Class J_':S 3 5 13 CofiyrightN". fl CQFmiGHT DEPOSrr. POEMS The Captive 's Address to Fancy and Other Poems BY JAMES GARDNER Tarn corde guam manu THE CAMEO PRESS AND PUBLISHING COMPANY NEW YORK 1919 -^"b Copyrighted 19 IQ. by James Gardner Printed in the United States of America All rights reserved utu I.8M9I9 PRESS OF THE NEW ERA PRINTING COMPANY LANCASTER, PA. ©Cl.A5592il L r> TO MY SISTERS MARION AND ELIZABETH THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED CONTENTS. PAGE The Captive's Address to Fancy 11 St. Helena 15 Sahara 17 The Saddest Things 21 Millionaire and Pauper 23 Belisarious 25 Lessons 29 Ere This New Year Has Ended 31 Lines to a Mountain 35 To a Society Woman 37 Misfits 39 Lines to a Sea Shell 41 Thou and I 43 Estranged 45 Why Nellie Goes No More to School 47 A Pair of Old Shoes 49 To the Wind 51 Her Letters 53 Wild Birds 55 Hope 57 To Victorine 59 Early Morning Naps 61 To a Desert 63 We Never Can Turn Back 65 Dust from Heaven 67 The Reason 69 Cromwell 71 Love's Philosophy 73 vii PAGE The Spring Poet 75 Friends 79 A Truth 81 Kindness 83 The Best Friend 85 Mammon 87 To a Weeping Willow 89 Kind Words 91 Cromwell 93 Vlll POEMS THE CAPTIVE'S ADDRESS TO FANCY. SPREAD out thy wings, my Fancy, O wild bird, blythe and gay. Spread out thy strong swift pinions and speed thee on thy way. Far from the gleaming heavens Night's curtain is unrolled. And rosy tides of morning are flooding hill and wold. Untramelled thou may'st wander, nor will I call thee home. Though o'er the world forever thy restless wings may roam. Though I am held in fetters and base captivity, O Fancy, chainless Fancy, thy wings are always free. As free as proudest eagle that soars the heavens wide; As free as streamlet dashing from down the mountain's side; As free as wildest charger that roams the desert plain ; [11] As free as seagull skimming the restless raging main; As free as storm clouds drifting across the win- ter sky ; As free as winds of summer that in the forests sigh. Then why should'st thou be drooping, or in a prison pine When land and sky and ocean and all the world are thine? From lands of palm and spices and splendid scenes of bliss, Where Nature bums and blushes 'neath fierce Equator's kiss ; Where in the lap of ocean are spread the tropic isles, Whose coral strands are gilded by summer's con- stant smiles ; To where in frozen splendor the cruel Arctic reigns ; Where frown the spectral glaciers and stretch the icy plains ; [12] O thou at will may journey — in any zone may dwell — Can soar to highest heaven or dive to deepest hell. No bonds can hold thee captive, no prison's gloomy night ; No granite walls, no shackles can curb thy dar- ing flight. So spread thy regal pinions and leave me to my gloom ; Thou need'st not share my bondage, my dungeon or my doom. [13] ST. HELENA. O LONELY island, thou art but a scrap Of the creation that convulsions past, With careless hands all aimlessly hath cast Into the surging ocean's mighty lap. Thy naked feet the restless billows wrap In snowy vestments. Thy lone form is glassed In the huge mirror of the waters vast, Though but a speck upon the world's great map. Yet, once upon thy barren strand the glance Of each great nation of the world was bent. For on thy shores, by nature all unblessed ; The great Napoleon, pride of vanquished France, Was like a caged lion basely pent To end his days thy exiled, captive-guest. [15] SAHARA. THOU art lone and drear, Sahara, and by some unkind mishap Nature has not cast a blossom in thy arid, barren lap. Spring will visit other regions, and her steps on hill and wold Will awake the seeds that slumber underneath the fertile mold. But to thee she brings no frondage, and thy naked wilds complain To the lurid skies that grant them not a drop of cooling rain. But, although thy plains are springless, and with no gay frondage dressed, I, who yearn for calm and quiet, do not deem thee all unblessed ; For thy very desolation shields thy parched and burning sands From the turmoil and the troubles that afflict more favored lands. Thus when my impatient spirit struggles in its hopeless strife [17] With the galling chains that bind it to the hard demands of life ; When hope's skies are draped in shadow and mis- fortune's winds blow chill, And endeavor's bare feet falter on ambition's rugged hill ; I would flee, O drear Sahara, to thy calm and peaceful arms. As a vessel seeks a haven from the tempest's wild alarms ; And upon some green oasis that thy desert sands enfold, Like an emerald embedded in a band of shining gold, I would build my humble dwelling, fenced by wilds all lone and bare, Where the harsh-toned voice of trafiic has not roused the demon care ; And within thy walls of silence I would find a sweet surcease From the pains that poison pleasure, and the trials that murder peace. [18] I would be as free, Sahara, from the cares that scourge me now, As the eagle soaring o'er thee, and the breeze that fans thy brow. [19] THE SADDEST THINGS. T HE bud that from its birth was doomed To wither ere its beauty bloomed. The seed that ne'er from slumber woke, Or through the closing furrow broke. The broken shaft that marks the head Of some young life too early fled. The riven links of love's bright chain That only God can mend again. The tears we shed for some dear friend When broken faith the bond must end. The heart, which, though it aches the while. Conceals its pain behind a smile. [21] MILLIONAIRE AND PAUPER. THOUGH difFerent in fortunes as the night and the day, Alike were they molded by God out of clay. Whatever their station, they equally share The love of the Being whose image they bear. Unequal yet equal, by weakness allied The one Fortune favored, and the one she denied. The chasm which one from the other divides Is bridged by a kinship that circumstance hides. Both own the emotions that wantonly play On the chords of the heart the very same way ; And passions that breed only sins for their heirs In the bosoms of both have made their dark lairs ; While Virtue, that tender exotic, may grow Alike in the breasts of the high and the low. The puppets of chance, both the humble and great. They move by a string that is handled by Fate. [23] The playthings of impulse and slaves of desires, Their bosoms are scorched with unquenchable fires. The dupes of illusions, alike they pursue The mirages that charm ere they fade from the view. Alike do they suffer disappointment's eclipse; Grief holds the same bitter draught to their lips ; Care burdens them both with a wearisome pack ; Pain stretches them both on the same cruel rack ; Chance brings them alike its proportion of ruth ; Time robs them alike of the treasures of ^^outh ; And Age treading slowly the pathway of years, As surely to one as the other appears ; And neither the one nor the other will spare. But furrows the forehead and silvers the hair. And when in the dark lonely grave they are thrust. They both are the same — but a handful of dust. [24] BELISARIOUS. Belisarious, who as a military genius deserves to rank with Hannibal, was the greatest general of the Byzantine empire, and Justinian owed much of the glory of his reign to the conquests of this remarkable warrior. It is stated that, in his old age, blind and in rags, he begged alms on the very streets through which had once been borne the trophies of his victories. A LAS, how fallen I am now; ^ -^ I once was honored in the land, And wore the laurels on my brow Bestowed by grateful ruler's hand. Yes, I, who once, a monarch's guest. Reposed in princely palace halls Now lay my aged limbs to rest Within a squalid hovel's walls. The honey of a king's applause Once filled with joy these very ears, Which now the vilest wretch may cause To tingle with his taunting jeers. This voice that mighty armies made The servants of its every tone — [25] This voice that vanquished hosts obeyed, And dared to dictate to a throne ; Has now an humble supphant turned Within its own dear native land, And that degrading lesson learned To sue where once it did command. These hands that once o'er fields of sand Guided the war-horse to the fight ; And made the victor's flashing brand The scepter of an army's might; Have laid the battle sword away. And now stretch forth their war-worn palms. So that the scornful passer may Insult them with his paltry alms. Is this, Justinian, then the meed. The guerdon of great battles won. That through the clouds of woe and need I see descend life's setting sun? My lance pinned to thy empire's map A nation won by bloody toils, [26] And poured into thy realm's great lap The treasures of a victor's spoils. It needs no tongue with loud acclaim To tell the story of my wars. For on this bent and withered frame The sword has written it in scars. [27] LESSONS. OBEE that dost so swiftly roam O'er flowery mead and fragrant bower, And beareth to thy waxen home The tribute of each generous flower ; No moment dost thou waste, for well Thou knowest that the time is brief Ere in the arms of vale and dell Shall fade each bloom and verdant leaf. Industrious bee, well would it be If some a lesson learned from thee. O patient camel, doomed to fare O'er dreary wastes of desert lands ; Oft forced by tyrant man to bear Hard burdens o'er the scorching sands ; Though pain attends each weary league. And endless seems the burning track ; Thou bearest still, despite fatigue. Without complaint thy heavy pack. O patient beast, well would it be If some a lesson learned from thee. [29] O hound, more loyal far than he Who thrice the Nazarene denied ; Unshaken thy fidelity, Although all others turn aside ; Though troubles round thy master flock Like hungry wolves about their prey ; Though at his door grim want may knock, But never dost thou turn away. O faithful dog, well would it be If some a lesson learned from thee. [30] ERE THIS NEW YEAR HAS ENDED. 1910 ERE this new year has ended That promises so fair, How strangely will be blended Bright pleasures with despair, How many hopes we cherish Will wither ere they bloom. And leave us when they perish To disappointment's gloom. How many ties be broken That only God can mend ; How many farewells spoken, How many friendships end. How many troths be plighted Beneath hope's cloudless skies ; How many hearts united In love's enduring ties. How many children tender On life's hard road will start, [31] With eager hands to render Each one his httle part. How many lives will waken To greet a bright morn, And have life's sandals taken From feet all travel-worn. Ere this new year has ended, And o'er its scenes at last The curtain has descended That links it to the past ; How many things will happen. What strange events transpire; What storms on land and ocean, What plagues and famines dire. Will War call forth his legions, And loud his tocsin ring. And at the feet of nations The gage of battle fling.? Or will Peace hold in bondage The hostile nations all. And drown with her paeans The martial bugle's call ? [32] We know not, nay, we know not, Wise scholar, sage, and king, The strange, the mighty changes A fleeting day may bring; For mystic and uncertain The unknown future lies Behind Time's jealous curtain That hides it from our eyes. [33] LINES TO A MOUNTAIN. IN lonely grandeur thou dost rise, Piercing the smoke-wreath's misty shrouds, Thy forehead in the shining skies Above the path of roaming clouds. At break of morn the king of day With his first kiss salutes thy cheek ; At eve his last expiring ray Falls lightly on thy lofty peak. Deep silence wraps thee. Solitude Reigns there supreme. All safe from harm The eagle rears his dusky brood Beneath the shelter of thy arm. No foot essays thy turrets steep ; Thy summit grim no path provides ; Scarce can the nimble mountain sheep Find foothold on the sloping sides. Low at thy feet spring from her loom, So prodigal to gentle leas, Has robed the valleys deep in bloom, Made garments gay for all the trees. [35] For thee alone no garb she'll find, By gorgeous f rondage all unblessed, She leaves thee naked to each wind That roves about thy barren crest. Yes, thou art nude, and only thou. Thy very head uncrowned and bare, Till pitying snows have sought thy brow, And bound a spotless turban there. [36 TO A SOCIETY WOMAN. YOU call yourself queen of the fashion, Your kingdom is Vanity Fair; Your court is the gay crowded ball-room; Your throne is the tete-a-tete chair. Your mirror your sagest adviser ; Your subjects are puppets of style; Your laws are your whims and caprices ; Your creed the religion of guile. The squadrons composing your army Are useless to fight and to kill ; Their battlefield only a parlor, Their tactics, the waltz and quadrille. To love in your kingdom is treason, A crime, lo, the darkest in hue ; And sentiment dies on the scaffold. If once he but dares to be true. To feel is a sin without pardon. To blush is a habit unknown ; Poverty is punished with exile, It's a fault you never condone. [37] And such are your manners and customs. No immigrant ever so bold Would venture to enter your regions Unarmed with a passport of gold. [38] MISFITS. OLD Destiny, life's architect, oft draws his plans so ill That many a one is doomed to miss the niche he ought to fill ; And from the humblest cottage to the palace and the court He makes of every human life his plaything and his sport. He chains a poet to the forge, an artist to the plow, And gives a sage a clown's high cap to wear upon his brow. He makes a voice that nature meant to ring in senate halls, Urge stubborn teams to draw the cart with loud and angry calls. He puts the reins of state in hands designed to drive a dray. And gives a shepherd's crook to one who should a sceptre sway. He makes a warrior don a cowl, and in the cloi- ster kneel, [39] And sends a priest off to the wars clad in a coat of steel. He sends home-loving feet to rove on weary pil- grimage, And holds a captive one who thinks his home is but a cage. The strong oft get the smallest loads, the weak the largest packs ; A giant often plies a pen, a dwarf the ponderous axe. And such the woof and warp of life this wizard often knits That all the world where'er we turn seems filled with strange misfits. [40] LINES TO A SEA SHELL. I LISTEN to thee, lovely shell; Though parted from thy native shore, I still within thy pearly cell Can hear a mimic ocean roar. And must a voice within thee dwell That will not hush or cease complain, But still must mock the billow's swell, And tell of depths where thou hast lain? Must memory in thy bosom keep The sleepless whisper of regret. That still must tell thee of the deep, Nor let thee of thy loss forget ? Must coral caves and grottos bright Still woo thee to their hidden bliss ? Must thou still mourn the sweet delight That lived in ever^^ billow's kiss? How like thy whispered, soft complaint This voice that in my bosom dwells. Whose plaintive music, low and faint, Of long lost joys so sadly tells. [41] THOU AND I. THY life is like a pleasure bark That cruises near a sunny shore, And when the sky with storm is dark In some calm haven rests secure. But mine is like a shattered boat Adrift on stormy waters cast ; Tossed by the waves, yet doomed to float, But finds no place to rest at last. [43] ESTRANGED. NO pathless ocean deep and wide Between them lies ; they meet Each day, walk side by side Along the same crowd-cumbered street. And though the homes in which they dwell Lie in the selfsame crowded mart, Were she in heaven, he in hell, They would not be more far apart. [45] WHY NELLIE GOES NO MORE TO SCHOOL. A PLEASANT pathway lies between My cottage and a lonely moor — A byway fenced by hedges green That line its length and shade it o'er; And near it fringed with flowers sweet, There lies a limpid, laughing pool ; 'Twas there last year I used to meet Sweet Nellie on her way to school. That year has passed. The springtime weaves A mantle just as bright and gay ; The sunshine sifting through the leaves Makes pictures on that quiet way. She came no more, I knew not why ; I saw the summer season wane. But never more could I descry Her small feet tripping down the lane. The year grew old ; a sober hue Crept over meadow, hill and wold ; And Autumn o'er the woodlands threw His robe of crimson, brown and gold; [47] When passing by a churchyard lone, Where winds were sighing soft and cool, I read in words carved on a stone Why Nellie goes no more to school. [48] A PAIR OF OLD SHOES. THEY are useless and wholly discarded — These shoes that some little girl wore; Cast aside, as rubbish regarded, Their journeys forevermore o'er. Old Time has laid wantonly o'er them The coat of his mildews and mold ; We know not who owned them or wore them — Their story will never be told. Did they move with unwilling paces Each day on their journey to school, And loiter in cool shady places, Defying the teacher's strict rule? Did they tread with soft, noiseless tipping The floor in a sick-room's deep gloom Before they went merrily skipping O'er meadows with flowers abloom? Did they join the gay whirling dancers, And glide in the wildest delight Through quadrilles and waltzes and lancers In the glow of chandeliers bright? [49] Did they speed with steps ready and willing- Steps lithesome and airy and fleet — In eagerness gladly fulfilling Some mission of charity sweet? Perhaps the small feet that were hidden Within them, so dainty and slight, Have by the kind angels been bidden To roam in fair gardens of light; And there where the soft, balmy weather Grows never dark, stormy nor cold, These little shoes fashioned of leather Were changed for bright sandals of gold. [50] TO THE WIND. WITHIN the arms of continents the ocean frets in vain, Striving to shake the empires' clutch from his imperial mane; But thou, bold rover of the world, in thy resist- less might, Wilt brook no fetters to thy will, no barriers to thy flight. Oh, thou mayst dwell in any zone — mayst rove in any clime. From India's spicy valleys to the Alpine heights sublime — Mayst fan Sahara's burning brow, then from the desert drear Speed on to sound thy trumpet's blast in grim old Arctic's ear — Mayst lift the veil of mist that hides the moun- tain's frozen peak. And then descend in thy rough sport to smite old ocean's cheek; [51] Till the insulted main rebels, and pouts in awful wrath ; WTiile angry billows dance in rage where thou hast made thy path. On thunder's tongue thy voice proclaims the cyclone and the gale, And on thy wings the tempest rides that bids the forest quail. Though thou dost lend thy strength to man to waft across the wave His fragile bark, he cannot boast that thou wert e'er his slave. But fetterless and unconfined, thou speedest on thy way. As free as when God bid thee rove upon the primal day. [52] HER LETTERS. I'LL burn her dainty letters, Yes, every precious sheet. For time has loosed the fetters That held me at her feet — Each tender tie is broken. The dream is o'er at last ; I will not keep one token That links me to the past. They're chapters of a story Of love's delightful lore. Whose pages now grown hoary, I care to read no more. The little play is over. Its acts we'll not recall. And though I fondly love her, We'll let the curtain fall. Yet how my fancy lingers. In fond regret confessed, O'er pages where her fingers So lovingly have pressed. [53] Ah, me, the sweet emotion That thrills through every line That tells the dear devotion Her heart once had for mine. Yes, burn them, let them perish — That love is out of date ; It's folly now to cherish The vows that they relate. Alas, it would be better If memory, too, could bum, And with each old love letter To lifeless ashes turn. [54] WILD BIRDS. I CANNOT keep my thoughts at home, Those wanton wild birds will not stay Within their cage, but ever roam With bold ambitious flight away. Oft to the mist-enshrouded past The swift rebellious vagrants rove. And cross its seas, gloom-draped and vast. To perch in memory's tangled grove. Oft-times with pinions strong and fleet, They dare the future's mystic clime. Until with weary wings they beat Against the prison bars of time. And when sleep weaves his fairy chain, And weary limbs in bondage lie. They leave their perches in the brain To soar in dream's enchanted sky. [S5] HOPE. FROM the springtime of our childhood to the winter of old age, With the hosts of care and trouble every day we all must cope ; And so long as we have parts to play upon life's tragic stage, Our spirits are uplifted by the sweet sustainer, hope. In the fleeting days of pleasure, in the lagging days of woe ; In the sunshine of our triumphs, in the gloom of dire defeat; She allures us, and we follow, ay, we ever on- ward go. Though our burdens seem too heavy and the thorns have pierced our feet. Though we rest in pleasure's valley, though we scale the mounts of care ; Though we feast in rich prosperity, or starve on famine's crust; [57] Though we dress in costly raiment, or the beg- gar's tatters wear, We pursue her lovely visions till the body turns to dust. In each human habitation ; in the cloister, in the marts, In the palace of the monarch; in the hovel of the slave; She's a guest that ever lingers, and she cheers all human hearts. Though they beat within the bosom of the craven or the brave. [58] TO VICTORINE. DO not deem me all unfeeling, Though my face is stern and cold; It is not by outward seeming That the mind's deep thoughts are told. Feelings and the mask that hides them Stand forever far apart, And the face is not the index To the secrets of the heart. Underneath pride's frozen surface Passion's fires still burn and glow, Just as flames scorch Hecla's bosom, Though its form is clad in snow. [59] I EARLY MORNING NAPS. T is very well in winter, when the skies are dark and drear. And the wind makes mournful music in the forest bleak and sere. To be lulled in early morning by the rain-drops' soft refrain. As they beat with gentle cadence on your dark- ened window-pane. But when winter is all over, and the only hint of snow Is the dogwood's blossoms scattered by the breezes to and fro; It would seem to me a reckless disregard of na- ture's gifts Should I sleep a single moment when the night's dark curtain lifts. To the night I give my slumbers, for I think it is his due. And I float on dream's bright billows all the lone dark hours through; [61] Oh, but when the dawn is breaking, I elude sleep's artful trap. When he seeks to snare my senses in a slothful morning nap. It is not a time for slumber when the young day's urn of gold Spills a ceaseless stream of lustre over drowsy hill and wold; So I seek divorce from blankets when a bright spring day is bom, And the world pins on its bosom the fair blossom of the mom. [62] TO A DESERT. REPINE not at thy hapless lot, O naked waste of scorching sands, Nor deem it all unmeet that not A wreath is thine from nature's hands ; For though no garlands o'er thee twine, A perfect calm and peace are thine. Full many a wreath-crowned sister land Of vineclad hill and flowery wold. To whose gay dress the wave-kissed strand Is as a fringe of shining gold. Is often torn by conflicts dire. And swept by battle's blighting fire. But grim and all-destroying War, Who smites the climes with roses decked, Upon thy plains hath left no scar To tell the tale of nations wrecked; Thy sands the red and awful draught Of human gore hath never quafl^ed. Gaunt Famine's children often fare Where fields are rich with ripening grain, [63] But never seek thy wilds, nor dare Invade thy barren, dread domain ; The taintless winds that o'er thee blow Bear not a groan of human woe. Where plenty reigns. Vice thrives the best, And foul Disease's festering brood. In lands with flowery mantles dressed, Roves free o'er many a verdant rood ; But Pestilence and Sin ne'er roam To thy lone sands to find a home. Thus, though denied the sparkling rills. The gorgeous blooms and f rondage gay ; Thou still art spared life's countless ills, And shielded from man's bitter fray ; Thou art, indeed, a region which Sterility hath made most rich. [64] WE NEVER CAN TURN BACK. F ROM happy youth to sere old age life's rugged way we wend, The cradle is the starting place, the lonely grave the end ; Yet this is true, through all the years whate'er we gain or lack. It matters not how long the way, we never can turn back. Like mirage on the desert sands, hope lures us on, we fare With eager feet o'er pleasure's vale and dreary miles of care; Yet this we know, though joy may light or grief make dark the track, Our feet can tread it only once — we never can turn back. Turn back, who would relive one day — bid time his steps retrace — Reverse the shadow that is cast across the dial's face.f^ [65] We who have writhed, in days gone by, upon grief's cruel rack. Are thankful that upon life's path we never can turn back. [66] DUST FROM HEAVEN. "V7"EARS ago in winter time -■^ When the snow's white mantle fell, And you heard the merry chime Of the sleigher's tuneful bell — When the fields and meadows lay White beneath the leaden skies, That old nurse of mine would say — And I thought her then so wise, That without a single doubt I would take her sayings all, Chile dey's sweepin heaben out When you see dem snowflakes fall." I have laid my childhood by Like a garb no longer worn. And the grasses thick and high On my nurse's grave have grown ; Yet when winter comes each year. And the leaves lie sere and brown, While from skies gloom-draped and drear Flakes of snow come floating down, [67] As I watch them whirl about, Those old words I oft recall — " Chile dey's sweepin heaben out When you see dem snowflakes fall." [68] THE REASON. WHY does the world avoid that one With cold averted eye? What has he done that people shun And pass him coolly by ? Has he some loathsome, foul disease From whose contagious clutch Each one in mortal terror flees, As from a leper's touch ? Or has dishonor's blackened hand Estranged him from his race. And fixed on him guilt's shameful brand That time can ne'er efface? Has he done murder? Does he wear The awful badge of Cain, That he is forced by men to bear The burden of disdain? Nay, friend, e'en malice could not trace Upon his stainless name A single mark of black disgrace. Or one dark spot of shame. [69] He is not shunned when he is seen For aught of word or deed; In sooth, the world deems him unclean Because he is in need. [70] CROMWELL. LONG years have passed since noble Crom- well died, But still undimmed his mighty footsteps stand So deeply graven on old England's strand That powerless is Time's effacing tide To wash them out, or their impressions hide. Fame counts him deathless — he whose iron hand Put gyves on kingly might — whose fingers grand Shaped Freedom from the clay of kingly pride. His name defies the ruthless rust of age, And England's unborn millions yet shall read How from the metal of a people's rage He wrought the sword that saved her in her need; And with a tyrant's blood inscribed on History's page The deathless story of his fateful deed. [71] LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. IT is over and fled' — the vision I cherished ; The flame was too fierce for its burning to last; The rose of my love lost ics perfume and perished ; I gave the dead bloom to the arms of the past. Should I weep that the passionate madness has vanished — That the colors have died in the beautiful dream ? Should I weep that out of life's sky has been banished The star that was dearest and brightest of beam? Should I weep that the honied red lips that I tasted Respond to my passionate kisses no more — That the ruby red wine in Love's chalice was wasted And the fruit that invited was dust at the core? Should I weep that a string in Love's harp has been broken — That discord has crept in the ravishing strain, [73] And its tones as they reach me bring only the token Of a dream I have lost and can never regain? Nay, weep not in sorrow — in vain were regretting The dreams and the loves that have withered and fled; New loves will arise, the dear old ones for- getting — New passions will burn when the old one is dead. The flowers that bloom in their summer-time graces, Though they wither and die in the mid-winter gloom. Will awaken once more in a new spring's em- braces, In fragrance as sweet, and as gorgeous of bloom. [74] THE SPRING POET. npHERE was a bard who once in glorious -^ fashion Was borne so high on Fancy's soaring wings, He seized his lyre in ecstacy of passion And woke the music sleeping on its strings. He sang of Love whose fierce and ardent burning The waves of all the oceans could not slake ; Of lovers who in deep despairing yearning Had fought and died for some fair lady's sake. He sang of Hate with wild eyes fierce and glaring ; With vengeance dwelling in a blackened heart ; Whose hands with wrath, so bitter and un- sparing, Wield bloody knife and sword and deadly dart. He sang of War and fierce and bloody battle Of squadrons clashing on the sanguine plain, [75] Of cannons' roar and muskets' deadly rattle, Of gory fields and ghastly piles of slain. He sang of Peace who with her soothing lotion Healed all the wounds that cruel War had made, Who calmed the conflict's fierce and wild com- motion. Dispersed the hosts in deadly strife arrayed. He sang of skies in glowing splendor shining, Of daisies sprinkled o'er the verdant fields ; Of crimson roses in the gardens twining ; Of all the joys that blushing nature yields. He sang of bee and merry chirping cricket, Of every gladsome creature on the wing ; Of birds that flit in every brake and thicket, And cause the woods with music sweet to ring. Until at last his passion slowly spending. He sought about for other themes to sing ; Then heart and soul in one grand eff^ort blending. He softly sang a gentle ode to spring. [76] And then his lyre grown weary of abuses, Would brook no' more the stale themes he awoke ; A deaf ear turned to all his vain excuses, Gave one low, sickly, gasping groan and broke. [77] FRIENDS. S you travel life's hard journey, you will A ■^ -*- find if you are wise, That wealth attracts a host of friends, as honey draws the flies ; And they will buzz about you, and round you cluster while You hold the horn of plenty and you bask in fortune's smile. But let misfortune's cruel hand some dark dis- astrous day Depose you from wealth's sunny heights, your riches snatch away ; Let troubles flock about you, like the vultures to their feast. The selfish world will pass you by ; its friend- ship will have ceased. The rats desert the corn crib when they've eaten all the com. And not a fly goes near a pot whose honey is all gone; [79] Thus when life's skies get clouded, and misfor- tune's rain descends, And the pocketbook gets empty there's a falling off of friends. [80] A A TRUTH. S the uncouth oyster, that lies beneath the deep, Within its rough and homely shell a precious pearl may keep — As gems of priceless value and veins of richest gold May lie beneath the surface of a naked, bloom- less mold — So God oft gives a heart with the noblest traits endowed To one to whom He hath no outward grace allowed. [81] KINDNESS. A LITTLE deed of kindness shown To some dark life so sad and lone, May seem a thing of little worth, And unregarded be on earth — A flower cast aside to die, Forgotten ere a day goes by. But seen by angels' watchful eyes. Beyond the clouds where Heaven lies ; And treasured in those realms on high — God's fadeless palace of the sky. That deed a living sparkling gem. Shall stud the glorious diadem The Savior's loving hands prepare In Paradise for you to wear. [83] THE BEST FRIEND. E trudge life's stony pathway, but before w ' ' our journey ends We'll have, ah me, so many and such different kinds of friends. How many will be faithful till our fortunes go amiss. And then prove false like Judas, and betray us with a kiss. We weep the sad defection of the faithless ones we trust. And sink like regal Caesar 'neath the traitor's dagger thrust. But though the steel of Brutus lurks behind full many a smile, I do not rail at friendship nor accuse all friends of guile; For some, the true, the faithful will be loyal to the end Through all the cruel changes the fickle years may send; [83] Yet, I have learned this lesson as I scale life's rugged mount, The friend that proves the truest is a good-sized bank account. [86] MAMMON. OLD Mammon is the idol To which men bend the knee Through all the years from youth to age Until they cease to be. Before his sordid altar The prince, the sage, the clown, The tradesman, and the nobleman In reverence bow down. No god could be more jealous Than this base one of gold, Whose tabernacle seems to keep The world within its fold. The ledger is his Bible, His temples^ — ^busy marts. Where men to feed the hungry purse. Cheat sleep and rob their hearts. And his two mighty high-priests Are Avarice and Greed, Whose doctrines teach the multitudes No other god to heed. [87] Men starve the kind emotions To meet his hard demands, While Honor often soils her robes Obeying his commands. No heresy or schism His mighty ranks invade, And all the tenets of his creed Have ever been obeyed. And all the passing ages Add millions to the train Of those who ceaseless homage pay To this great god of gain. [88] TO A WEEPING WILLOW. It /FUST thou the guise of sorrow wear J^TJ- While all the woods with laughter ring; While gladness fills the summer air, And violets o'er the meadows spring? While brooks their mirthful stories tell. And zephyrs waft their soft replies, While flowers bloom in every dell. And sunshine laughs in cloudless skies ; While every glade is filled with glee. And sylvan joy is everywhere. Must thou, O pensive, drooping tree Thy silent sadness still declare? Like one who mid a festive throng Is sad while all the rest are gay, Who j oins not in the banquet song. And scorns the revel's bright display ; Who views with cold, indifferent glance The merry dancers floating by, [89] And has no partner in the dance, But mingles with the mirth a sigh. Can nothing turn thee from thy woe Or bring thee respite from thy grief? Can all the joys the skies bestow No solace bring thee or relief? [90] KIND WORDS. IT ET your words be kind and gentle, -'—^ Often has a heart been stung By an unkind answer f aUing From a hasty, heedless tongue. As the rain from skies descending Cheers the parched and thirsty plain. Kind words soothe the life that's bending Underneath a weight of pain. As the oil on troubled waters Calms the billows in their race, Kind words often smooth the frowning From an angry, sullen face. As the sunbeam, mists dispelling. Gladdens with its gleaming ray, Kind words often lift the shadows From despairing hearts away. [91] CROMWELL. CROMWELL held the scales of Justice and he in that balance weighed The prerogatives of rulers with a bleeding na- tion's woes, And his sword smote for the people, and his great arm was not stayed Till he freed them from a tyrant, and had hum- bled Britain's foes. In the flames of revolution he did plunge the kingly pride, When oppression's tide was running at its dark- est, highest flood. And he held it in war's furnace till it came forth purified. Though he had to stain the scaff'old with a mighty monarch's blood. From the iron of his nature he did make the steadfast stays. Whose strength upheld the fabric of his coun- try's sinking fame, [93] When her crippled valor staggered in proud Europe's scornful gaze, When the hand that held the scepter, not the nation, was to blame. It was he who raised her prestige upon victory's shining stairs Till he placed it where it now is in its proud and lofty seat. And he gave it half the luster that it now so proudly wears. When he changed the French king's triumph into ruin and defeat. Not a monument is raised him, but his great deeds have a tongue That is calling, ever calling o'er the chasm of the years, Telling England, in the dark days when her mighty arm was young. How he battled for her liberties and banished all her fears. [94] 015 898 226 2