"■"J* \ 1901 Fagots of Cedar IVAN SWIFT Class _Eil_3_&T. GopyrightN 1° COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. FAGOT S OF CEDAR Out of the North & Blown by the Winds With Photographs and Original Drawings oj Michigan Landscape 5; IVAN SWIFT Designed and Printed by the Author, A. D. 1907 at The TO-MORROW PRESS, and Issued from their S h o p in Hyde Park, Chicago. jUBAARYof C^ H Two Copies RWfllved DEC 24 (307 Cotiyneiii tiitrj \/\ftnf II '1°7 OLASS 4 XXc, MO. 143 78^ COPY B. VVU ? 3 Copyright igoj by Ivan Swift Inscribed to my Mother and Dedicated to her Cause of Service to the Humble. For the privilege of printing these verses in book-form acknowledgement is due The Independent, Appleton's, Sunset, Recre- ation, Outers' Book, Field and Stream, American Lumberman, To-Morrow and Chicago American, in which, together, most of the titles originally appeared. CONTENTS In Michigan Home Song of the Cedar-maker Stage of the Woods The Old Courier-de-Bois The Hunted Ones The Timber-Wolves Gods of the Ki-jilc-on The Plaint of the Brook-trout The Pleasure of the Hour The Woodman to the River Sprite of the Po-tog-on-og Seal of the North ' To a Grosbeak in the Garden The Humming-bird Autumn The Coprid Beetle Call of the Winds Liberty Bell Japan the Beautiful The Dragon City The Pilgrim After the Troublous Winds Illustrated This Book has been designed, hand-set and illustrated by the A u t h o r, and the press- work done by John Hamilton, from Vickers- town, Ireland. The Edition is limited to Two Hundred copies, of which (his one is Number i i- A \ 1 u Q > * Out of the North In Michigan IN MICHIGAN SLOW-TIELDING Nymphs Evade umpandered Satyrs here, And sands unconquered laugh at man's in- vention; Bright clouds drive darker shadows, And the bay-breeze biars heavy odors — Odor-offerings of ragged pine And spruce. The white-birch single on the hillside, The hemlocks and I Are friends In Michigan. Nature 's fingers Seem to play upon my strings In minor harmonies up here — Where shells of convents shelter Echoes only, And the last Indian has laid His flints and legends On the grave-mound of the older time In Michigan. HOME I N the evening after the rain, At home with the North and the trees, I turn from the world again And find me a world in these. I searched for a joy in the lands Of castle and kopje and sun, And found what I sought — in the sands Where the journey was lightly begun. The glories of continents seen And all that my ears have heard, Are lost in a garden's green And the chirp of a nested bird. FAGOTS of CEDAR 10 SONG OF THE CEDAR-MAKER DEEP is the wall of the cedar, And tough is the take of the Jack; But a man with a girl must feed her, And the fire must burn in the shack. Ax, spud, saw, steel ! Trim, mark, cut, peel! We tackled the world and shook her — A wench with an eye for hate ; We winked at the woods — and took her, For better and bunk and plate. CHO. Man is a thing for labor, Or what 's the game of the trees ? The saw is as good as the saber — And tallies are made with these. CHO. Our talk ain't the regular Latin — But we cut to the cedar's core ! Our manner '11 stand some battin' — But we pay for our beans and more ! CHO. Tough is the take of the cedar, And rough is the lift of the Jack ; But a man with a wife must feed her, And the kettle must boil in the shack. CHO. OUT of the NORTH 77 Continued To hell with the church and the nation ! We work — and the scale is right; Sweat be our souls' salvation, And freedom is Saturday Night ! Whack, crack, chip, strip ! Zim, zow, zip, zip t Ax, spud, saw, steel ■' Chop! mark! cut! peel! STAGE OF THE WOODS THE glow of the moon's low rim Creeps up through the trees to the sky ; And the night is a deep, sweet hymn To the lone doe sauntering by. A frail, lithe shape at the spring — A quick, strange flash in the night ! A leap and a keen, hot sting ! And Death walks weird in the light. FAGOTS of CEDAR 12 4M| ft 1 \ s " 1" — « n i * He comes, and vanishes, and comes again And sips the sweets of honeysuckles when Their lips are frail — but leaves them not to die. So I have thought how good it were to be This ruthful corsair, bent on such pursuit, Against the wear of my fore-planning hours ; — How good it were to live thus liegelessly Upon the world's unreckoned blossom- loot — Yet spare from any harm its guarded flowers ! OUT of the NORTH 27 AUTUMN BURDEN banked with many an au- tumn flower, The hills of aster, golden-rod and tyme Exhale the spell of some old Persian rhyme Revealed from parchments of the ages' dower. The purple mists enshroud the solemn hour, The throats of Nature hum a requiem chime ; The pageant pauses with the dirge sub- lime, And Life is laid beneath the burning bower. When Autumn flaunts her symbols of the dead, And darkness trespasses on hours of light ; When frosts foray with banners gold and red, And all the future dawns are robed of night — Then quits my soul her habit's clamor- ing flight And turns to make her peace and funeral bed! FAGOTS of CEDAR 28 Blown by the Winds THE sun sets cold on Weicamp Lake, And the Fall, with her frost-wet mouth. Summons the drake from his home in the brake - And the wings of the flock cleave south. The warmth is fled from the bare, brown hills, And the light from the famished field ; A man's heart fills where the mad crowd wills. And the town takes over his yield. THE COPRID BEETLE THE dragon drinks at the fount or noon, The cicades sing in the tree ; The night moth sips at the flower-of-the- moon — But only a coprid beetle am I, And a coprid beetle I 'Id be. They plume and prate of a sun and star, And the work of a worm called Man; But the road to the realm is rough and far. There 's work in the dark and dirt for me — I '11 be what a beetle can. My mother a coprid beetle born — My sons will be no more. We work, nor worry — no work we scorn; There 's peace in the crypt of the coprid cave — What more in the Ultimate Shore? A Coprid they carved me in agate and gold, On a Pharaoh's neck I lay ; They put us away in a vault of old, — And I carry a text of the Book of the Dead As I roll my ball of clay ! St. Louis FAGOTS of CEDAR 30 THE CALL OF THE WINDS I FAIN would laugh with all the laugh- ing world, And let the relic memories be furled With banners of crusades and laid away With tomes and trumpery of the older day ; With crooning history, Time's romance, be done — Let ages die, and wake the "On and on !" And yet in dreaming hours, despite my will, Past friends and fading pictures linger still. Old wars with all their wrongs, caesars and kings With all their crimes and ancient clamorings, And troubadours, and pirates of the sea — Seem still to mock our lauded liberty. Somehow, when I would tempt the tuneful strings I find them fraught with hymns of buried things — I hear the cadence of the awkward flail, And Indians moaning on the bison trail. The clanking enginery of modern strife Profanes the obsequies of sweeter life. There 's grandeur in the press of steam and steel, But heart-beats in the throb of oaken keel ! BLOWN by the WINDS 31 Continued And on the winds a runic wail of doom Pursues the tattered sail and trembling boom Of one-time stately ships. The hulks, all mute, Swing ofFin funeral pomp; and in pursuit The squadron hounds of fretful Commerce bay Their greed of wealth and ruthless pride of prey ! A golden glory filled the sea and air When Turner saw the failing Temeraire ! No harmonies contest the sunset fire, The fondest fancies haunt the Autumn pyre; So, when the Muses seek the tender theme, They find the treasure passing toward a dream ! Nbw York FAGOTS of CEDAR LIBERTY BELL A H, here is our Liberty Bell, Paraded in pride of old ! I would that my tongue could dwell In the turbulent times she tolled. I would it were mine to reveal, In a reverent rage of song, The secrets her sibyls conceal And the motley and militant throng. Forgetful of things that be, I turn to the long-ago — To the years ere men were free And the world moved on but slow ; To the days of ruffle and wig And leathern-apron and hose ; Of flint-lock, horn and brig, And the spirit that went with those. My mind is peopled of courts And powder and silk and sword ; The hound and the falcon sports, And pride of lady and lord. I witness the hurrying groups To the hall of the prophet's light, And the red and the rags of troops In the dim-lit streets of night. BLOWN by the WINDS 33 But thou, old Liberty Bell, Attuned to the patriot shout, Didst ring for a tyrant's knell, And ring till freedom was out ! Now loud shall Liberty sing Te Deums around her shrine — And nations bent shall bring Their altars unto thine! Philadelphia JAPAN THE BEAUTIFUL THE ghost of grace through heathen tides and times, Hath kept her vigil 'neath thy trembling stars ! Thy cherry-blossom cheeks, in peace or wars, Beam in rapport with all thy sweetest chimes! New states may grow where fallen states have been ; — The pulse of Beauty, dead, shall beat no more ! Thine not the cause of wall and tower and store ; — Thy citadels are laid in hearts of men ! Pan-American FAGOTS of CEDAR 34 THE DRAGON CITY IN this unchanging shaft-light hour by hour, Pent in and comfortless, the city's power Goes grinding on around me; and the sky, A somber square the empty winds go by, Scarce marks the transit of the night or day. A million unfixt spirits take their way Beneath my keep, nor seem to reckon why They tempt a dragon, follow far, and die ! I marvel I could quit the peace of fields For this, where all our fervent sowing yields But mortal thorns to weave us penal crowns ! I have not learned the tenets of the towns: I seem disarmed where every man contends, Denying virtue and rejecting friends ! Where I have wandered, on the northern hills, A Presence full of power and promise fills Our hearts with common joy ; and there we learn How comradeship and simple trust will turn The fear of beasts and enmity of men. But what avails the code I gathered then ? — The God of farther places here they scorn, And flout the solemn faiths that / have sworn BLOWN by the WINDS 35 Continued Were men but rude, like some unlettered breed, — Then might I stand, as one who knew the creed ; But here are sinuous ways and sultan smiles, Soft insolence, diplomacies and wiles. These subtler crafts plain men can never know; And fall as falls the unresisting snow ! From this most pitiless of human mills I wonder I am not among the hills, Whose faithful benediction followed me ! And 1 am pained of infidelity At parting from the pines and golden sands And old-time friends — the warm and rugged hands Of long-true friends ! I wonder I should roam This way! Mv heart is there — and there is home ! Chicago FAGOTS of CEDAR 36 nil- GOLDEN SANDS THE PILGRIM PALE, pure Star of the North, I come to thee, burning of passion of cities ; To thee as to a shrine, I come ! Low, cool mist of the North, I seek thy inviolable veil — Within thy frail cloistering walls Fold me ere I fail utterly. A slag of man, I come, contrite ! Keen, calm Wind of the North, Blow out of the hills ! I come ! In thy long, cool tresses lay my fevered brow — Fevered of cities and of sin ! One touch of thy fingers, Wind of the North, And I am free — Free of the purple sin of the South, Free ot the slime of the cities; Free of the falser gods of crowds ! Stript of all falsity I come surrendering To thee, deep, blue Sky of the North ! At the fast ship's prow, Star of the North, In old faith, in old love, I come, cast down, to thee ! On Ship, board BLOWN by the WINDS 37 AFTER the TROUBLOUS WINDS AFTER the troublous winds have wear- ied and turned to sleep, I lie on the the cool beach-sands, in the sound of the waves of the deep ; And the waves of the firm dead-sea, that car- ry the gray of the sky, Bear earnest of peace to me though the years and the worlds go by. The waves of the wind-reft bay, that reflect and rejecl as they will, Unvexedand unfaltering roll and the law of control fulfil ; — And this is the life that will be when our fears are folded away — For the mind is the wide-swung sea, and the sky of the soul is gray. END Erratum — Pg. 24, line IJ should read virgin-white.