRIT OF THE BELL. UQ My neighbor has much to him given, A heritage of wealth and lands; My heritage is just two hands, And work gives law, but love makes heaven. Yet, while love's strength uplifts my hands. My heart need not go hungering. My heart need not be envying My neighbor's riches or his lands. THE SPIRIT OF THE BELL. I STOOD far underneath a mighty dome; The air grew tremulous with giant throes Of its far-reaching bell ; " Why have you come ? What is your mission here to-day?'' As each one through the open portals goes, The bell's loud spirit seemed to say. Upon the brow of each unconsciously Was borne some characters I could not read. It seemed, until an angel read for me; 120 I'HE SPIRIT OF THE BELL. So each man's heart to me was showu; No matter what his race, or cloth, or creed, His secret thoughts to me were known. Men came with saintly mien and lordly sway, Great in their own conceit, and swelled with pride, As if they were made of some better clay. Who mingled with this motley throng, And grandly swung within the portals wide. Whose hearts, I saw, were black with wrong. Some came with evil purposes intent. With features that had something yet of grace, Whose hearts were all with passion soiled and rent; And there were those who pressed within Who sought through voice of men to gain high place. And hither came to favor win. And I saw enter there a stately dame In robe that fashion her approval gave; She bore an ancient and respected name, Her hands in jewelled splendor shone. Yet in the toils of sin she writhed, a slave. Her heart to honor dead as stone. THE SPIRIT OF THE BELL. 121 And some whose souls were stained with crime, I saw Whom fear had led into this holy place, And not remorse ; whom vengeance of the law Awaited, swift and sure, if known, Who yet with characters veneered with grace In stolen garb of Christians shone. But there were many, with such modest ways. On whom at first my eyes did scarcely rest, Who seemed unconscious of the public's gaze, Or of themselves, who meekly went Within, and in humility confessed That in Christ's love they were content; That to the angel that beside me stood I turned and prayed that he would blind my eyes Again, that I might only know the good, And that I nevermore might see The wickedness in human hearts that lies. But think all as they seem to be. The spirit of the bell rang out once more. And, as if in its last expiring throe. More thrilling seemed than it had been before: 11* 122 ^LL IN ALL. "To search thy neighbor's heart is vain To find wrong in thine own, O Mortal, know !" And I was pierced with mighty pain. ALL IN ALL. When I shall look into your face And find not there the boon I crave, And in your glance no longer trace The outlines of the love you gave And pledged me with your sacred vow. Though on my face warm is your breath, And hot blood flushes yet your brow. Oh, then, to me, it will be death. But while I know that, all in all, I am to you and you to me. That, weal or woe, whatever befall, Our love cannot divided be, Your dimming eyes in death may close, Your throbbing pulse may cease its strife, By magic that love only knows. To me, e'en then there will be life. LOVE'S MESSENGER. 123 LOVE'S MESSENGEK. Off of the waste of emerald lea Under my feet, A wild red rose I pluck for thee, My sweet! If touched once by thy finger-tips, Or breathed upon by thy fair lips. And heat or cold, by breath that blows, Or glance out of thine eye it knows, And thou dost send it back to me, Though all its petals lose their red, And it shall wither in my grasp. And seem to die. The rose will not to me be dead, Which once the pressure of thy clasp Has known ; yet I In each brown leaf a rose shall see. And breathings of its perfume rare Something of thee to me shall bear. 124 'J'HE DIFFERENCE. But if thou crush it with thy feet, Oh, would that I, then, it might be. To know if any agony In death by thee can be, my sweet! THE DIFFERENCE. When she was five, and I was ten, Implicitly she did obey me; For slightest favors shown her then, With rapturous kisses she did pay me. I cared but little for her then. But little, too, I cared to please her; And I was most delighted when I could find some new way to tease her. Now she is seventeen, and I, A youth of twenty-two, would woo her; But I quail now before her eye, And tremble when I come near to iier. My lips refuse to make appeal To this, the fairest of all misses; Though I would be her slave, to feel The rapture of one of her kisses. THISTL E-D WN. 1 25 A VALENTINE. A VAST and dreary waste of drifted snow Extended far as human eye can see ; A piercing air, and yon and hither blow The fleecy flakes as changeful winds decree, — Sure harbingers of deeper drifts to be ; The clouds hang low, and all the gloomy day The sun, obscure, sends out no kindling ray; Snow crowns the roof, icicles fringe the eaves; On window-panes the frost his lace- work weaves ; The swaying tree-tops sing a mournful lay; The yeoman grieves o'er cold and care and kine, The traveller mourns o'er drifts that clog his way ; And yet, what warmth, what cheer, oh, heart of mine Can cold chill love, my sweet, my valentine? THISTLE-DOWN. Go, thistle-down, that idly drifts the drowsy air, I speed thee with my breath ! Go, softly press her brow than lily is more fair, The breathings of my burning passion to her bear ; 126 COLUMBINE. If any glance up from her eye divine, Aught in it hath Betokens peace unto the heart of mine, Come, whisper it to me, O thistle-down. Come, thistle-down, adrift upon the lazy air. Stirred by her gentle breath : Too long you linger in caresses of her hair, The breathing of her stainless lips unto me bear; If voice or flaming cheeks give any sign That gladdeneth. Or bringeth peace unto the heart of mine. Come, whisper it to me, O thistle-down. COLUMBINE. Nodding as her fleet Footsteps pass, the clover-blossoms greet her. Columbine, Darling mine; Sipping ruby Avine, In their passion's heat. From her lips so sweet. EGLANTINE. 127 Zephyr-lovers idly roaming meet her, Bend down to her feet, Kiss and make the clover-blossoms sweeter. With a lily's grace Charmed, a sunbeam lover would secure her; Columbine, Darling mine. Then his arms entwine : Kisses touch her face; Warmed in the embrace, Back then goes the cunning lover, surer, To the trysting place. Kisses, wins, and makes the lily purer. EGLANTINE. Many gems of the earth are fair; But a queen divine Is my Eglantine, — A jewel never so rare. 128 EGLANTINE. Was ever so charming a lass? Clover-blossoms sweet Salute her feet As her magic footsteps pass. She plucks at her own sweet will The daintiest flowers Of the woodland bowers, Which for her rich fragrance distil. Bright buttercups bend with grace As she wanders nigh, And the wind, stealing by. Kisses perfume sweet from her face. To innocent beauty weds, Since her lips fade the rose ; And, when near them she goes, The violets bend their heads. Fresh plucked from the white fields nigh. The many-rayed wreath Of the daisy 's her teeth, And a sapphire gem is each eye. EGLANTINE. 129 Cupid's arrow, golden-tipped, Is each word she speaks ; And the pearl of her cheeks In the flush of the morning is dipped. In her power and modesty meet ; In the presence serene Of this magical queen The forces of evil retreat. Her touch is of heaven a gleam ; As the stars as fair, She reigns everywhere. And her heart is love supreme. A vision or real? Hast thou place, O spirit divine, Fairest Eglantine? Or a poet's dream is thy grace? 12 130 WHITE AND BLUE. WHITE AND BLUE. She was in the garden, In a gown of white and blue That was just bewitching: Noiselessly I nearer drew, Not a word was spoken, As an arm around I threw, Holding fast a pretty Little waist of white and blue. It was in the twilight. In the shadow of the pine. That I came upon her. And so near — her face and mine — Each one touclied a wing of Something that between them flew; And I thought so pretty Was her gown of white and blue. THROUGH THE YEAR. 131 THEOUGH THE YEAR. In spring, on every lea, From every chaste, coy violet, There seems to flash on me The very eye of Margaret. The songs of summer days, Ah me! can I their thrill forget, When in the sweetest lays I hear the voice of Margaret? In autumn, when each tree Some wizard has with rubies set ; Ah ! then I only see The flushing cheeks of Margaret. In winter, when soft flakes Out of the dreary skies are let. One thought in me awakes, — So white the soul of Margaret. 132 GOLDTHREAD GOLD-THREAD. While yet the banks are dank and cold And hardly know the warmth of sun, Whose touch the red buds makes unfold And life-blood of the birches run, A tiny stem shoots up its head, And spreads out its white canopy Above the litter of the dead Leaves that around it lie. Brave as the winds that snap and break The twigs of dead boughs o'er its head. And spotless as the purest flake The winter tossed upon its bed ; One marvels at the sweet, pale lips. And at the tale by them is told : Hid in the turf from which it slips Are many threads of gold. Sweet herald of the fuller bloom, It turns its face up to the sky, And trembles not at its near doom ; So frail a blossom needs must die, THE WOOING OF THE ROSE. 133 And swift the march of its decay ; Yet glowing shields of dusky green Shall haunt and guard, for many a day, The place it once has been. Through all these wintry years of ours, Set here and there are sunny days With bloom and fragrance of white flowers, That beautify our roughest ways ; And though all bleak and bare and cold A life seems, sometimes, outwardly. We know bright gleaming threads of gold Within it somewhere lie. THE WOOING OF THE ROSE. On a rose-bush lazily Climbing the garden wall, The fairest rose of all Was wooed by a butterfly. 12* 134 ^^^ WOOING OF THE ROSE. A graceful dandy was he, With dazzling, delicate wings All covered with spangles and rings,- "But I love you not," said she. And so, without more ado. To the cloud-land flew the gay, Faint-hearted lover away; And the next that came to woo Was a youth, as bold as needs be, With a brownish, tidy suit, And a sword, and mighty and cute. And a marvel of industry. He hummed her many an air. And sang of the marvellous walls In his own ancestral halls, And the treasures gathered there. Of her riches she gave him part. And loaded him down with gold All his tiny sacks would hold. But he could not win her heart. THE WOOING OF THE ROSE. 135 Then a dew-drop, seeing the fire Of her gown as it flamed its light On the gathering gloom of night, Besought her with mad desire. Again and again her red, Sweet lips were bathed in his wine; "Evermore I will be thine," He sang, as he rolled in her bed. But the night was gone, and the dew, And a silver sunbeam came. And the heart of the rose was aflame ; Still redder her petals grew, And fairer than ever before ; But, alas ! for the fickle thing She fell to withering, And his kisses revived her no more. Then the wind came dancing along With bewitching sorceries And musical cadences. And whispered to her a sweet song. 136 MF HOLLYHOCKS. She was shaken as never before When he made his caressing plea; "Only go with me/' said he, "And we'll roam the wide world o'er/' But he tore her petals apart, And scattered them one by one, And left her dishonored, alone. To die of a broken heart. MY HOLLYHOCKS. My hollyhocks the amorous breeze Let sip out of their chalices The aromatic wines they hold ; While his long arms their waists enfold. And they reel just as he decrees. From far across the shining leas Fly greedy, brown-winged honey bees, To rifle of their mellow gold My hollyhocks. THE DAISY. 137 These lovers dally as they please, And fondle their sweet mistresses ; To pluck their hearts the bees are bold ; The wind is wroth, grows rough and cold, And, bearing off his rivals, frees My hollyhocks. THE DAISY. A THOUSAND perfect gems, wrought out of earth and mist and light. Into one amber disk are locked ; Rare jewels circle it around with rays of spotless white ; By all the meadow breezes rocked. Upon its willow wand it swings. This marvel that the summer brings, The daisy. A myriad of weaknesses by burning lips confess, And passion's pain and passion's strife Have entered in my soul, disfiguring its loveliness ; But He can bless a sin-stained life, 138 ANEMONE. And bleach its darkness into light, Whose hands have made so clean and white The daisy. ANEMONE. Upon an edge Of a rock, underneath a tree Overhanging a ledge I found an anemone. In so rough a place How grew ye, fragile gem. So worthy to grace A queen's own diadem? Oh, tell me, brave One, nursed in a barren home, The secret you have, — Through sorrows do graces come? LAPPA. 139 Is this what you say, — No heart is so bleak and bare But germs we may Find of love and beauty there? Must we blossoms gain Of resignation sweet On the heights of pain, Which we scale with wounded feet? Can only the stone That bruises, the plant give a root. From which full-blown White flowers of forgiveness shoot? LAPPA, Each flower has its place. Some one gives it embrace. Some poet sings its grace. But outcasts are thy race. 140 LAPPA. It seems to be thy fate To seek haunts desolate, And grow and propagate Without the garden gate. But thou inspirest me, Lappa, to sing to thee, In that so patiently Thou bearest ills that be. I praise thee for thy pluck : With spade or mattock struck, However hard thy luck, Thy head is upward stuck. Men scoflP at thee and swear, Thy cumbrous leaves they tear, Thy trunks close down they pare. But thou dost live and bear. Thy perfume men despise. Thy bloom they ostracize; Yet in thy purple lies Some beauty to my eyes. LAPPA. 141 Aifectionately cling The bracts encompassing Thy flowers, though withering Or dead, to everything. And though men curse, they bless Thee sometimes in distress; The virtue they confess E'en of thy bitterness. And God made thee for good, To live with fortitude Thy life of hardihood ; Could I shield thee, I would ; For wrongs that give thee smart Wake pity in my heart; Keep, though, from me apart, — I like thee — where thou art. 18 142 HEARTS-EASE HEART'S-EASE. Once, when my love was grieving, A tear fell from her eye; Out of the earth receiving It, grew a pansy by and by. But in the face upturning Of that low, tear-born flower The same dark eye was burning. Whose glances thrilled me with their power, SWEET-CLOVER. Why didst thou tremble, sweet-clover. When that brown-winged rover went by. And nearer and nearer did hover, And then straight down to thee fly? AS GOD WILLS. 143 Did thy sweetheart call thee his deary? Or what did he say to thee? Do ever thy ears grow weary Of his strange, wild minstrelsy? Thy lovers are robbers, sweet-clover; Thy fragrance afar they scent; They plunder thee over and over, And will till thy sweetness is spent. When the flush of thy bloom shall leave thee. And the days of thy beauty are o'er. Sweet-clover, then will it grieve thee If thy wooers come back nevermore? AS GOD WILLS. The w^orkings of Thy hand Mysterious are. Almighty God ! We cannot understand Inflictions of Thy chastening rod, 144 AS GOD WILLS. Are we so sorely tried To teach humility below? Are pleasures here denied The better heavenly joys to know? Why suffering and woe, If love and mercy reign above? Doubt readily whispers low, "God rules not with the hand of love." The voice of Wisdom cries Aloud, "All worketh well for good; But blessings in disguise. Afflictions rightly understood." Does not the blackest night Oft come before a day most fair? The crashing thunder's might Foretell a softer, purer air? They stand the battle storm Who would the victor's laurels wear; What matter if some form Of burden every day we bear? INVOCATION. 145 Oh, drain without complaint The bitter cup unto thee borne ; Let not thy spirit faint, There yet shall come a brighter morn. God rules with loving hand ; Oh, question not His love, although We cannot understand Always why He chastises so. O Faith ! point onward still ; O God ! grant strength to stand each test ; We bow unto Thy will. Oh, lead us whither seemeth best. INVOCATION. The way which Thou hast marked for me to go, Dear Lord, oh, let that way be mine ! The thing which Thou hast planned for me to know, That knowledge. Lord, let me divine; 13* 146 OH, PRAISE HIS HOLY NAME! The one thing Thou hast now for me to do, Grant me the strength to do to-day ; And whatsoever Thou leadest me unto, Help me that to accept alway. Each passing hour vouchsafed to me, dear Lord, In this great gift of life I take From Thee ; oh, let each thought, and deed, and word, Help me the most of it to make; So shall I climb up to my destiny ; And, though the path be hard and steep, I know that my weak hands will strengthened be Always with Thy love, strong and deep. OH, PRAISE HIS HOLY NAME! God's sky is overhead, God's fields beneath our feet; Above, below, All creatures know His love; the poppy's red, The pansy's hue, the sweet OH, PRAISE HIS HOLY NAME 1 I47 Of rose God's love bestows, — Oh, praise his holy name ! God's sun lights up the day, God's stars illume the night; Behold his love ! Below, above, O'er all things it has sway ; The glow-worm's tiny light Is his. The lightning is, — Oh, praise His holy name! God's rain falls on the earth, God's rainbow spans the skies; His love, behold. How manifold ! Riches of untold worth Pour from His treasuries; His hand Makes glad the land, — Oh, praise His holy name! 148 EASTER LILIES. God's waters fill the seas, And all in them are His ; No living thing But owns Him king, And bows to His decrees ; For all His mercy is; No cry He passes by, — Oh, praise His holy name! EASTER LILIES. A SCENT of lilies in the air, — A hint of gladness every where,- Broken the seal to-day. The stone is rolled away. With fragrance earth so flooding o'er So fair were lilies e'er before? All doubt is swept away. Is what the lilies say. EASTER LILIES. I49 Oh, lilies pure, oh, lilies white, Ye tokens of the holy light. Enfolding us alway. And turning night to day ! Hail sacred morning, come again With your glad message unto men ! The Christ arose to-day. Is what your lilies say. With pallid lips, with sorrow dumb. No more they tremble at the tomb Where He was laid away, — The Saviour rose to-day. Bring lilies, then, white lilies bring. — His love will crown our offering; And men shall bless for aye The Lord who rose to-day. 150 ^N EASTER GREETING. AN EASTER GREETING. Day of days to mortal men, Light of all the centuries, Hope of ages yet unborn, Harbinger of joys supernal, Hail, oh, sacred morn ! Garland it with lilies white, Pure as its unfading light; Through the darkness of death's night Glory shines of morn eternal. All the universe rejoices, And with myriad gentle voices, SUimbering nature, waking, cries : " He is risen, nothing dies ;" All her icy clasps unclose. And again to life are stirred Germs, that, underneath the snows, In a wintry trance have lain ; Though ye wither, though ye rot. Death and cold ye crush in vain, Since the bloom returns again. AN EASTER GREETING. 151 Every tender blade that springs From the mould of meadows bleak, Heralding the harvesting; Every soft, sweet note of bird As it mates and nests and sings, — E'en the lazy worm that lies In the sunbeam, fattening For the hungry robin's beak, — Each its wealth of promise brings, All of Him arisen speak ; Though the struggle and the cry. Though the death- wound and the smart. Evermore the crown is nigh ; Jesus lives, and death is not ; It is written everywhere, — In the winds, more softly blowing. In the sun, more brightly glowing. In the streams, more freely flowing. In the red buds, redder growing, In the fields, and in the skies. In the lilies, — in all things; In the yearnings of the heart. In each hope and in each prayer. 152 RECEIVE ME. KECEIVE ME. To no one have I done a wrong, — Lord, who of us can say it ? Thy anger, wilt Thou stay it? Receive me ! this my song Is all day long. And I have not corrupted one, — Oh, could we only know it ! Lord, may Thy record show it; Receive me, Father, Son, When toil is done. And I have taken only mine, — There is not one that liveth Hath aught save what God giveth; Receive me into Thine Own, Lord divine ! CHANCE. 153 CHANCE. Where fallow fields are fierce and desolate, Beside which winds a roadway thinly grown With sickly plants, whose germs the winds have blown From far, and wantonly left to their fate; Where fearless woos the bird his timid mate In tangled copse to sunlight scarcely known. Or clumps of ferns along the marshes strown ; Where all things seem in quite abandoned state. Hemmed in with luxury of wilderness, I came upon a sweet, fair clover-bed. Ah me ! our ways from birth until we die Lie over marsh and moor, or more or less, And thither we are often blindly led To blessings where we little think they lie. 14 154 TEST. TEST. If to some goal on which is set the heart We tend, and nearness makes desire expand; If, as we almost reach it with the hand, Most unexpectedly some foe upstart, And thrust between, keep us and it apart, Upsetting all our daring hope has planned, — To bear and break not, then, but firmly stand. Unswayed from right by hate or passion's art ; To bow submissively to fate adverse, And cherish in our inmost heart for him Who does this wrong no bitterness; to curse Him not, but pray his cup up to the brim With joy be filled, — and leave to God the rest, — Divinest love, this is thy crowning test. SUBMISSION. 155 SUBMISSION. Think you that all is lost because your plans, Born of conceit, fail of their fulfilment? If in wild aim your bullet's force is spent? The kindest breeze of heaven, it may be, fans The flame that fires the bridge that the chasm spans, Beyond which lies the goal on which are bent Your longing eyes. Oh, mortal, be content To follow, — let the lead be God's, not man's; Life is not judged by one unfruitful hour; Wait to the end. God's mills grind slow indeed ; Yet giant oaks spring from bitter acorns ; Some sad experience may be the seed From which developed is the perfect flower, Which most the life enriches and adorns. 156 TRUST. TRUST. This very moment there may lie around Us very near some overwhelming proof Of want but half concealed by lowly roof, Which stands away but by a space from ground Where ostentatious luxuries abound ; But by a space, perchance, she stands aloof. With woven robes of golden warp and woof. From her with needful clothing poorly gowned. Why one must strive for sustenance in vain. And boundless riches fill the greedy hand Another holds till surfeit is a pain, O God, not now we seek to understand ; That must be best Thy righteous hands let fall, And somewhere compensation waits for all. UNSATISFIED. I57 UNSATISFIED. How many of my days are numbered ! and How little of that which in flush of youth I thought to do has yet been done ! forsooth, Alon^ the years my narrow life has spanned Are legions of wrecked hopes, — a spectral band ; Alas ! how well I knoAV their forms uncouth, — Each idol shattered and each bitter truth ! Who else each failure's woe can understand? When of despair, sometimes the burden seems More than the fainting spirit can endure; And heart, grown stubborn and suspicious, deems The sources of all longed-for things impure, Does only darkness hang upon the days Because the eyes are blind to all God's ways? 14* 158 INDECISION. INDECISION. Day after day unstaying years go by, And we grope our uncertain, halting way Along the base of heights we should essay To climb, upon whose summits lifted high The jewelled coronets of honor lie. One sees with vision clear as sunlight's ray His chance or calling, and with no delay He pushes on until the goal is nigh, And men at his success are stricken dumb. And all the world his daring genius hails. Oh, ye alert, when fateful moments come, A tear for them whom fortune always fails! Who, seeing not the end, fear to begin, And pass by opportunities to win. CONSCIENTIO USNESS. I59 CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. Who never turn from beaten paths away, And, without questioning, life's goal pursue. Accepting for the best each common view. Find sympathy, approval, strength, and stay In sweet companionship from day to day; While often he, to his convictions true, Who dares to venture in some pathway new, Traditions old refusing longer sway. Finds fierce antagonisms, distrust, and hate ; Yet following where his conscious duties lead; He is a man and hero true, indeed. Who heeds not reputation, peace, or fate, Or public praise, dear unto mortal ears. Unless beyond the voice of God he hears. 160 MANHOOD. MANHOOD. Men sing his praise who scales some mountain height Which never yet has trodden mortal's feet; Whom genius crowns all men with honor greet; And men respect him who upholds with might, At whatever cost, whatever he thinks is right ; Whose sword wins fame, to him are honors meet ; But whom we love most, though, his life is sweet And pure; and hopefully, from morn till night, He strives day after day, year after year. With willing hands and tireless feet, in ways His lines are cast ; he holds truth more than greed. And all high place at cost of honor dear ; And rather than his sacred trust betrays, He calmly faces death, if there be need. MORE LIGHT. Igl MORE LIGHT. The rocks entombed in earth impatient lie, And into light are whirled through openings wide Of mountains which their giant throes divide; The little seeds, though buried, do not die. But blade and leaf and tree leap towards the sky ; "More light!'' cried Goethe, with his dying breath ; More light! the song of birth, the throe of death ! More light! of nature all the yearning cry Since God creation's morn the dawn proclaimed ; Men probe the earth : her treasures gives the sea ; The darkness yields unto the lightning tamed, Nor yet does science cease her prophecy ; Still man, for light, shall grope through night and sin. Until God's presence he shall enter in. 162 ^ SUMMER DAY. A SUMMER DAY. Across the intervening valley wide The emerald hill-tops kiss the sapphire sky ; In swaying hammock lazily I lie And trace the line where green and blue divide, Or watch the banks of foamy clouds that ride Above me as I listen dreamily To melodies among the boughs near by, Loud trilled from throats which yellow-green leaves hide. The cooling zephyrs breathe upon my face, And every breath has balm of many flowers. Oh, golden day of dear midsummer time, Spellbound in thy voluptuous embrace, I yield up grudgingly the passing hours. And mourn thy fading hue the while I rhyme. A MARCH DAY. 163 A MARCH DAY. Dumb in their nests the sparrows cheerless lie ; The clouds low down are draped with folds of black, Which almost touch the boughs of tamarack, Tlirough which the fierce wind^s breath sweeps mournfully ; Across the narrow, lifeless street, near by, An unclean snow-drift lingers ; farther back I trace the surging river's yellow track. Between its tawny willow guards, whose high Heads quiver in the melancholy gloom, Pervading all the earth and air and sky; When, lo! through riven clouds the sunlight breaks ; Supernal glories earth and sky illume; And all my heart to new-born raptures wakes, And all my thoughts of Him I magnify. 164 ^^ I'SE BRipGE. AT THE BRIDGE. Enraptured with the glowing wood-crowned hills, At quiet sunset hour alone I stand Above this stream with iron sinews spanned, And all my being with the beauty thrills, And all my spirit with the glory fills ; Out from the riven cloud a golden baud Lights up the barren drifts of yellow sand ; The breathless hush my throbbing pulses stills. While round the bar with graceful sweep and bend, Scioto's waters with Ohio's blend, — So when the victories of life are won. May its sunset with holy light draw nigh; So merge time and eternity in one, As river glides to river peacefully. THE WIND. 165 THE WIND. Is it the ghosts of the midsummer bees That stiug and haunt me this November day ? Comes from the south a breeze chilled on its way In sipping ices on the frosted leas ? Or sweeps some wild blast from the northern seas? It tosses up and scourges in its play The brown discarded jewels of the trees, And in its mockery it seems to say, — " In splendor you have flaunted one brief hour Your finery ; behold your glory now ! I wear no crimson gowns, yet roam the sky; I fan the vales and kiss the mountain's brow, And lapse of time and bounds of space defy; And you, — lo, I can crush you with my power." 15 166 PROMISE. PROMISE. Chill is the south wind's breath, the clouds hang low ; Around me lie great drifts of melting snow; A smithy's anvil near is silent, forge Fireless, — it is the holy Sabbath day; A bridge of stone along the travelled way Extends, and underneath leaps down the gorge A swollen stream, with foam and splash and spray ; On distant hill-tops rests the fog; below. O'er flat submerged, the shimmering waters flow; A gloomy morn, suggesting all sad things, Yet all the misty air with music rings ; For, on the topmost bough of maple near And bare and lone, with breast aflame, loud, clear, A prophet of the summer sweetly sings. SPITZKOP, 167 SPITZKOP. (February 27, 1881.) Fear not, thou heaven-inspired, heroic band, Whose valor's deeds fill freemen's hearts to-day; Your cause is just; what despot's power can stay, When struggling freedom lifts her holy hand To strike the foe that grasps her fatherland? Proud leader of the nations, turn away ! A people just endure, the wrong decay ; Ancestral kingdom, name historic, grand, Is this thy chivalry, that England's might Shall crush the weak and trample on the right ? The gods make mad and then destroy, — beware ! They lose who 'gainst the God of battles fight; Guard well thy ancient name and fame ! They dare In righteous cause who heroes' laurels wear. 168 OUR UNWELCOME FRIEND. OUR UNWELCOME FRIEND. There is a sentinel with watchful eyes, Alert day after day, year after year, Who signals us when there is danger near ; Who stays our sports, our best-laid plans defies; If we transgress too far in anywise. Quite apt he is unbidden to appear; Although his voice we hardly ever hear, Unless we cross the line where safety lies. There is no truer friend of man ; and yet We do not love him, — oh, base ingratitude ! For mortals who his warning cries forget Curse him whose only mission is their good. Who is this slave who serves and seeks no gain. This angel unawares? Men call him — Pain. LUNA AD TELLVREM. Igg LUNA AD TELLUREM. Through regions boundless, far, unquestioning. While myriad cycles roll, I go with thee, A helpless slave, on to my destiny ; What light illumines me to thee I fling ; To thy weird path through heat and cold I cling. And hang my crescent o'er thy land and sea; Methinks, if thou dost sometimes tire of me, Thou canst not then escape my following. What mystic force my fate links to thine, Earth? For I have felt the pressure of thy clasp Since roving planets had from chaos birth; Above, beneath, forever in thy grasp, Thy torch, thy toy, I marvel at thy might, Yet serve thee, queen, a loyal satellite. 15* 170 BETRAYAL. BETRAYAL. We sigh to see the things we long for go, When we know that to strive for them is vain, To feel they never will be near again; To see the face we love still whiter grow. As death steals on to strike the fatal blow. Oft conscious worth must writhe in galling chain, And ecstasy of love be pierced with pain, For every heart its bitterness must know. All mourn some aspiration unfulfilled, And taste the anguish of some fond hopes dead, Or grieve for some lost friend whom they have prized ; But death's own darkness pales in that night's dread Awakening, which comes ere throbs are stilled Of heart by its betrayal paralyzed. THE UNEXPECTED. 171 THE UNEXPECTED. The things with great anxiety one strives For do not satisfy him in the end : But seldom peace fulfilment does attend ; The deepest woe or joy supremest thrives Most on the unexpected in our lives; As o'er the barren waste our way we tend, The lone flower that we pluck seems like a friend Who in some dire extremity arrives ; Its perfume gladdens us as does the sight Of a familiar face we rest the eyes Upon amid the surging crowd of some Strange thoroughfare. When Death with sudden might Strikes one we love, our loss he magnifies More than if heralded his footsteps come. 172 AT THE LAKE. AT THE LAKE. I SIT and dream beside the placid meer ; Through amber haze the sunlight warms the wold ; On crimson tapestries and beds of gold, Across the bay, the skies to rest appear; And in the mirror at my feet, so near, Rubies in gorgeous clusters I behold, And amethysts and sapphires manifold. Oft in the autumn of a by-gone year, When these old trees were painted every hue, Another came and rested with me here. Under their boughs, beside these waters blue, For evermore to memory so dear ; One now beneath the withered grasses lies, While overhead still glow the mocking skies. NOT YET. 173 NOT YET. So much to say, so many songs to sing, So many things I cannot now forget. So much to do that I cannot leave yet. O Death, a little longer let me cling To these, if it must be, with suffering ; I did not think that I must pay the debt To thee, and leave all else with such regret, While yet I longed so much for everything; That eye and tongue and arm would strive in vain, While all I sought to do was still undone. Not yet, not yet ! Wilt not thou come again When I have met my foes once more, and won The victory o'er pride, or greed, or lust, And know I have been something more than dust? 174 MARS HILL. MAES HILL. If some time once before we close our eyes In death, to finite beings power could be One moment to put on infinity ; And at our will if we could break the guys Which the events of by-gone centuries, Each in its narrow niche holds steadfastly ; And, as we choose, in its completeness see Some one grand view out of the past arise. How fain my feet would be to linger near The streams and in the groves of Italy, That Virgil's living voice I might once hear; Yet I would blind my eyes, if it must be. Lest they should look on that entrancing land, If so I might with Paul at Athens stand. BLIND. 175 BLIND. Oh, happy bird, whose presence I feel near, Whose thrilling notes fall sweetly on my ear, Though I mark not your sweep across the sky, Or splendor of your plumage, with my eye. My heart leaps at your song, and knows its cheer. Turn day to night through the slow- wasting year. And spread your wings with ever-haunting fear. Among your trills would ever be a sigh, Oh, happy bird? Could I reach out beyond the darkness here, Which holds me helpless in this narrow sphere, And with your gift divine, of melody. Still with my song some sad heart's bitter cry. Glad were the dusky hours, and life were dear, Oh, happy bird I 176 THEY WAIT THE MAIL. THEY WAIT THE MAIL. They wait the mail, — one brown and spare, One is a blonde, and plump and fair, — A dapper clerk runs to and fro, Each parcel boxes in its row, — Knows he black eyes and blue are there ? While he is chirk and debonair, Distributing with skill and care His messages of weal and woe, — They wait the mail. Now one by one, — all on the square, — Each in his turn is served his share; And still they linger, — do you know, — Is natty clerk the brunette's beau? Or dallies he with golden hair? — They wait the male. WHEN SHINES THE MOON. 177 WHEN SHINES THE MOON. When shines the moon, at full, so bright, Upon the earth with pale, sweet light, As bustling day lies in repose, And dewdrops dally with the rose, How lovely is the summer night ! The stars that look from loftier height, — How tremblingly they shrink from sight. Lost in the silver flood that flows. When shines the moon ! Oh, mellow moonlight, yellow-white, — We love it, since we love the right; For wickedness and it are foes. Since crime is bold when moonlight goes, And flees away an evil sprite. When shines the moon. 16 178 A BALLAD OF MV MARK. A BALLAD OF MY MARE. Coming down to us from the ages back, Are richest treasures of legend and lore; Of telling quaint truths they had a queer knack, And to-day there came to me o'er and o'er An Arabic saying of long before. And it through my brain continually rang As I galloped along the Owasco shore : " The joys of life in the forelock hang." Metempsychosis, and all such clack, Our modern philosophers now ignore; Yet I sometimes think we should place a smack Of truth to old heathen Pythagoras' score ; Then I dream of a comely maiden of yore, Who parted, maybe, with sorrowing pang From the spirit that I in my mare adore, — "The joys of life in the forelock hang." Great sorrow will fill that day, alack ! When she and I are companions no more ; Her coat is like satin, glossy and black. It shines like the waistcoats our fathers wore; THE OLD MILL. 179 On her polished neck hangs her mane galore, And I sing as never Sheik truer sang Of steed that him long and faithfully bore, ^' The joys of life in the forelock hang." ENVOY. Don't look for a friend with naught to deplore, — The bite of a tooth now and then leaves a tang ; Our quarrels break ties, our caresses restore, " Our joys of life in the forelock hang." THE OLD MILL. The stream is small, the current is still. It winds between banks where the alders sway, Then widens and deepens and flows to the mill Beyond, — one built in my grandsire's day ; A quaint old dam holds the waters at bay. Then over they leap with deafening sound, And angrily toss their foam and spray. As the great, strong wheel rolls round and round. 180 ^^^ OLD MILL. The stream is bridged at the foot of the hill, Where the trailing arbutus blooms in May, And the tall, fierce briers with blackberries fill And ripen in summer's latest warm ray; But from early morn to the twilight gray The whir of the stone, where the corn is ground. And the hum of the saw are heard for aye, As the great, strong wheel rolls round and round. Sj)ruce, hemlock, and pine are carved up at will ; Shaft, carriage, and saw the millers obey; Rafter and plank and clapboard and sill From the round, big logs are sliced away. And shaped at pleasure, as potters mould clay, And everywhere logs and lumber abound. Piled up like cobs by the children in play. As the great, strong wheel rolls round and round. ENVOY. The years and the waters, — they never stay, Though the warp and filling of lives are wound. And the millers succumb to Time's decay. As the great, strong wheel goes round and round. THE BALLAD OF POVERTY. Igl THE BALLAD OF POVERTY. No ranches or vineyards I call my own ; Only castles of air are my palaces; No lines of rail, or of telephone, No jewels in mines, or ships on the seas, Are mine by right of the statute's decrees ; But why need I grieve o'er my poverty? I have wealth that never away from me flees, In those that I love, and in things that bless me. Only yesterday the sunlight shone On the leafless boughs of the apple-trees ; To-day behold the bright blossoms blown ! For a feast of their fragrance who asks for fees ? My right in their beauty who'll question or seize? Sky and mountain are mine, and river and sea, And in thought I roam wherever I please, To those that I love, and things that bless me. Free air I breathe as a king on his throne; I cringe to no man, nor bend my knees, Save to the Master of all alone ; He unlocks for me His treasuries, 16^ 132 CHRISTINE. And I am heir to His legacies; A glimpse of the glories of heaven I see, — Though the wine I drink has some earthly lees, — In those that I love, and in things that bless me. ENVOY. Friend, you and I follow our destinies ; You have wealth, maybe ; I am poor as needs be, Excepting what riches are counted in these: In those that I love, and in things that bless me. CHEISTINE. I. Your eyes are night, Christine, And ruddy morn, your lips ; Their flush is warm, I ween ; Your eyes are night, Christine, I tremble at their sheen. Thrilled to my finger-tips ; Your eyes are night, Christine, And ruddy morn your lips. CHRISTINE. 133 II. To make your cheek, Christine, White roses blend with red ; The wealth of both you glean To make your cheek, Christine; Eye has no fairer seen. And hearts are captive led ; To make your cheek, Christine, White roses blend with red. III. Ah, me ! what grace, Christine, Like white clouds here and there, Flecking a sky serene ! Ah, me ! what grace, Christine, Of neck and brow the screen Half hides of your brown hair ! Ah, me ! what grace, Christine, Like white clouds here and there ! IV. Pure as the snow, Christine, Fair as the summer, though. With richest bloom and green ; Pure as the snow, Christine, 184 CHRISTINE. Your life makes mine more clean The more of it I know ; Pure as the snow^ Christine, Fair as the summer, though. VI. Your speech is wine, Christine, And thrills me every draught I drink with you, my queen ! Your speech is wine, Christine, Yet makes my thirst grow keen With every beacon quaffed ; Your speech is wine, Christine, And thrills me every draught. V. Your years are few, Christine, While mine far on have rolled ; Wide yawns the gulf between; Your years are few, Christine, But on your love I lean ; Bless you, sweet five-year-old ! Your years are few, Christine, While mine far on have rolled. TO-DA V. 185 TO-DAY. To-day the eyes are hot and blind with tears, To-day the heart is pierced and dead with sorrow ; Love's whisper, mayhap, yesterday endears. To-day the eyes are hot and blind with tears ; E'en though a shadow of the darkness clears Up in the white dream of divine to-morrow, To-day the eyes are hot and blind with tears. To-day the heart is pierced and dead with sorrow. THE END. ^^ m M^ m ^' M ^vlZ^ mS '^^M^// Ifp^ ^ 0^ p ^/ j^ wy/ii 1 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 ,■■" ';/ « '^^ '^ H B /^ igf ^ ^1 ^ l/'7 ^ s^ 1^1 \)^L^l i i ^ w ii^B ^ i ^^ ^i^Ki^iM^f^i ^p^^j [irp^wf^^^i Z/^!^:^; IT^9^^ 1 r^™j|i '"-•' 7 1 r^^l^^ji /?^iB£^^' r^j^j ih^W^M^' s// ^/y?^ V\ V Ki f^ i^ ^^\i0i /^Pa^^I i:^m^.\jmmLi\immimm ^1^/ *^j^-V J^^'l/^^i^/ m f*iMfeiMii^ /^ v^A H^ y^^L mi~^ f ^' P //^ i B Ml S ^ i5ii"^PB_ l^\ r^HM Wyjl wC'jn[\S^\ WyJh ^\ ry/^i^^\ S^BSm ^^^^1^ ^m iii wB p^^'/^ g W SHmB ^1^7/ \^^^l ^^\ r^/// --^CA 1^ ^^^ \l^^^\il^^\ [f^l^l //^ffl^ //^^^ //^^-' M^' "^jj^^j r^j^U r^^^(n ^/^^^'^B^-/ EM'^M^)l/jt ^^^Cm_ 1'-^'^^^ /j^''^^^J^^V /A^jT^^ ^iLi^ ' / ^^Si^^avV'/ -i>x\\c'V/// '■^is.WiB' ^/// 'oOvi «, ^1^1/ /?S^(i^//|/^^i^//|,^^iJ^7lr^^J^^/ j^f^'i ' '^wj^// 1 ;i^^i:^// 1 >^^^^iiL^/'i 'zj ^H^lll r^-/r/^ \v^\ wi/M /^ ^ 0^ m ^ 6^;/ ^ ^ ^^\ 1 il/'^/M i s^ IV M s ^^^ BmI^ s y^jJW ^MK r^Kr' r^^^?7^^i^/ ^^ r^ «^^ii5i \v;\ 1^ il^^^i u^^^ l/^I^Il f/^f^^i f^^l//^^J| /^^ |0Ski^^/i f^Ms ^^J ^^^^/l ■^^Mi^ M \^^^^\^ M^^ abi ^1^^ ^^TmI^v^ i^W V ^^^ gpfi^Nl/PlMI//^^l^^!i^^l If^l^^ If^^l^ 1 i W\ 1 1 i i i i i ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS